Unwritten

Missing Chapters

2017-08-25T21:20:00.000-04:00

I wish I had kept writing during the times when I didn't know what to say; I would love to take a peek into my mind over the last couple of years.

I spent a lot of time investigating mysterious health issues that came up out of nowhere. I fought Fear and often lost. My running suffered. I lost weight and gained even more. I got caught up in painful family matters. I forgot who I am. And I cried - a lot.

I wish I could say I'm on the other side of "it," whatever "it" is, but I don't know that I am. I've simply begun a new chapter in this unwinding story, and I finally feel compelled to spill my guts again, here in this place that I hold dear.

I can say today that I am in a grateful space - optimistic about the future and acutely aware of the undeserved gifts the Universe has presented to me.

Something extraordinary and wonderful is about to happen. I already feel the excitement of it before I even know what it is. I've been plodding through the swamp, cold, wet, and miserable, but with dry land in sight and a hope that I would get there soon. And now here I am at the edge of the muck, climbing out of it and standing here, filthy dirty and covered in shit, wondering what I'm supposed to do next, but knowing whatever it is, it's better than where I just came from.

Experience tells me that time in the swamp means spiritual growth - an uncomfortable stretching of my skin, a devastating tornado in my mind, and a bloody boxing match with Fear that leads me to a new insight and elevates my soul to new levels of Love.

Now what?

Coming Home

2017-08-25T20:02:00.000-04:00

This sacred place has been calling to me for months. Dozens of beautiful journals lie around with mostly blank pages - a testament to my unsuccessful attempts to write with paper and pen. My heart is here. My story is here.

And so I return to Unwritten.

It's Been Awhile

2016-11-02T21:28:00.000-04:00

I decided to take a trip down memory lane and look over some old blog posts here. I miss writing on Unwritten.

So I'm writing here tonight. Because it's comfortable. Because it feels right. Because I can.

Unwritten is like a long lost friend. When I'm here, the words come easily and my writer's brain comes to life. I tried a new version of my blog, but it just isn't the same.

And here I am, sitting up in my bed with my laptop just like always, thinking my final thoughts for the day and storing them here in this sacred place. This precious story that was my lifeline for 10 years. I spilled my guts here. I revealed my Selves here. I used the word "fuck" a lot. I was so very angry for such a long time. I was vulnerable and honest and I learned to live in Love here.

But the Universe is lining up everything perfectly for my next step. I'm scared. I'm thrilled. I'm anxious. I'm moving forward, pulled and guided by miracles and Love, and a promise to myself not to die with the regret of not having done it.

I. Can't. Wait.

Running Recklessly

2015-07-14T20:05:00.000-04:00

Four months. One-third of a year. That's a long time to be quiet.

I'm so disconnected with myself that I can't even put a thought together. That's not good.

I don't have a race. I don't have a plan. Every morning I wake up and make a critical decision about whether to get a run in or sleep more and run later - maybe. Usually sleep wins, and then the guilt chases me around all day. Even if I do run later, I beat myself up for not doing it "right." No matter which choice I make I'm exhausted because I woke up early to fight with myself. Again.

And my runs aren't what they used to be. I'm almost always struggling. All my parts argue with each other and I can't seem to find real peace.

As go I, so goes my run.

I need to get myself together.

Lesson 1,684

2015-03-25T12:47:00.000-04:00

You can't create happy-ever-after from a lie.

If I am not living honestly - if I am fooling myself or others - I will be sick. My body and mind and spirit will rise up and shake me awake.

When we don't have the fairy-tale life of our dreams, sometimes we try to create one. We deny and we lie (to ourselves and others), pretending our way through and suffering silently because we believe that falling on the sword is the right thing to do in order to preserve the outer appearance of the happy ever after. But "happy" takes a back seat and we move through life with a slow ache because we aren't being true to ourselves.

When I was married, my prized performance at the end of every year was creating the perfect Christmas card. The cards were selected (or handmade) carefully, with a theme and matching stamps, complete with the perfect picture of our children and a painstakingly written letter with only the most fairy-tale-like subjects addressed. I never mentioned I felt completely alone as I sat and watched the snow drift down outside our window in front of a warm fireplace in our amazing new home. I never mentioned how sad I was that my husband seemed to prefer a late-night scotch and porn than to be in bed with me. I never mentioned that I felt dead inside.

