Riding the storm

Did you ever get the feeling that things are going just a little too smoothly?  After seven months of my house being up for sale, I felt like I was finally sailing along this week.  Then, clouds began to form today.

Sitting, watching clouds form and darkness swirling around is unsettling.  You know there's a storm coming, but there's no certainty of what it will be like or how long it will last.  It could be blustery and tornadic, aka fast and furious.  Or it could be like a huge front, slowly passing through, taking a lot longer to clear.  I'm not certain one is preferable over the other.  Either way, it's going to be messy.

One thing I do know is that it will eventually be clear.  The sky will be blue.  The air will be clean.  How I come out on the other side is largely dependent on what I do in it's midst.  Someone once told me "not to question in the darkness what was spoken in the light".  I think that applies to a storm.  It boils down to holding on, buckling down and facing the storm head on.  I might be in for a bumpy ride, but there will be a rainbow on the other side.

Sold!

Someone bought my house today.

It had been on the market for seven months. The hubby and I were both getting pretty close to the end of our ropes with the whole process. Keeping it perpetually clean and ever-ready for someone to come look at it was exhausting.  Now that aspect is over and a huge weight has been lifted.

We've had many good times in this home.  It's where our children grew up.  Friends gathered here, filling it with love and laughter.  It's been a safe haven, to us and others, in some very stormy times.  It has fulfilled it's purpose for us, for this time, and it's time to let go.  I feel like a new chapter is being opened.  Our children are grown and embarking on their own journeys in life.  The hubby and I are too. 

I am excited to see what this move holds and what is yet to come.  I long to be more involved where I volunteer; to not have to drive so far to get there.  I am excited to live in the city and be able to walk places, to explore my new community.  I look forward to living in a single-story house which will (supposedly) alleviate some of my health issues.  It all sounds so promising.

I am ready to move on.  While many of my memories of this place are wonderful and happy, some very painful things are also associated with this place.  Events I would prefer to forget: the loss of friendships, the death of beloved pets, foster children being returned to their family.  My heart is full, but also aches, when I look back on the life of this house. It's time to go, and I will cherish the memories.

Musings on NYC

I'm a people watcher, and there's no better place to do that than in a city.  New York city makes it even more interesting.

I accompanied my husband on business trip to New York yesterday.  While he was at an appointment,  I sat in a Panera Bread, observing.  I was a little surprised at how many people come there on a daily basis.  Employees were actually walking through the dining area, greeting people by name.  I'm not talking about retired seniors.  These were construction workers and business people, parents with small children and a few older couples.  It really boggled my mind to think about going there everyday.  Seems a little boring to me.

Today we wandered the streets of Manhattan, in the rain.  Apparently neon orange running shoes are in.  And fur is BIG; not just coats, but hats, boots, vests and scarves.  I don't think I've ever seen that much fur, except in my uncle's taxidermy shop.

I was surprised by the number of people pushing their kids in strollers, in the rain, cocooned in sheets of plastic.  What on earth could be so important that you just HAD to drag your kid out in the cold and drizzle?  Maybe there was a sale on fur.

I sat on the front stoop of a store for several minutes waiting for my husband to bring the car.  I was tucked under an eave, avoiding the rain.  I watched people go by, cautious to avoid extended eye contact.  People's reactions at seeing me sitting there intrigued me.  It seemed they were accustomed to seeing the homeless sitting around, most with blankets over their heads today to avoid the rain.  I realized people may be watching me as much as I am watching them.  That is a sobering thought.

Tears: let them roll

Have you ever felt like you really just need a good cry?  That's where I find myself lately.  The emotions seems to continually be bubbling just below the surfce.  A few tears may escape, here and there, but the torrent is dammed up. 

Crying can be incredibly cathartic.  Things just seem to be lighter, the air cleaner, the soul restored.  But there is also a tremendous feeling of vulnerability that makes it hard for me to really get there.  It's not that I'm opposed to crying, per se, just with what it represents.  Tears remind me of children, weakness and loss.  "Tears of joy" is something I have never understood, let alone experienced.

I'm not sure why it's so hard for me.  Well, yes I am.  There was a time when it was pretty free-flowing between bouts of stoicism.  But it was used against me, so I turned it off again.  It's not that I'm trying to keep it together for someone else; it's really is simply about me.  I need to keep it together for me.  If I just surrender to it I might not stop.

There is so much for me to mourn in my life right now, and yet it seems selfish to do it.  There is also so much that is good, and I don't want to overshadow that.  That's the quandry I find myself in:  I'm conflicted about where to put my energy, my focus.  It feels like it should be easy.  Why wouldn't I just focus on the good?  Good question. One I don't have an answer for.  Maybe because my emotions are just at the end.  My physical body is in constant pain, fighting me at every turn.  Stealing so much energy and strength.

I'm not sure crying would really help, but it seems like such a good idea.  Maybe that's just the exhaustion speaking.  That's likely.  I'm beyond worn out, and that usually goes one of two ways: extreme giddiness/silliness/laughter (which hasn't happened in what seems like an eternity) or tears. Yet I hang here in limbo.

