Heavenly aromas are wafting in from the kitchen, Matt is whipping up something truly scrumptious fro dinner tonight. I hear Katie in her room rocking out to Stevie Wonder. The birdies are chirping outside my window as I am writing this. I am sleepy, but the writing bug will not escape me until I put pen to paper.
I just took a bath, and as I was relaxing, my mind started drifting to the graduation we went to yesterday. My thoughts went everywhere. First, I was so proud of all the hard work and effort Josh, the graduate put out to make this happen. Secondly, I was thinking about the woman who gave the commencement speech. It had to have been the most self indulgent speech I have ever heard in my life.
I felt so badly for the graduates- ninety nine percent of her talk had nothing to do with them. It was pretty much her credentials, resume, her emptiness. She was supremely puffed up for fifteen minutes prior to this agonizing thirty minutes all of the attendees and graduates had to endure- by the school administration. So, she added forty-five minutes to the graduation, stumbling through, bragging, but most importantly- giving nothing on this day, the day which belonged to the graduates.
How many times could I get up for a drink of water and bathroom breaks? Answer- not enough. I no longer cared. I needed to breathe, stretch my legs, think. Looking around, watching others standing in the back squirming, wondering "What's it all about Alfie?"
People from not only around the country, the world are here on this day of days.... to celebrate their child, relative, friend. This is what they get to hear this woman's life, as we get dragged into her complete vacuum. Sheer emptiness, vacancy, trying to fill the glory days she used to live - on their dime. Again this was their day they worked so hard for. No inspiring words of hope. Just her life.
My mind wandered to the man standing nearby, and I began to feel sad. He reminded me of a friend of ours who had died a few years ago. He looked like him when he was younger. That familiar "knowing,"- time is fleeting. Little reminders along the way. Say what you mean to say. It can all sound so cliche, but it is so simple.Yet the hardest thing to do when put to the test. To forgive, love. Letting go of anger, hurt, resentment, old wounds, pride. Allowing love to come in. Takes enormous risk. Surrender. Taking the barbed wire we have so carefully laced around our hearts down.
Not for the feint of heart. It takes time, trust is involved. Sitting outside on that beautiful Spring Day, yesterday made me think of death and rebirth. I have been that self indulgent woman speaking when I am afraid and want to be heard. When I have been at my emptiest, nothing to give. Of course it's so easy for me to point the finger. But I always have to turn it on myself as well. Takes one to know one. I wish for her peace too. I can't say yesterday I did. I just wanted her to shut the hell up, to be honest. Today, writing.... ah, the frigging gift of writing. Introspection. Hmmm.....
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Golden Haired Boy
The Golden Haired Boy- with wild curly hair, that is how I will always remember him.
I was racking my brain today thinking back how old I was when I first met him. I want to say 8th grade, but was it 9th? I don't recall when he started working at the Ice Cream Counter at Thrifty's. My memory goes in and out. I do remember going up after school with my girlfriend from across the street.
Everyone was in love with The Golden Haired Boy. He was adorable, friendly, sweet and had the best smile. Many of the girls from St Luke's were smitten, I can only imagine how the other girls swooned over him. I know I did.
I liked Golden Haired Boy for many reasons. He seemed like he always had a tan.... did he surf?
He was smart, I liked his mind. He was only two years older than me, but he seemed so different than other boys I knew. He seemed truly kind and sensitive and had the kindest, warmest eyes.
I felt so sheepish around him... he affected me.
Meanwhile, another girl was having a major reaction to Golden Haired Boy, as well.
Many knew about this girls undying love for him, as a matter of fact. Tag.... in her mind, heart,
he was hers. When she claimed something- that was that. I was arch enemies with this other girl.
Not from anything I did really - I just happened to become friends with her "best friend." She claimed people, tagged them, and that was it. In her mind she "owned" them. I was just slow on the take. As I write this over thirty five years later, I feel so sad for the naive girl I was. I migrated in friendships. I never was a "since kindergarten til' death" kind of gal. I liked who I liked. If it worked - fine, if not, onward bound. That was just how I lived my life.This particular girl was not happy that I became friends with her best friend / my friend. She was not shy about letting anyone within earshot know this.
Golden Haired Boy and I went out once- this girl found out about it. Unfortunately she saw me in his car with him. This was not good, and I knew I was in for it. I was fifteen or sixteen, and she again told everyone within earshot I was .... not a very nice word. Her rumors about me swirled. This hurt me terribly. Her parents were very rude to me, as were my friends parents. She yielded a lot of power through her anger. It devastated me. I did not understand the ramifications of doing something just for me simply because I liked him . I was not friends with her. He didn't seem to like her, but the die was cast. She has had hatred for me... that seems to have lasted to this day.