Every year I lied to my friends and family. I lied to myself with wishful thinking that one day I would have the life I so carefully detailed for the rest of the world. And I thought to myself, "It's not that horrible. I have so much to be grateful for - why can't I be happy? Something is wrong with me. This is life. Life isn't always great."

Our children lived the lie with us. And we lied to them as well. "Will you get divorced?" they asked. "No. We will never get divorced." And it was a lie. We argued and walked around with dead souls, living the lie because it was the right thing to do.

We dazzled people at parties. Alcohol brought a false warmth and closeness that promoted the deceit. Until we got home and realized how terribly unhappy we really were.

Love - pure Love - isn't a lie. It's honest. It rings true deep inside of our souls and we bask in it, like warm sunshine after a long winter. It feels divine. We are alive and happy and the world feels right. We don't have to make up stories because we live it.

I am Cinderella. And I know the fairy tale doesn't end at the stroke of midnight. My prince will find me eventually, and there will be a happy-ever-after.

I'm counting on it.

Fear Not

2015-02-26T21:23:00.000-05:00

I have forgotten everything. All the lessons. All the ah-ha moments. I'm living in a brain fog and my wires are all disconnected.

My body has been screaming at me for months, but apparently my personal translator fell down on the job. Lyme Disease. Anxiety. Asthma. Vocal chord disfunction. Menopause. The infamous "hmm..." from the doctor, and a handful of assorted prescribed poisons.

But it won't quiet down.

So I exist in a screaming body with a disconnected brain. And I'm so uncomfortable.

But Love holds me hard and tight and my soul has never felt more relieved and safe.

Stormy Weather

2015-02-23T20:33:00.001-05:00

"Life is bare, gloom and misery everywhere..."

When I was young, I used to delight in going through my mother's sheet music and plunking out the melody lines to songs from her past on our badly out-of-tune piano. I would croon my way through classics from Carmen, The King and I, and Porgy and Bess. She had stacks and stacks of beautiful, well-worn music, each song a treasure.

But one of my favorites was that gut-wrenching blues tune called, "Stormy Weather," and I would dig deep inside my soul and belt out that song with every bit of passion my tiny voice could muster. I felt it. And I wished I had a huge, big voice that could really express all of the feelings it evoked in me.

Stormy Weather.

The weathermen warn us - sometimes. Sometimes it strikes with no warning. It rages and swirls around us and pulls us into its gloomy gusts, making us feel powerless and hopeless. We fight for a while against it, imagining ourselves to be invincible and calling on every bit of stubbornness and determination and strength that lies within us. But the storm looms large and tosses us around until we feel so banged up we think we'll never get up and walk again. All we can do is let go and wait it out.

And when we're in it, we feel like it's never going to end and that surely it's the most awful storm in the history of the world.

Until it's over.

And the beautiful, lovely, heart-opening peace that comes after a storm is worth every war behind us.

It comes. It always, always comes.

2014-12-23T21:49:00.000-05:00

I am deeply loved.

Of this, I am absolutely certain.

Rainbow Connection

2014-12-21T14:01:00.000-05:00

Why are there so many songs about rainbows

And what's on the other side?

Rainbows are visions, but only illusions

And rainbows have nothing to hide

So we've been told, and some choose to believe it

I know they're wrong, wait and see

Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection

The lovers, the dreamers, and me

Who said that every wish would be heard and answered

When wished on the morning star?

Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it

Look what it's done so far

What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing

And what do we think we might see?

Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection

The lovers, the dreamers, and me

All of us under its spell

We know that it's probably magic

Have you been half asleep, and have you heard voices?

I've heard them calling my name

Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailors?

The voice might be one and the same

I've heard it too many times to ignore it

It's something that I'm supposed to be

Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection

The lovers, the dreamers, and me

~ Paul Williams & Kenneth Ascher

Dying to Live

2014-11-16T15:04:00.000-05:00

I wound slowly through the cold, quiet countryside this morning as most of the world was still waking up. The sugar maples lit the path like street lamps with their neon-yellow canopies and carpeted the earth with layers and layers of gorgeous yellow leaves.

Somewhere in the second mile the tears came, and my emotions spilled out all over the country road leaving a long trail behind me. My whole life flashed in my mind like a movie trailer. All the hurts and disappointments - in myself and in others, the joys and discoveries and sweet lovely moments...

Fear - childhood pain, desperate decisions, the awfulness of being trapped in a bad situation and not being able to see a way out... Then... Love - hope and light, finding my voice, feeling cherished...