Sounds like a chick flick might be in my near future.

Seeking validation

Have you ever wondered what type of person you'd need to be to participate in a show about being the worst at something?  I love watching Worst Cooks in America!  These people are the epitome of bad taste (pun intended).  They are so bad, in fact, that I sometimes wonder if they're for real.  I've had a couple mishaps throughout my years of cooking, but I can't imagine going on tv and proclaiming it to the whole world.

I'm not a fan of American Idol, but I do enjoy the audition shows.  These people come on, full of themselves and exuding self-confidence.  Half the time they don't even seem to understand what the judges are saying to them.  They truly believe they're great.  It especially cracks me up when they say "my family and friends told me I should come on this show because they just love how I sing".  What I hear when they say that is, my friends really don't like me and my family is mean.

What's been missing in these people's lives that they're willing to make a total fool out of themselves for money and (fleeting) fame? I know we all have voids in our lives we are seeking to fill.  I know I do.  I just can't imagine that this would make me feel any better about myself.  But I have learned one thing.  The next time my friends say "you should be on that show", I will run the other way.

It's black OR it's white

I live in a black and white world.  For as long as I can remember I have been this way.  Now, I'm not saying I haven't/don't do things I shoudn't, unfortunately.  But I will say that I have an overdeveloped ense of guilt, and it will eat at me until I make things right.

As I grow older, I seem to be more rigid in this thought process.  As I look around and see all the crap going on in our world, the more I can attribute to people simply breaking the rules and never taking responsibility for their actions.  It's amazing how we all expect others to play by the rules, at least in their dealing with us, but we rationalize our actions so we're permitted to do whatever what we want and have a cow if we have to face the consequences.

When did "right" and "wrong" become the same thing?  When did we decide we're above rules, laws, common decency?  Oh, right.  The Garden of Eden.  And look how well that turned out for us.  I just think that the world would be a better place if we focused on being our best, dealing with the things in our life and stop playing the victim, trying to escape the conseguences of our decisions and actions. 

No, this isn't aimed at one particlar person.  It's a sad commentary on humanity. 

Valentine memory

My first Valentine's Day with my husband was in the middle of a blizzard.  He had made us dinner reservations at The Gateway Lodge, a fabulous retreat in the middle of Cook's Forest.  It's a rustic setting, but I had never been anywhere so fancy before.

Don drove an O-L-D toyots celica, and it was a lot like sitting on the ground.  Navigating the snow and ice was pretty tricky.  Of course, I wasn't dressed appropriately for the weather, in a dress and very high heels.  Fortunately, hiking through the snow wasn't necessary.

We were seated by the fire, with chocolates and flowers already at the table.  I don't remember what I ate, but I do remember how handsome my (now) hubby looked in the glow of candle- and firelight.  I felt incredibly special that night.

I should have known the adventure that night was only a foretaste of many adventures to come.  Life with Don is anything but dull!  But I'd hate to think what I would have missed out on had I not met him.  I love him more every day, and I know he feels the same.  I am so blessed to be his number 2.

Hair

I serve lunch at the mission on Mondays.  The usual conversation is basically "hi" and what food they would like.  I don't know if it's a rule or they're just unconfortable talking to women. 

A few weeks ago, one of the men came through the line.  "What happened to your hair?"  I explained that I had colored it.  "Why is it orange?  I don't like it."  Then he was gone.  My hair is actually a coppery red, but it surprised me how strongly he felt about my hair color.

Today, as I was signing out after lunch, the man working the table asked me what my "real" color was.  I told him blonde (though it's a much darker blonde now than when I was young). He went on to tell me how he used to date a lady with red hair, and the color didn't have a name but a number.  He said "what color is your hair now"?  I told him my mother calls it "rust" and he let out a huge belly laugh.  Then he said "you have doll hair.  You know, like a doll would have."  I just smiled.  What was I supposed to say to that?

Iguess it's good I don't really care about things like that.

A promise kept

My health saga continues.  I'm facing an unpleasant diagnosis.  In my attempt to control my emotions, to try and deal with this myself, I am alienating the ones I love.

I had a nasty test last week and I wouldn't let my husband come with me.  In my mind, I was thinking I didn't want to be pitied by him.  I was also thinking that if it was serious enough for him to come to the appointment with me, that what I'm facing is serious, and I just wasn't ready to face the severity of what is going on.

But by not letting him go I robbed him of being able to process this all in the way he needs.  As he said, "What affects you affects all of us".  I am not an island, desolate, surrounded by nothing but endless sea.  Old habits and patterns are incredibly hard to change. You know what they say about old dogs and new tricks....

The other day I was contemplating my mortality.  My children are grown now.  My husband and I have done our best to raise them to be independent, productive human beings who can function on their own and make their mark in the world.

As I was thinking about this, I was taken back to when my daughter was just a few months old.  My own mother died when I was very young, so I was quite sensitive about the possibility of my children growing up without their mother.  It consumed my dreams, and occupied my thoughts during the day.  I spent much time in tears, crying out to God.  He promised me that my kids would not grow up without their mother.  That promise has sustained me for the last 20 years.  I knew nothing could take me away from them. 