Golden Haired Boy changed me.... he was so interesting, full of life, questions, visions of things I could not grasp. He was too much for my heart then. He was so real. I was too shy, swimming in insecurities and fears that I could not conquer at the time. I could barely look him in the eye, it was unbearable. I felt like he looked right into my soul.
I never saw Golden Haired Boy again since those days. Perhaps he is a farmer in the midwest, a doctor, a movie mogul, a lawyer, a truck driver, who knows what became of him. I am sure he is doing something interesting.
He sure made many girls hearts flutter back in the day, I am sure he still does!
I was racking my brain today thinking back how old I was when I first met him. I want to say 8th grade, but was it 9th? I don't recall when he started working at the Ice Cream Counter at Thrifty's. My memory goes in and out. I do remember going up after school with my girlfriend from across the street.
Everyone was in love with The Golden Haired Boy. He was adorable, friendly, sweet and had the best smile. Many of the girls from St Luke's were smitten, I can only imagine how the other girls swooned over him. I know I did.
I liked Golden Haired Boy for many reasons. He seemed like he always had a tan.... did he surf?
He was smart, I liked his mind. He was only two years older than me, but he seemed so different than other boys I knew. He seemed truly kind and sensitive and had the kindest, warmest eyes.
I felt so sheepish around him... he affected me.
Meanwhile, another girl was having a major reaction to Golden Haired Boy, as well.
Many knew about this girls undying love for him, as a matter of fact. Tag.... in her mind, heart,
he was hers. When she claimed something- that was that. I was arch enemies with this other girl.
Not from anything I did really - I just happened to become friends with her "best friend." She claimed people, tagged them, and that was it. In her mind she "owned" them. I was just slow on the take. As I write this over thirty five years later, I feel so sad for the naive girl I was. I migrated in friendships. I never was a "since kindergarten til' death" kind of gal. I liked who I liked. If it worked - fine, if not, onward bound. That was just how I lived my life.This particular girl was not happy that I became friends with her best friend / my friend. She was not shy about letting anyone within earshot know this.
Golden Haired Boy and I went out once- this girl found out about it. Unfortunately she saw me in his car with him. This was not good, and I knew I was in for it. I was fifteen or sixteen, and she again told everyone within earshot I was .... not a very nice word. Her rumors about me swirled. This hurt me terribly. Her parents were very rude to me, as were my friends parents. She yielded a lot of power through her anger. It devastated me. I did not understand the ramifications of doing something just for me simply because I liked him . I was not friends with her. He didn't seem to like her, but the die was cast. She has had hatred for me... that seems to have lasted to this day.
Golden Haired Boy changed me.... he was so interesting, full of life, questions, visions of things I could not grasp. He was too much for my heart then. He was so real. I was too shy, swimming in insecurities and fears that I could not conquer at the time. I could barely look him in the eye, it was unbearable. I felt like he looked right into my soul.
I never saw Golden Haired Boy again since those days. Perhaps he is a farmer in the midwest, a doctor, a movie mogul, a lawyer, a truck driver, who knows what became of him. I am sure he is doing something interesting.
He sure made many girls hearts flutter back in the day, I am sure he still does!
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
It takes What It Takes
I am so grateful for today, in the coming days, months, I will know the effects more from all this- right now I feel like a limp noodle. It's all about letting go. Surrender.
When it hurts, it is so easy to bolt. It would be much easier to go out to dinner right now with Ray and Matt. Just move on, but my heart knows what to do, go on automatic pilot. Everyone has their moment to take, when bolting is the much easier solution, when that familiar pain creeps in. I am out of here, this is uncomfortable. I feel the tell tale knot in my throat, tightening in my stomach. I am bracing myself. The big, uncontrollable cry is going to burst out- perfectly orchestrated. I am going to be out in public with an audience. And so it goes....
It started today talking about family, love, telling the truth, in a restaurant bar. Packed to the rafters no less.
Truth couldn't help pouring out, as did the tears between myself and the two gals I was with.
It was a very profound moment in time. We all understood each other on such deep levels. Loss wanting- needing family. Simply stating that loss and embracing what we wanted and needed.
It opened me up to express myself in a way I have shut down in the past, didn't know I had closed so tight.
Through our conversation, what opened up.... loss I have tried to bury over and over again so deep.
I thought I had healed.... but realized until today I only had put a bandage on the wound.