And the beginning of this running journey - treadmill walks that sometimes turned to brief jogs. A slow huff around the block. Longer... and longer... And...

Now I face my 6th marathon.

The runs have changed me, as they do. Running is dying. Running is living. The lovely harmony of my mind, body and spirit moves me and reminds me that if even one of those things is off-key, the entire song suffers. My heart opens wide and I have a moment of illumination when I see the Universe clearly and everything makes perfect sense to me.

My old self is crucified, and all the Fears with it. The suffering and pain is all for something bigger and more important - but it has to happen this way. There is no other path from here to there. Ridicule. Accusations. They only see from their limited view. They don't understand.

And from death, Life.

Over and over and over again. Just like the farms, so goes the world.

"Whosoever shall seek to save his life shall lose it; and whosoever shall lose his life shall preserve it." ~ Luke 17:33

By the Light of the Moon

2014-10-06T22:16:00.000-04:00

The bright moon hung suspended in the lavender sky by an invisible wire, spotlighting the rolling farm tapestries of gold and green. And as my body floated down the winding roads on happy legs, my heart swelled with the magic of this beautiful evening scene, and I released gasping, tearful sobs of joy in the third mile.

The rest was just a lovely dream, leaving no trace of the pain and agony of last week.

My body was wrecked - destroyed - by lack of sleep and trying to squeeze too much activity into each 24 hours. Every cell revolted and stubbornly sat down and refused to carry on the nonsense, forcing me to bed and to my favorite chair for a whole weekend of mindless nothingness. I felt my life draining away from me even as I tried to save it.

But today, the Universe restored my soul and filled me with the Love I've come to depend upon for my health and happiness.

And this... this is how I choose to live. I choose Love. Every fucking time.

"Tell me what you feel in your room when the full moon is shining in upon you and your lamp is dying out, and I will tell you how old you are, and I shall know if you are happy."

~ Henri Frederic Amiel

The Mile

2014-09-24T21:03:00.000-04:00

Gosh, I haven't written here in so long I feel like a complete stranger to my own blog.

I've been exhausted.

My weekly training mileage is getting extremely challenging; to find the time is maybe more difficult than finding the energy. A 4:30 alarm is about the earliest I can stomach, and even that doesn't always leave me room to get to work on time. It's dark. It's getting chilly. And 4:30 is fucking early no matter what time you go to bed.

But every two weeks I'm surprising myself with new records, and as trashed as my body feels at times, I've never felt stronger in my life. It's a journey, full of adventure and lessons and doubts and exhilaration and... Love. Race day will almost be a let-down at this point, because it will mark the end of my trip. Well... this trip.

It's all relative, I remind myself constantly. I have certain friends who run my weekly miles for breakfast. But this isn't about them. It's all about me. My legs. My lungs. My pace. My fears. My stubborn determination. My open heart. My lessons.

All the parts of my life melt together into the run. The can't-go-another-step part, the my-god-I'm-a-fucking-badass part, the finally-feel-loved part, and the what's-going-to-happen-in-the-next-mile part. And I just keep going, with relentless forward motion, until it's time to stop. And so it goes. Mile after mile. Life after life. Love after fear.

Indiana 2014 - It's a Wrap

2014-08-24T19:03:00.000-04:00

I can't imagine going back there unless one of them is gravely ill or dead.

I'm so done.

It's not their fault, I guess. It's not mine, either. The Universe threw us together into this thing called a family, which somehow takes on this "till death do us part" kind of promise, which is completely unfair when we don't get to do the choosing.

So a lot of us suffer through these awful, dysfunctional, outgrown relationships for the sake of having a guest list for Thanksgiving dinner and people to buy useless Christmas gifts for, or because we feel some sense of social obligation to these strangers who share our blood line and our name.

Throw in a shitty childhood and tell me why I should ever have to return to the scene of those crimes? Now that we're all adults I'm supposed to just forget the atrocities and play nice because my parents probably won't be around much longer? And because they're family?

Fuck that shit.

But it's hard not to have a family in this society. Better to be homeless or terminally ill than not have a family. People are sensitive to the homeless and the sick. No one seems to care if you don't have a family.

I have completed my obligatory visits for 2014. And it may very well be my last trip, at least for a very long while.

Indiana 2014 - Day 3 (Fathers and Feathers and Fish)

2014-08-20T23:05:00.000-04:00

He did it again.

It seemed like the middle of the night when I thought I heard a knock at the door. I wanted to ignore it, but my son was sleeping on the sofa bed and I went to check it out.