Yesterday, I realized they are grown.

Double standards

I hate double standards.  Don't apply something to other people if you aren't prepared to also apply it to yourself.  The mere thought that you have already attained is proof you still have work to do.  Where is the room for grace when all you see is someone's track record?

I am not the most compassionate, gracious person.  I'm the first to admit that.  But I don't want to set my standards so low for others that I just beat them over the head with their past behavior, never expecting them to achieve, mature and grow.  And I pray that's not what people do to me.

I believe it's true, in some cases, that people will never change.  But I do not think it's true of everyone.  It's our jobs to spur eachother on, to sharpen them and help them become their best.  How can that be accomplished if we just expect them to fail?  We all have a past.  We all have baggage. We all have patterns of behavior that we allow to define us, for better or worse.

I hate to imagine where I would be if people had not invested time, love and understand in me.  What if people had just determined that I was a damaged, shy, broken little girl who would never change and they just ket expecting me to stay damaged, shy and broken because that was my track record?  Well, thankfully, I have never been one to fit into someone else's idea of what I should be!

Growth and change are not easy, but it's more palatable when someone comes alongside you, helping to carry your load instead of beating you down, burying you, with it.

I don't get it

I hate to see people that I care for in pain, especially at the hands of someone who supposedly loves them.  It makes me want to defend them, protect them, take up their battle and make it all better.  But the truth is, there is little I can actually do.  I guess realizing this limitation is a helpful, positive thing, but it doesn't make me feel any better about the situations I see going on around me.  What good is it to have gone through things when it's not useful?

File that

I am a master at compartmentalizing. 

It's a survival mechanism I adopted many years ago to help me deal with painful things.  People seem to find this puzzling that I can just shut off something painful and move on into other conversation.  However, it suits me well.

But how do you compartmentalize, seperate, two things which have been entangled from the start?  As you know, I've been having A LOT of physical pain lately, mainly due to fibromyalgia.  Severe traume often triggers the onset of this disease.  At the same time I was first experiencing the symptoms of this disease, I was also going through one of the worst relationship in my life.  Thus, they have been linked together in my mind.

As much as I believe I have done what is within my power to reconcile the situation and move past it, whenever I have a flare up my mind imediately goes back to where it all began.  I get angry all over again, and resent those people for the part they played in my disease.

Now I have been challenged to move beyond that.  To let those events be in the past, to seperate them from my disease and daily pain.  To declare one over, and proclaim a new page today and every day.  It surprised me that someone actually asked me to compartmentalize.  But what does that look like in this situation?  How can I unravel them when they seem like one of those braided ficus tress?  That would ruin the tree.  But maybe that's the whole point.

I can hear you

In my family, I am legendary for my hearing.  I hear everything.  For most of my life, I had the memory to back-up what I heard.  But I digress....

Growing up, I was the child seen, but not heard.  I was painfully shy, and easily blended into the background.  If you wanted info, though, I was the one to come to.  I have a natural need to know, and the easiest way to know is to listen.

My bedroom was the first one down the hall from the living room.  My dad is hard of hearing, which means he talks LOUDLY, making it that much easier for me to hear.  Many nights I lay awake, listening to him and mom talk, trying to hear something interesting.  One memorable conversation was following mom's trip to the gynecologist.  Dad was convinced that simply because the doctor was a man, he was turned on by giving pelvic exams.  Now, I was young enough to not really understand what a gynecologist was, but wise enough to get that mom thought my dad's concerns were silly.

I also discovered that the duct work in the kitchen directly connected to the heating vent in my bedroom.  When my parents wanted to discuss something they didn't want me to hear, they would talk in the kitchen after I went to bed.  Epic fail on their part!  Oh the things I heard through that vent.

Mom and dad visited this past weekend.  While riding in the car, mom was talking to me from the back seat.  Dad was convinced no one was interested (listening) in what she was talking about.  Until I answered.  "See," she said.  "She heard me."  "She always did hear everything," my dad said.

It's nice to know at least one part of my body isn't failing me.

Perspective

I was just listening to the song "Blessings in Disguise" by Laura Story.  It stirred up so many emotions because it so perfectly described many of my feelings lately.  When something goes wrong, it's so easy to question why.  But, really, what right do I have to expect that I should just drift through life, problem free, healthy and prosperous?

Now, before you go getting all up in arms, I'm not bashing people who have money, or their health, or supposedly no problems.  But the truth is, none of us really know what is going on in someone else's life.  The point I am trying to make is that I think things happen in our lives for a reason. In that moment I don't always react the best way.  I am human. But when I've had time to step back and get some perspective, things seem to make a little more sense.

I'm not saying I always have the answers, and frankly, I'm pretty sure I don't want them.  Talk about pressure!  But I have to believe that it makes sense, somehow.  That it's not just fate or punishment.  I can't believe things "just happen".  God has a purpose in it all.  I will trust Him to help me see through the disguise.

Blessings - Laura Story at WGTS Gateway