It needed air. I let these two in... to a place so private, so deep in my heart- I have kept people at a far distance. I asked them both if they would come to Forest Lawn with me.
We went in search of a particular tombstone, no matter how hard we tried to find.... couldn't.
I have been there countless times through the years- have found it in ten minutes or so. Today even after forty minutes or more.... I realized that was not why we were there. It was not to visit the tombstone. It was to let go.
We sat down and began to talk. First I didn't want to, then I felt that old friend panic. I wanted to run- I couldn't breathe. Then the tears came. My baby was buried here. I have done so much work through the years on healing this wound. What I realized when I finally had the courage to speak.... my guilt kept me so connected to loss. It was the first time in sixteen years I had ever spoken aloud about my guilt. The tears poured out and would not stop. I felt like something was wrong in my pregnancy.... I had been pregnant with twins, and was terrified there was something wrong with them. I never spoke to anyone about it, I never took any tests, and I never had an autopsy. For sixteen years, I was convinced my body, my mind created what went wrong. On the other hand, I was terrified at what it had created. I never felt that way with the other pregnancies.
I felt these feelings reflected the kind of mother I was.... and it wasn't a good one. It ate at me everyday. I never went for grief counseling, I just shut down afterwards, for many years. I had gone later to therapy for years but never discussed this. Having loving hands to hold as I told my deepest fears...it just melted away. I came home, Ray got home not too much after that. I told him what happened, he just listened. I was frightened to tell him the part about it being my fault for some reason.This is the man who has loved me through everything- especially this.
Tears rolled down his face, as he said-" It was me, I was the defective one." I was dumbstruck. What is he talking about? All of these years we had mourned together, held each other, but never really talked about this. Both carrying so much pain and guilt, staying in our own little worlds. We could mourn it, but we could not get past it. It was time for forgiveness.
Today we finally forgave ourselves. We both carried so much pain about something that was never in our control. It just happened. I never in a million years would have thought Ray saw himself as the defective one. I thought he saw me as that. Today I let it go. Sixteen years later, out of my body, mind, spirit, soul. Ray got the same rebirth. I never thought when I woke up this morning- by surrendering, true surrender I would feel these feelings. It takes what it takes.
When it hurts, it is so easy to bolt. It would be much easier to go out to dinner right now with Ray and Matt. Just move on, but my heart knows what to do, go on automatic pilot. Everyone has their moment to take, when bolting is the much easier solution, when that familiar pain creeps in. I am out of here, this is uncomfortable. I feel the tell tale knot in my throat, tightening in my stomach. I am bracing myself. The big, uncontrollable cry is going to burst out- perfectly orchestrated. I am going to be out in public with an audience. And so it goes....
It started today talking about family, love, telling the truth, in a restaurant bar. Packed to the rafters no less.
Truth couldn't help pouring out, as did the tears between myself and the two gals I was with.
It was a very profound moment in time. We all understood each other on such deep levels. Loss wanting- needing family. Simply stating that loss and embracing what we wanted and needed.
It opened me up to express myself in a way I have shut down in the past, didn't know I had closed so tight.
Through our conversation, what opened up.... loss I have tried to bury over and over again so deep.
I thought I had healed.... but realized until today I only had put a bandage on the wound.
It needed air. I let these two in... to a place so private, so deep in my heart- I have kept people at a far distance. I asked them both if they would come to Forest Lawn with me.
We went in search of a particular tombstone, no matter how hard we tried to find.... couldn't.
I have been there countless times through the years- have found it in ten minutes or so. Today even after forty minutes or more.... I realized that was not why we were there. It was not to visit the tombstone. It was to let go.
We sat down and began to talk. First I didn't want to, then I felt that old friend panic. I wanted to run- I couldn't breathe. Then the tears came. My baby was buried here. I have done so much work through the years on healing this wound. What I realized when I finally had the courage to speak.... my guilt kept me so connected to loss. It was the first time in sixteen years I had ever spoken aloud about my guilt. The tears poured out and would not stop. I felt like something was wrong in my pregnancy.... I had been pregnant with twins, and was terrified there was something wrong with them. I never spoke to anyone about it, I never took any tests, and I never had an autopsy. For sixteen years, I was convinced my body, my mind created what went wrong. On the other hand, I was terrified at what it had created. I never felt that way with the other pregnancies.
I felt these feelings reflected the kind of mother I was.... and it wasn't a good one. It ate at me everyday. I never went for grief counseling, I just shut down afterwards, for many years. I had gone later to therapy for years but never discussed this. Having loving hands to hold as I told my deepest fears...it just melted away. I came home, Ray got home not too much after that. I told him what happened, he just listened. I was frightened to tell him the part about it being my fault for some reason.This is the man who has loved me through everything- especially this.