There he was - my son - receiving instructions in low tones from my father, who had decided to take him fishing. My dad then turned to me and started babbling about my youngest sister closing on a house this week. I glared at him and reminded him I was still half asleep and that this might be the only day in my 18-week training schedule when I didn't have to get up early to run or go to work. So much for sleeping in.

And I hated him all morning for that.

I started thinking about all of the stupid-ass things he did to me when I was young - waking me up by pouring water in my face or tickling me with my feather pen until I was annoyed into opening my eyes, leading me to believe Santa left me that bundle of switches outside my bedroom door because I was such a bad kid. It dawned on me that if he were born today, he might be diagnosed with some sort of social disorder like Aspbergers, because he really doesn't know how to deal with people sometimes. Maybe he does have some issues. I just always thought he was an asshole.

So the boys went fishing and the girls hung back and hot-tubbed, read, and watched the rain roll in. Damn it.

The fishermen arrived around lunchtime with photographic evidence of their day's efforts. My son looked happy and seems to tolerate my father in a way that I cannot. Or maybe I used to, once upon a time.

He left to clean up, then returned to take us all to dinner. He rattled on about this and that, not listening to a goddamn thing anyone else said. I started to tell him about my job, but he just doesn't hear me. He interrupts to tell me about my cousin's husband who finally got his citizenship and now has access to some classified something or other. Seriously, I can't have a fucking conversation with this man.

I understand now why I never felt loved. I understand why I hated him. I understand why I felt like nothing I ever did impressed him or was good enough. Because he never acted like he heard me. Ever. Still doesn't. I think it's just the way he is. He has his own agenda. He doesn't give a shit about yours.

And all the while, I'm wondering if my kids will hate visiting me one day as much as I hate visiting my family.

I finished out the day with another round in the hot tub and a glass of cheap Chardonnay from the Tiki Hut convenience store up the road. My head hurts from too much sugar and fat, and while I hope we get to boat again tomorrow, I'm really ready for my own bed and my regular routine. There are many things I miss this week, not the least of which is my gym time.

Friday will be a colorful (I'm certain) visit with my great Uncle Dick, and an uncomfortable (I'm even more certain) evening with my sister and her family at my mother's before we ~~escape~~ head home on Saturday.

And that will be the end of this year's family torture. I'm going to put a note on my calendar to remind me to read these posts if I am stupid enough to consider it again next summer.

Indiana 2014 - Day 2 (Boats and Bears)

2014-08-20T08:56:00.001-04:00

The second day of the trip began the way most of my days begin - with the donning of the running gear and a glance at the schedule while the kids lay sleeping. I had contacted the local high school before we left to see if I could make use of their running track for my interval training. The answer was yes, and that's where I went.

It was a nice, quiet run - only one other person was in sight, painting the lines on the football field. We left each other alone to our separate tasks and finished and left without incident.

I had worked up a ridiculous sweat, as I always do, but intervals get me going more so than usual. Soaked and smelly, I hit the grocery store while I was there in town for some "not junk" food for our home away from home. I got some really strange looks from people who looked pretty strange to me in their regular clothes.

The kids were up and awake and ready for adventure when I returned, so we headed for the boat dock to grab a pontoon boat and hit the lake.

My son was terrified - he always is in the beginning. He feels more comfortable expressing himself now, which is terrific, but the rest of us know how the story ends, so we don't buy into it so much. By the time we were on the other side of the bridge outside the idle zone, he was kicking back and playing lookout for his sister who decided to go tubing, joking in his usual way.

Hallelujah.

Our tradition is to find a quiet cove, drop anchor, and swim for a bit. So we did. I was a little bit worried that the kids would be bored, but it's amazing what can entertain you when you unplug from the electronic world for awhile and immerse yourself in nature.

I made my way to the shore side of the cove; I was hoping to relax in the sun on the "beach." My little ducklings followed - all of them - and we sat on the gravelly ground with our toes in the water, skipping stones and watching tiny fish nip at our feet. Never missing an opportunity to educate, I told my kids the stones below us were shale stones and showed them the lines of sediment that made beautiful patterns. One of my daughters announced that shale was very soft (a tidbit of info deposited in her brain from her extensive 8th-grade earth science education), so we began breaking the rocks with no effort at all, showing each other our super powers when it came to the really big ones.

They were great for skipping, those flat smooth pieces of shale. One of the kids got 7 skips, I think.

I had some trouble starting the boat again after that. I tried to call the contact number I had, but our phone reception was poor and eventually I was able to get the thing going again.

We explored the rest of the gigantic lake and even saw a bald eagle take off from the side of a hill. I'd never seen one and didn't understand the big deal about them, but seeing one take flight in person was amazing. This graceful, majestic bird commanded my attention and gained my respect.

A little while later, I was zig-zagging around an open area to pull my daughter through the wake and jazz up her tubing experience, when I saw another pontoon boat nearby that was tracking in the same direction I was. I didn't want to chance a collision, so I made a big circle, only to see that they were following. I got a little nervous when I saw two men on the other boat.

It was the guys from the dock who had received my calls but couldn't hear me, so they had set out to make sure we were okay. How Hoosierly of them! I told them we were fine and thanked them; they went on their way.

More tubing and joke-cracking and family silliness.

Until...

My son anxiously yelled for me to stop the boat, having seen the hand signal from my daughter on the tube. What happened? She says something sank into the water, and the gas tank was now floating behind the motor, though still attached to the boat.

Hmm.

I took a good look and all of the wires and tubes appeared to be intact. Gas wasn't leaking into the water. I figured I could untangle the gas line and pull the tank onto the boat and we could proceed, but, not being a boat expert, I thought maybe I would cause further issue and decided to call the boat guys. This time the reception was better in the middle of the lake.

They were on their way. Again.

As we sat and waited, drifting in the water with the engine off, I watched my son handle the whole emergency like a champ, which amused me because this was exactly the kind of thing he was worried about.

The boat guys examined the situation and did exactly what I was planning to do - they pulled up the tank and secured it inside the boat, and had us start her up and get moving. All was well as we headed for home to clean up for dinner.

Quick showers inside - huge storm outside. Holy shit, am I glad it didn't cut loose like that while we were still on the lake.

We headed into the closest town to hunt down some wings to satisfy my middle child's cravings. I had some ideas, but wanted us all to agree. We settled on a place called Thirty-Six Saloon. Seemed like a good candidate for wings, and I didn't see a bunch of cars there just yet, so hopefully it wasn't too drunk and disorderly. We agreed to take a peek and head for the car if it wasn't family-friendly.

We marveled at the etched artwork in the big wooden door and opened it.

Inside, we found a very saloon-like atmosphere, with wood beams in the high ceilings and mounted trophies everywhere. Where they didn't stuff 'em, they skinned 'em and mounted the fur on the wall. Moose, deer, ducks, foxes, bears, fish... you name it - they killed it. Peanut shells were scattered on the floor and we noticed barrels with big scoops and a "help yourself" attitude.

But it wasn't drunk and disorderly at this hour, so we took a seat and ordered a pretty good supper for these parts.

By the time we finished, the storm had passed, the sun was shining, and all was well. We stopped at the Big Berry for a traditional scoop of outstanding ice cream and dragged our tired bones home.

Day 2 was a very good vacation day, and I had forgotten all about my dysfunctional family and my stress. My kids may be the product of dysfunction, but today, they were happy kids. Happy kids make happy moms.

I'm happy.

Indiana 2014 - Day 1 (Showers and Shit)

2014-08-18T22:24:00.000-04:00

I stood in the bathtub in my mother's outdated bathroom under a trickle of water that was supposed to be a shower and wondered if I would ever get clean. I looked up at the mint green walls with the mauve seashell wallpaper border along the ceiling line and thought, Mom doesn't even like the beach. A jar of shells sits on the vanity, collected by my grandmother during her summers in Florida over the years. The tub is a little grungy, either because of my mom's failing eyes or her depleted energy levels.

The house holds no meaning for me whatsoever. It is not my childhood home, but the house my mother bought after her divorce from my father. (She loved it then - it was brand new and all hers. Now she only sees it as a money-guzzling hole and wishes she could get a free home makeover from Oprah or some other television show that assists the less fortunate.) So I drove 12 hours to stand in a strange, tacky, seaside bathroom in Indiana with water pressure barely fit for a third-world country or an RV.

I stood there, trying to warm up, questioning why in the hell I even made this trip at all.

Outside the bathroom was my mother, who had told me in a very condescending voice the night before that she was going to pray for me, since I happened to mention that I thought the Bible was just a book of stories. Shame on me for speaking my mind in such a close-minded state that sports billboards announcing that Jesus is REAL. (Just in case you didn't know.)