Tears rolled down his face, as he said-" It was me, I was the defective one." I was dumbstruck. What is he talking about? All of these years we had mourned together, held each other, but never really talked about this. Both carrying so much pain and guilt, staying in our own little worlds. We could mourn it, but we could not get past it. It was time for forgiveness.
Today we finally forgave ourselves. We both carried so much pain about something that was never in our control. It just happened. I never in a million years would have thought Ray saw himself as the defective one. I thought he saw me as that. Today I let it go. Sixteen years later, out of my body, mind, spirit, soul. Ray got the same rebirth. I never thought when I woke up this morning- by surrendering, true surrender I would feel these feelings. It takes what it takes.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Joy Riding Gals
The cats o' plenty couldn't have been a tip off to my fourteen year old mind? Did I need thunder and lightning, omens were going down - we just were ignoring them that night. Especially when the key didn't fit in the lock. C'mon, whether I was fourteen or four hundred, this wasn't working.
Karen, Lydia, Anne and I decided to take the family wagon for a cruise yet again. I think Karen was new to this particular fiesta. I had tucked her away in the closet, hidden gently out of my parents sight (my dad wasn't sweet on sleepovers) so the inventive mind just stuffs your friend in the closet until the coast is clear. It never dawned on me Karen's comfort level, or whether she thought this might be a tad unwelcoming. I can't imagine going over some friend's house, then her saying, 'Ok, it's time for you to get in the closet for some undetermined amount of time, I'll let you know when the coast is clear. Please feel comfortable in my home.'
I can't tell you how hard I just cackled writing that. The 'norm' I grew up with is so ridiculous, that my only choice is to laugh! So, apparently the coast must have been clear...out the little gal came. The old folks must have settled down for their long winters nap. Anne was seventeen, and Lydia, Karen and I were fourteen. None of us, I repeat....nary a one had any form of drivers license. The three of us weren't even old enough to drive. Anne may have had a learners permit. So, all these omens were going on. I can't remember if that was the same night we walked down to St Lukes, and I convinced everyone one of the statues had talked to me. I may have consumed something and been in an altered state at the time. But.... I stand by my word. That statue rapped to me.
It is getting later into the evening. I am not feeling it. We had this next door neighbor named Fred Flintstone. Ok, This I cannot take credit for. My dad actually named him, and for the life of me I cannot remember why. Maybe he looked like Fred Flintstone? My dad used to call this one particular family "Mortician Chins" (I am laughing so hard I can't see straight), because they had super long jaws. Why Mortician Chins... and do Morticians have super long chins? I thought everyone knew what I was talking about when I said Mortician Chins. Most responded with "Deer in the headlight" looks..... what???
Back to our story. We are trying a couple more times to get this fine ride out of the driveway. I am a little tripped about Fred Flintstone and Mrs Flintstone. Falling on deaf ears, these lady friends want to go for a cruise in the lovely hamlet of Temple City. We start our ritual of pushing it back through the "Golden Arches" of the driveway, then starting the car out of earshot of our parents.
Now we have done this many a time on our cruises....but this is just feeling so wrong on every level. I look back on the street and see, I swear it seemed dozens of cats milling about. Are you friggin' kidding me? Then as we are at the end of the driveway, ready for takeoff....
One cop car with its lights shining it's spotlight, than another, then another. Seemed like Temple City's finest were out that night, welcoming us.We all unload from our ride, and these cats are going crazy meowing and climbing everywhere around the family wagon. This was around 1975, we were females in Temple City and were escorted to the front door. Very lucky I would say instead of getting hauled off to jail. My mom answered the door in her nightgown. (She did look lovely with the moonlight glistening on her face . ) She wasn't looking so happy as the door opened with four motley crew chicks meandering into the living room, followed by some wound up Sheriffs. Big doings going down in Temple City tonight!
We slung our heads in shame.... but true to her nature, Anne, my middle sister wasn't having it. She was a snippy thing and wouldn't be quiet. The Sheriff asked my mom if she would like to have Anne arrested. I had my 'inside' smile going on. I wanted to laugh, scream- haul that one away- now! But....Francie just said, "No, thank you, she would take care of it." (My dad never woke up with all the noise going on.) Francie wasn't too happy with all of us. A trip to Magic Mountain was the next day- my mom said I couldn't go. I told her I was going to kill myself if she didn't let me go. I was nothing if not dramatic, I was going to Magic Mt, and that was that! My oldest sister had to take over , bet she was pretty happy. Think I still went to Magic Mountain.