Religion makes my skin crawl. Formerly my lifeline, I now believe practicing religion is like trying to learn how to drive a car in a classroom. You can sit behind the wheel of a simulator and follow all the rules in the manual beside you, but you'll never feel the wind in your hair on the open road. And you'll never really understand how it feels to completely lose control and slide across a patch of black ice. Spirituality is the real deal. Religion is for practice until you get there, but it's certainly not designed to be the end game.

Unless you're from Indiana and you don't believe in Jesus. Then it's certainly the end for you, because you're headed straight for hell. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. Face eternal damnation while your Christian friends look down from above and piously remind you that they're praying for you.

I finally escaped my mother's house, with a stomach ache and gritting teeth, to head to the lake with my kids. A whole new set of stresses consumed me as I prepared to greet my father.

I knew he would be excited to see us and I really just needed a few minutes (or hours) to unwind and unpack the car before I had to face him. I pulled up to the administrative building to check in, and I didn't even have the car door open yet before he pulled in behind me. The man has no sense of personal space or boundaries. Last time, we had gotten in very late the night before, and he showed up knocking at the door at something like 7 a.m. then sat on the couch and proceeded to have a "visit" while I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and wondered if I were dreaming.

Sometimes I can handle him - even appreciate him - but not when I'm stressed and exhausted. All I really wanted was some dinner with the kids and then some time in the jacuzzi on the deck. I had to suffer through some terribly boring conversation and then the dreaded dulcimer exhibition. Finally, he was gone, and I slipped into a warm, pulsating tub that reeked of chlorine but provided a temporary outlet for my anxiety.

The next time he comes over, I will enjoy him, but today was not the day.

I'm completely wiped out. Returning to the scene of so much childhood pain is tiresome and difficult.

Trust Me

2014-08-11T22:12:00.001-04:00

I trust you.

Cross my fingers, hope to god you won't hurt me. Until you do.

We hurt. We get really, really mad. And if we can't let go of the grudge it eventually kills us like a slow-spreading cancer. But between perceptions, cultural differences, beliefs, and basic human nature, we're bound to feel hurt by someone we love now and again. Sometimes I trust you is a cop out to avoid facing my own trust issues.

I trust me.

That's the hard part. When I hurt myself, I have no one else to blame but me.

Can I accept the responsibility of making good decisions? Have I learned to understand the difference between that tug in my gut versus a tug in my groin? Can I ignore both of those things if something just "feels" right (or wrong) in my heart?

Trusting is a spirit-mind-body connection. Getting it right takes practice and lots of experience.

Trusting myself means knowing - knowing - that everything will be okay, even when there is hard evidence to the contrary.

There is no feeling more empowering and relieving and Loving than looking into another person's eyes and knowing.

Not My Worst Part

2014-07-21T22:37:00.000-04:00

We're two episodes into Season 2 of Masters of Sex, one of my favorite shows. While there aren't too many quotable quotes from the story of Masters and Johnson and their clinical sex research at a time when no one talked about orgasms or vibrators, I heard a good one in this last show.

Dr. Masters told a young girl with a debilitating, uncontrollable sex drive, "I'll tell you what you're not - you're not your worst part."

I love that.

I'm not my worst part. I'm not sure which part of me is the worst part, but thank god it doesn't define me. My smart mouth... my intolerance of assholes... my judgmental nature... my continual fight with food... I could go on, but one thing I don't consider a negative is my sex drive.

I can't believe it was such a short time ago when we knew nothing about women's bodies and any health issue that couldn't be explained demanded a hysterectomy. The story was, men chased women around for sex, and women did their best to avoid them but endured it when they had to. How sad. I wonder if my grandmother ever climbed on top of my grandfather and rode him hard until she howled at the moon.

Good sex is so much more than genital humping. If all I needed was a quick orgasm, I'd live happily ever after with a box full of vibrators and a never-ending supply of fresh batteries. Great sex has elements that can't be measured in a clinical study.

Women stereotypically prefer having sex with someone we have "feelings" for. But I think we want our men to have feelings for us, too. A penetrating gaze into my eyes that says more than "I want to fuck you" can do as much to charge me up as a touch in just the right place. Trusting him implicitly lets me relax and opens me up to receive pleasure with Love, not Fear.

My body is a vehicle designed to allow my soul to communicate with another. And as much as I loathe it at times - as much as it fights against me and disappoints me - I love when it starts talking.

I am not my worst part.

States of Mind

2014-07-20T21:28:00.000-04:00

I love the soothing rhythm of my front-porch rocking chair. My winged friends are wound up this evening, but the mocking birds are strangely silent. Usually it's all I hear - the incessant twitter of a dozen different calls from the show-offs of the neighborhood. I wonder where they are.

The new boxwoods that line the front of the porch are showing light green growth, and the St. John's Wort bushes are joyously presenting hundreds of tiny yellow flowers. My Pee Gee Hydrangea tree is filled with white blooms, and I am a happy gardener.

I have an upcoming trip to Indiana with my children that's making me feel a little apprehensive. It's out of obligation and guilt that I chose to go; I had the fortune to skip last year since my parents both came here for my daughter's graduation, giving me a reasonable excuse. But with every passing year, they grow older, as do I, and I feel like I've abandoned them to live out their last years with only my sister's company, and she has not been well for quite some time.

My family's dysfunction pushed me away as soon as I was old enough to go. I suppose all families have their shit to shovel - I'm not so unique in that regard. But going back is so fucking painful. I appreciate the opportunity for my kids to know their grandparents, but as for me, I would be fine never to return again.

At this point in my life, I am grateful for the Midwestern values and kindheartedness with which I was raised. The community was poor but loving and giving all the same. It wasn't like it is here in New Jersey - or maybe I was just sheltered from all the assholes. And I have come to learn that not everyone in New Jersey is an asshole (and most of them came from New York), but there is a high percentage of them, and it's enough to sour a person on the state completely.

Thankfully, I have found enough things to love about this state that I don't really give a fuck about the assholes anymore.

Anyway... it's always stressful to return to my origins. My mother will talk about her inevitable death as she tries to send me home with junk so I won't have to sort it later. She'll tiptoe around my sister and her issues and act like nothing is out of the ordinary while we all sit uncomfortably in a cramped room watching my niece recite commercials and bounce around like a pinball. My father will talk about the weather and his home projects, which, these days is a welcome reprieve from the subject of my sister. We might be able to talk him into making us fried pickles and going boating with us. My son is looking forward to fishing with "the smartest man he's ever met." Dad's the smartest man I've ever met, too. At least in certain areas - like the woods and engineering and music and art.

But I will marvel at the kindness of complete strangers and the old-fashioned manners that have become a distant memory. My language will revert to the sweet-sounding southern Indiana dialect of my relatives. I will enjoy the musical talent of my father, I will love my mother, and some part of me will feel like I'm home. At least until I can't wait to leave.

Thank god tomorrow is Chest Day. There are some very lovely things about the state of New Jersey.

Use Your Words

2014-07-19T22:44:00.001-04:00

I'm so tired of feeling intimidated by a blank page. Maybe if I take up smoking and move to New York City with three single girlfriends, I'll be able to write smoothly about Love and relationships, just like Carrie Bradshaw. She always has something profound to tap out on her Macbook while gazing down at the city from her trendy apartment window.

Love is always on my mind.

But sometimes the joys of parenting and pet ownership and employment and marathon training and weight watching and bill paying and house cleaning and a million other things set my mind spinning or numb me out completely, and the words get lost before they come out.

And sometimes Love paralyzes me a little.

It's so much easier to just feel it. How do you find new words to describe something that's been written about since the beginning of time? None of the words I know are right.

And now it's bedtime. Again.

I guess I'll try again tomorrow...

Surrender

2014-07-15T21:52:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, when you least expect it, magic comes and opens a door to a world you never knew existed. Letting my guard down and allowing my feelings to rush in created the perfect environment for a pixie dust moment. Well, several.

I am exceedingly happy. I wish I knew a word that meant "happy times a gajillion."

I don't know that I could describe what happened to me to another living soul, but I am certain I will never ever forget it.

I am going to turn out the light and recall every second - over and over and over again until I fall fast asleep and dream of it all night long.

Veni, Vidi, Vici

2014-07-14T22:56:00.000-04:00

It finally came. They've been promising it for days and days. I carefully managed all the critical timing of two very important parts of my day around what they told me, only to discover that... they lied. Again. And again. And again.

So I moved the grass-cutting up and ran late. I held off the hoses and watched my garden wilt.

But finally, tonight, it came.

It rolled in like an angry freight train, dumping ridiculous amounts of water on the dry earth and whipping up frightening winds and maybe even a tornado. I can still hear it out there, growling and muttering under its breath as it loses power and reluctantly moves on.

Meanwhile, life is good and I am happy.