That didn't slow down our car hijinks. Sly/ clever/ sneakier come to mind. So I thought. I still would get caught this time in my brothers pinto after pulling an all night-er beginning of Junior year. Just one problem, failed to get my drivers license yet. We did have a couple of good cruises....until two or three in the morning. Joy ridin' gals just wanted to have fun. Those were the days.
Karen, Lydia, Anne and I decided to take the family wagon for a cruise yet again. I think Karen was new to this particular fiesta. I had tucked her away in the closet, hidden gently out of my parents sight (my dad wasn't sweet on sleepovers) so the inventive mind just stuffs your friend in the closet until the coast is clear. It never dawned on me Karen's comfort level, or whether she thought this might be a tad unwelcoming. I can't imagine going over some friend's house, then her saying, 'Ok, it's time for you to get in the closet for some undetermined amount of time, I'll let you know when the coast is clear. Please feel comfortable in my home.'
I can't tell you how hard I just cackled writing that. The 'norm' I grew up with is so ridiculous, that my only choice is to laugh! So, apparently the coast must have been clear...out the little gal came. The old folks must have settled down for their long winters nap. Anne was seventeen, and Lydia, Karen and I were fourteen. None of us, I repeat....nary a one had any form of drivers license. The three of us weren't even old enough to drive. Anne may have had a learners permit. So, all these omens were going on. I can't remember if that was the same night we walked down to St Lukes, and I convinced everyone one of the statues had talked to me. I may have consumed something and been in an altered state at the time. But.... I stand by my word. That statue rapped to me.
It is getting later into the evening. I am not feeling it. We had this next door neighbor named Fred Flintstone. Ok, This I cannot take credit for. My dad actually named him, and for the life of me I cannot remember why. Maybe he looked like Fred Flintstone? My dad used to call this one particular family "Mortician Chins" (I am laughing so hard I can't see straight), because they had super long jaws. Why Mortician Chins... and do Morticians have super long chins? I thought everyone knew what I was talking about when I said Mortician Chins. Most responded with "Deer in the headlight" looks..... what???
Back to our story. We are trying a couple more times to get this fine ride out of the driveway. I am a little tripped about Fred Flintstone and Mrs Flintstone. Falling on deaf ears, these lady friends want to go for a cruise in the lovely hamlet of Temple City. We start our ritual of pushing it back through the "Golden Arches" of the driveway, then starting the car out of earshot of our parents.
Now we have done this many a time on our cruises....but this is just feeling so wrong on every level. I look back on the street and see, I swear it seemed dozens of cats milling about. Are you friggin' kidding me? Then as we are at the end of the driveway, ready for takeoff....
One cop car with its lights shining it's spotlight, than another, then another. Seemed like Temple City's finest were out that night, welcoming us.We all unload from our ride, and these cats are going crazy meowing and climbing everywhere around the family wagon. This was around 1975, we were females in Temple City and were escorted to the front door. Very lucky I would say instead of getting hauled off to jail. My mom answered the door in her nightgown. (She did look lovely with the moonlight glistening on her face . ) She wasn't looking so happy as the door opened with four motley crew chicks meandering into the living room, followed by some wound up Sheriffs. Big doings going down in Temple City tonight!
We slung our heads in shame.... but true to her nature, Anne, my middle sister wasn't having it. She was a snippy thing and wouldn't be quiet. The Sheriff asked my mom if she would like to have Anne arrested. I had my 'inside' smile going on. I wanted to laugh, scream- haul that one away- now! But....Francie just said, "No, thank you, she would take care of it." (My dad never woke up with all the noise going on.) Francie wasn't too happy with all of us. A trip to Magic Mountain was the next day- my mom said I couldn't go. I told her I was going to kill myself if she didn't let me go. I was nothing if not dramatic, I was going to Magic Mt, and that was that! My oldest sister had to take over , bet she was pretty happy. Think I still went to Magic Mountain.
That didn't slow down our car hijinks. Sly/ clever/ sneakier come to mind. So I thought. I still would get caught this time in my brothers pinto after pulling an all night-er beginning of Junior year. Just one problem, failed to get my drivers license yet. We did have a couple of good cruises....until two or three in the morning. Joy ridin' gals just wanted to have fun. Those were the days.
Hangin' at Handlebars with the Homies
Ray and I were in the car this morning -I was driving him to work. He always laughs about me telling him stories from my childhood. But when I start telling them he says,"Wait- this can't be real. It doesn't even sound real the things you did when you were young. It just get's freakier and more bizarre."