Very happy.

The countryside is bursting with life and growth, much like my soul.

My, how a decade changes everything.

Ten years ago, I was preparing to make an enormous life-changing decision. It would effect not only my life, but the lives of lots of people I care for very much. It was painful and heart-breaking. It depleted me for awhile.

But here I sit, on the other side of recovery, and I am shocked at the amount of unhappiness I endured before I changed my situation.

If only I'd known how much fun I could have at a drinking fountain or putting coffee in a bag or talking... or running though the countryside... if I'd known how happy life could really be without Fear, I would have given it up such a very long time ago.

I feel so grateful.

Lightning Bugs

2014-07-02T22:57:00.001-04:00

Heather Carter’s enchanting illustration

The fireflies danced like thousands of tiny glowing fairies in the dark field, and the lightning flashed in the sky like lights on a nightclub dance floor. The rain had passed, and the earth was recovering from a quenching guzzle of water that refreshed her parched spaces and left pools of water everywhere for a reserve supply.

My head was spinning - it always does. Not in a thinking way, but in the very opposite of that. I felt too crazy to think at all.

The obsession took over, and instinctively, my hands just wanted to touch, which is one of the things that hands do best. The density was firm and hard beneath my fingers, and no matter where I moved my hands, it was the same beautiful story.

I'm starting to really like this book I'm writing.

My eyes are heavy and it's time for sleep, but I have so much more to say...

Cheeky

2014-07-01T22:03:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I'm exhausted from being so happy. My cheek muscles ache from smiling and my energy is zapped from the constant surge of pleasure that courses through my veins like a life-giving drug. Is it a horrible thing, to let joy overwhelm me?

Every once in awhile, it just gets me.

It's like riding the edge of an orgasm and feeling every good and wonderful thing imaginable until I can't take anymore and I finally surrender to it, letting it wash over me until I am completely spent and totally content in that moment, wishing for nothing else in the world but to feel it forever.

And each wave is more intense than the one before.

There are no words significant enough to explain this thing called Love.

Growing Hope

2014-06-26T19:50:00.000-04:00

If I lay here

If I just lay here

Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told

Before we get too old

Show me a garden that's bursting into life.

~ Snow Patrol, "Chasing Cars"

Until the past few years, I've not been much of an outdoors person. I hated Girl Scout camping. I endured kickball only to flirt with the cute neighbor boys, and I tried the church softball team because my dad was the coach and I wanted his attention. I did ride my bike a lot, but other than that, I could usually be found inside with a book.

So I wonder why I can't sit still inside now?

Running has brought me such incredible happiness and fulfillment and Love. If I could survive it and didn't have other obligations, it would be ideal to just simply run all day until I was too tired to continue.

One of my favorite things about my countryside runs is the agricultural scenery. It fascinates me to go through the seasons with the farmers and watch the land which lay barren and dead explode with new life and produce. The farms are an outdoor expression of my soul - the cycle of life and of living - and the rhythm soothes me like a lullaby.

Driven by my hatred of the overgrown/dying/ugly/nasty/builder-installed holly bushes in front of my house and by my son's new interest in culinary herbs and vegetables, I brought the magic of the farms to my very own yard this year. Carefully selected plants found a home in our raised beds, and others are spilling out into the flower beds, elbowing each other for space and attention and sunshine.

This is my first successful growing season, and I'm surprised at the self-satisfaction and happiness it adds to my life. These tiny green things, stuck in the dirt, grow inches overnight and are beginning to yield some produce. Dirt, the stuff my mother used to brush off me and taught me to despise, is a critical life source.

The garden snaps me into the present moment, just like running does. I can't wait to visit first thing in the morning to see what magic happened overnight. A new flower... a tiny green tomato... a vine that has curled its way up the trellis with no direction or help from me.

And the plants couldn't care less about their ultimate autumn fate - they grow and they give because that's what they were made to do. Some will leave seeds behind to start fresh another season, and some will bear fruit that nourishes my body and then die back into the earth from which they came. But despite the sad outcome for the plant, everything about gardening sings a song of Hope to me. Hope for growth. Hope for productivity. And Hope that in the middle of a pile of dirt, brilliant Life can emerge.

My garden is another joy-bringer in my life. It makes me happy. And hopeful. And it opens another window in my soul to Love.

All that I am

All that I ever was

Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I don't know where

Confused about how as well

Just know that these things will never change for us at all

~ Snow Patrol, "Chasing Cars"