It was September of '75 - I had just turned 14 the month before. A freshman in high school, just beginning everything. Starting school at Mission High in San Gabriel,Kenny Loggins alma mater. Lucky him it was co-ed back in the day, no wonder he had so much to sing about. The crew I went to Handlebars with was definitely an interesting one. (This was a bar in Pasadena that no longer exists, but was across the street from The Icehouse.)
First, how did I get out on a school night? It was the first weeks of school. My idol- Ellie, my sisters best friend was about twenty one. Then a fellow named Jim were my companions. Both were from the church I went to, St Lukes.
Now I have no idea why Jim went with us on this expedition, honestly. He was super religious, Ellie was a super party girl. ( She was receptionist at the church, along with my oldest sister. ) So, onward the christian soldiers we were - made our way to Handlebars. This is much funnier than you can ever imagine. I was fourteen, had to use Ellie's fake ID. She is using her real ID. But her fake ID is her .... so we are both using her ID to get in.
My hair is very short, blondish brown. Hers - long, platinum blonde. I am short, not super skinny- she is tall and very skinny. She has blue eyes, mine hazel. I am fourteen, she is twenty one. The guy still lets me in. Just no drinking stamp on mine. Yep, he sure didn't suspect a thing.Perhaps he was sweet on Ellie. Who wasn't? If I had been a dude, I would have been... I just didn't swing that way. But, I wanted to be exactly like her. Walk like her, talk like her, you name it.
I was so overwhelmed in the bar. This wasn't nine thirty mass, and there weren't any nuns and priests hanging out, I was in heaven. I started cruising my fourteen year old self around.Jim and Ellie had to reel me in. I wanted to dance, have a good time. The shackles were off for a few hours. No such luck for me.... but Ellie had herself some bubbly as I hung with Jim.More and more bubbly. Who said Catholic girls don't know how to have a good time?
Jim and I went out to his truck to wait in the alleyway for Ellie. Yeah, I don't have an answer for why we were waiting in the alleyway... I think that's just what you did. Ellie is having a good time with some young stud, I am sitting in the truck with this super religious dude whose bro' is a priest.
All of a sudden, snap goes his rear view mirror on the drivers side. I mean all the way off." Jesus Christ, they're makin' love." Okay, so I have barely kissed a boy, but I am pretty sure they are just making out. I am laughing to myself because this fellow has just broken his mirror too get a gander of the action. Plus.... I have to listen to him. He is at least ten years older than me. Yuck. Oh please Ellie....finish your biz, I don't want to sit with- well now he is no longer Jim anymore. I have named him "Make Love." The deed is done, just like every other time in life when I name some poor soul. There is just no going back- ever.
To this day, whenever I see him, randomly at Home Depot, I'll say to Ray.... "Oh duck there's MakeLove." I hate that once I get a name stuck in my head, that's it. It just won't go away for anything.
Wonder if he ever got his rear view mirror fixed?
It was September of '75 - I had just turned 14 the month before. A freshman in high school, just beginning everything. Starting school at Mission High in San Gabriel,Kenny Loggins alma mater. Lucky him it was co-ed back in the day, no wonder he had so much to sing about. The crew I went to Handlebars with was definitely an interesting one. (This was a bar in Pasadena that no longer exists, but was across the street from The Icehouse.)
First, how did I get out on a school night? It was the first weeks of school. My idol- Ellie, my sisters best friend was about twenty one. Then a fellow named Jim were my companions. Both were from the church I went to, St Lukes.
Now I have no idea why Jim went with us on this expedition, honestly. He was super religious, Ellie was a super party girl. ( She was receptionist at the church, along with my oldest sister. ) So, onward the christian soldiers we were - made our way to Handlebars. This is much funnier than you can ever imagine. I was fourteen, had to use Ellie's fake ID. She is using her real ID. But her fake ID is her .... so we are both using her ID to get in.
My hair is very short, blondish brown. Hers - long, platinum blonde. I am short, not super skinny- she is tall and very skinny. She has blue eyes, mine hazel. I am fourteen, she is twenty one. The guy still lets me in. Just no drinking stamp on mine. Yep, he sure didn't suspect a thing.Perhaps he was sweet on Ellie. Who wasn't? If I had been a dude, I would have been... I just didn't swing that way. But, I wanted to be exactly like her. Walk like her, talk like her, you name it.
I was so overwhelmed in the bar. This wasn't nine thirty mass, and there weren't any nuns and priests hanging out, I was in heaven. I started cruising my fourteen year old self around.Jim and Ellie had to reel me in. I wanted to dance, have a good time. The shackles were off for a few hours. No such luck for me.... but Ellie had herself some bubbly as I hung with Jim.More and more bubbly. Who said Catholic girls don't know how to have a good time?
Jim and I went out to his truck to wait in the alleyway for Ellie. Yeah, I don't have an answer for why we were waiting in the alleyway... I think that's just what you did. Ellie is having a good time with some young stud, I am sitting in the truck with this super religious dude whose bro' is a priest.
All of a sudden, snap goes his rear view mirror on the drivers side. I mean all the way off." Jesus Christ, they're makin' love." Okay, so I have barely kissed a boy, but I am pretty sure they are just making out. I am laughing to myself because this fellow has just broken his mirror too get a gander of the action. Plus.... I have to listen to him. He is at least ten years older than me. Yuck. Oh please Ellie....finish your biz, I don't want to sit with- well now he is no longer Jim anymore. I have named him "Make Love." The deed is done, just like every other time in life when I name some poor soul. There is just no going back- ever.
To this day, whenever I see him, randomly at Home Depot, I'll say to Ray.... "Oh duck there's MakeLove." I hate that once I get a name stuck in my head, that's it. It just won't go away for anything.
Wonder if he ever got his rear view mirror fixed?
Friday, April 13, 2012
I wasn't raised that way
If there is any group of words that probably unglues me more, this would be it. "I wasn't raised that way."Not because of the words themselves, but the source from which they came from. I have been watching Dr Phil this morning as a beautiful young girl is sitting on his stage. Alone. I will repeat: Alone. Her mother sits in the audience, unwilling to take a seat next to her daughter up on that stage, crying - fighting for her life. Dying from an eating disorder.
The courage this girl had, not only to write a letter to Dr Phil, show up, walk up on that stage, sit in front of an audience of people, while scared out of her mind. In the end, she took the help he offered her. I felt so happy.
I could relate so much to this young girl. She was so open, trying to express herself. Her mother, just sat. In the clips from home she just sat once again, saying that if she showed her daughter love - this would - fill in the blanks. Makes you feel all warm and cozy inside. (She had many reasons why not to.)
That is when I looked at Ray and said I am writing a story. It doesn't matter if it is on eating disorders, drugs, drink, molestation, pick your poison. Feeling unwanted, alone, frightened when not supported, takes it's toll. My world too was sitting on that stage alone- trying to figure things out as a girl, as a young woman. As a result I made many mistakes, it took me a very long time to forgive myself. Having children of my own helped me understand the learning curve. What it takes - especially with guidance, direction, support, love.
When as an adult I asked my mom why she would not do any of these things for me, she responded:
"I wasn't raised that way".
My level of forgiveness for my mother comes in stages. I will get there. Her world -Religion, Politics, and whether her children are going to burn baby burn disco inferno ( that would be the conversation of whether we are going to hell or not.) It is her way or the highway. Hmmm....
That lone stage I sat on for so long, in the end made me into the person I am proud to be today. Along the way, did I think I would survive? No... I thought I would shrivel and die and curl up into a ball of nothing. I wanted my mommy, I cried for her for so many years, I cannot tell you. She did not come, would not come, could not come. Even if she could, she was not going to. That was the hardest part for me to accept. The work she would have had to do, to uncover the pain in her life. It was so much easier to point the finger at her youngest daughter ( that would be me) and heap on helpings until overflowing, until I couldn't see straight. I took it... I believed it. She was my mother. I trusted her, I loved her, I needed her. I wanted nothing more in life - but her love.
I did everything in life to try to prove I was a "good daughter," worthy of her love. To my detriment, to my families. This would prove to be a bottomless pit. Only pain would come of this, loathing, disdain, loss of self respect. I had to build myself a new human. The old model was broken. I did. It seemed to take an eternity.... still working on it.
I am sorry that the woman who brought me into this world is so empty, angry, feels so gypped. Hides behind God, religion.... I wish her peace. I wish peace for my siblings and myself. We have carried heavy hearts for long enough. It's time for a new mantra....because "I was raised that way".
The courage this girl had, not only to write a letter to Dr Phil, show up, walk up on that stage, sit in front of an audience of people, while scared out of her mind. In the end, she took the help he offered her. I felt so happy.
I could relate so much to this young girl. She was so open, trying to express herself. Her mother, just sat. In the clips from home she just sat once again, saying that if she showed her daughter love - this would - fill in the blanks. Makes you feel all warm and cozy inside. (She had many reasons why not to.)
That is when I looked at Ray and said I am writing a story. It doesn't matter if it is on eating disorders, drugs, drink, molestation, pick your poison. Feeling unwanted, alone, frightened when not supported, takes it's toll. My world too was sitting on that stage alone- trying to figure things out as a girl, as a young woman. As a result I made many mistakes, it took me a very long time to forgive myself. Having children of my own helped me understand the learning curve. What it takes - especially with guidance, direction, support, love.
When as an adult I asked my mom why she would not do any of these things for me, she responded:
"I wasn't raised that way".
My level of forgiveness for my mother comes in stages. I will get there. Her world -Religion, Politics, and whether her children are going to burn baby burn disco inferno ( that would be the conversation of whether we are going to hell or not.) It is her way or the highway. Hmmm....
That lone stage I sat on for so long, in the end made me into the person I am proud to be today. Along the way, did I think I would survive? No... I thought I would shrivel and die and curl up into a ball of nothing. I wanted my mommy, I cried for her for so many years, I cannot tell you. She did not come, would not come, could not come. Even if she could, she was not going to. That was the hardest part for me to accept. The work she would have had to do, to uncover the pain in her life. It was so much easier to point the finger at her youngest daughter ( that would be me) and heap on helpings until overflowing, until I couldn't see straight. I took it... I believed it. She was my mother. I trusted her, I loved her, I needed her. I wanted nothing more in life - but her love.
I did everything in life to try to prove I was a "good daughter," worthy of her love. To my detriment, to my families. This would prove to be a bottomless pit. Only pain would come of this, loathing, disdain, loss of self respect. I had to build myself a new human. The old model was broken. I did. It seemed to take an eternity.... still working on it.
I am sorry that the woman who brought me into this world is so empty, angry, feels so gypped. Hides behind God, religion.... I wish her peace. I wish peace for my siblings and myself. We have carried heavy hearts for long enough. It's time for a new mantra....because "I was raised that way".
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Paralysis
Ray calls this swimming in the vast ocean of.... when I used to write. Everything was a vast ocean of an abyss. I was a very cheery writer back then. Here read this honey. I can just imagine him thinking... "Dear God, if I have to read another vast ocean swimming up on the shore story I think I will....."
This pretty much went on for several years, hmmm, some good times going on in this household. I am pretty sure he was painting some vast abysses of buildings to go along with my cheery writing. It is what it is to get to the next step. I wouldn't want to go back to that time for anything, ever. But.... I wouldn't have missed those steps for anything in the world. It made me, me.Us... us. Those were our strengthening times. Seems like they would never end. We were just getting ready to move into this house that June.
This is what it felt like...... written 4/8/2001
Paralysis
My leadened legs have no movement. Shallow breathing, interrupted by gasps.
I am paralyzed by my own fear, no longer able to sit comfortably in my old life. My beautiful new life isn't in stock yet... so I wait in limbo, darkness. Very blind faith at the moment. My throat gurgling, gasping yet again for breath, heart fluttering, hands shaking. More of myself has been revealed.... I have exposed the real me.
I want to run, hide, where is my suit of armor? How could it have rusted through so soon? Seems as though I just took it off, but that was light years ago. Now I am more afraid than ever. My skin raw to the touch, my soul how it weeps. I mourn the death of the old me- as I await the new with clinging, desperate, hopeful anticipation.
This pretty much went on for several years, hmmm, some good times going on in this household. I am pretty sure he was painting some vast abysses of buildings to go along with my cheery writing. It is what it is to get to the next step. I wouldn't want to go back to that time for anything, ever. But.... I wouldn't have missed those steps for anything in the world. It made me, me.Us... us. Those were our strengthening times. Seems like they would never end. We were just getting ready to move into this house that June.
This is what it felt like...... written 4/8/2001
Paralysis
My leadened legs have no movement. Shallow breathing, interrupted by gasps.
I am paralyzed by my own fear, no longer able to sit comfortably in my old life. My beautiful new life isn't in stock yet... so I wait in limbo, darkness. Very blind faith at the moment. My throat gurgling, gasping yet again for breath, heart fluttering, hands shaking. More of myself has been revealed.... I have exposed the real me.
I want to run, hide, where is my suit of armor? How could it have rusted through so soon? Seems as though I just took it off, but that was light years ago. Now I am more afraid than ever. My skin raw to the touch, my soul how it weeps. I mourn the death of the old me- as I await the new with clinging, desperate, hopeful anticipation.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)