SHADES OF GREY.......

My Michigan. My fall.

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Fri, 02 Nov 2012 07:12:00 +0000

no matter how you slice it, a sandwich is as a sandwich does

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Sun, 12 Aug 2012 15:17:00 +0000

this morning ...manure manicured finger sandwiches are being constructed as we speak in my kitchen.

can't hide and can't deodorize their stink.

gotta dig quickly and deeply into mommy-roots and pull up the strongest ones

and wrap those suckers around my head until the words of positivity and strength and self idealization emerge,

encrusted and slimy and damp and ugly

almost forgotten

almost buried treasure, unexplored.

family trees are the hardest to see through.

the forest may run for miles and be transparent as the lace worn on my wedding day

not THE tree

ghosts of unknown relatives line branches, adding weight

separated, thin saplings reach out for extra light and the girth widens

difficult to prune

impossibly unmanageable

connections and origins and budding confusion

dry and cracked, brittle by years of wind storms and lightening strikes, and fallen beneath the forest's canopy

farther away from belonging and hope,

remembrance and pride,

respect and delight;

or hang precariously and alone

awaiting the boy to visit and randomly choose his newest fishing implement.

Read below an earlier post, written years ago, when I opened my heart, opened my soul, and shit sandwiches were served on platters to the ones I loved. I'm perfecting my recipe, just in case you want it...

can barely see through the tears

must write to feel

must write to sort and think and see through

reality tears

acceptance of what i declared

and what responses followed

will follow

more to come

sure thing

reality

admitting purpose has price

to pay

in real time

with real people

real feelings to hurt

real intentions make real consequences

rather throw this keyboard through that window

rather hide

i'm good at it

hiding from reality

and bites

incompatibility of self with you

fit into one and not the other

help and hurt together

wishing i learned this already

might be easier

might not

reality bites

hard

"my heart can't wait to meet you on the other side"~mmj

come fly with me

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Tue, 03 Jul 2012 14:00:00 +0000

Listening to Ray LaMontagna
Sipping coffee black

Tap tapping the phone's tiny key images
Posting above the billowed puffs of cloud

Alongside a hundred or so strangers

strapped-in to sit still

Monotonous static hum fills the cabin

w/pressure of muffled baby cries

Head bobbing to the Black Keys
Wearing sunglasses prescribed

Floating over criss-crossed lines

cement painted and poured

soldiers standing in familial formation

Huddled around underground holes filled wet
Nine linked lawns flanking

stubby tendrils poking

Rooted in mortgaged commitment

Reaching for recessive retirement

Ears plugged

Johnny Mellencamp's young lovers mature

Bettye LaVette covers time to live

Tweedy turns his face up to the sun

Nick Lowe plays fast once more

Sipping lukewarm coffee from a styrofoam cup

Acoustic AIC perform heaven live

Littered blotchy white

Over the horizon bleeding blue

Bumpy invisibility

Smokes grey and blind

Swerved and curved river wide

Girth snaking east and west

Doubling back and over

Confused by erosion

Corridor of confidence

Commanding vessels into wild waters

Delta dumping

We pay our debt sometime...

Clouds thinned w/cans of convenience

Fields carpeted over sick soil

Surrendering to humanity's humor

Delivered innately, generationaly

Ignited by denial

Ignored by heads clouded with state and main

Reflecting no reason

Regarding no remedy

Realization fleeting, feverishly flung in song

Lyrically loved

Caressed communication

Sharing secrets forgotten to be told

We live in a beautiful world.

Silhouetted by the setting sun

This can't be undone.

serenity now...

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Mon, 02 Jul 2012 05:22:00 +0000

Peace.

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country roads...

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Sat, 30 Jun 2012 11:57:00 +0000

Take me home
To the place I belong

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let's keep in touch

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Fri, 11 May 2012 04:53:00 +0000

“Life can be found only in the present moment. The past is gone, the future is not yet here, and if we do not go back to ourselves in the present moment, we cannot be in touch with life.”

- Thich Nhat Hanh

I dig a pony

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Thu, 03 May 2012 06:15:00 +0000

Get back to the basics with the boys in the band...
Four friends playing music, singing songs,
sporting Chuck Converse, fur coats, and boyish grins;
rosy cheeked they jest, in spite of bobbies and uptight executives,
graciously gifting memories to shop-keeps, secretaries, young men suited black
assembled peacefully and adorned
by top hats and pipes, mini skirts, go go boots, and skinny ties
eyes and mouths agape,
whispers calm and movements absent;
four kings crowned infinitely, for posterity,
unknowingly,
refreshingly
chilly against the winds of change,
ignoring broken hearts and broken laws,
pushing harmony through electricity
again,
for the last time as one,
as four
Let it be...

to have and to hold

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Tue, 03 Apr 2012 22:13:00 +0000

I'm not gonna stand and wait

I'm nothing on my own

~Coldplay

what feels right,
right here,
next to, in front, and around every corner
the one who knows,
knows
who I am
why I am here
what I need to work on
and working
together

talk and tell and teach,

feel what I feel

listen, learn, like me

best

not when I'm holding the conch shell

not when I'm falling asleep while you read

not the minute I walk in the door

you understand

you just forgot

so did I

happenstance has changed our plans...

we share
we hear
we feel
we know
we are together

everlasting

everything

Rocky mountain high

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 22:40:00 +0000

Peaceful blue mountains and sky's shades of grey,
warm words nestled with truth and hope,
scattered pictures among trailing thoughts;
perspective,
independently insightful,
daringly deep.

Listen to your soul and relax.
Find your truth and read.
Demand more and write.
Allow incentive.
Enter outside the lines.
Be the blog.

where's that confounded bridge?

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 14:48:00 +0000

monday

“You don’t have to yell!”

…after I exuberantly say hello to the creature clutching the computer in the corner of the couch. Nice greeting. Status quo for sure. Sarcastically disrespectful and full of fire. Spoiled brat mumbles under breath, believing his diatribe represents respect. I squeeze together threads of patience and talk my gut out of stirring and convince my eyes to stay dry. Home.

wednesday

Three nights alone. Three days silent. Invitation to dinner accepted. Uncomfortable sighs and intentional body language received. Excuse me as I remove my ego from the table. Breathe deeply the pseudo self confidence and quickly compose my mind’s mixed messages into an appropriate rendition of restraint. Serenity now. Serenity now.

Night four begins.

thursday

No line on the horizon this morning. Only the familiar muddled shades of grey shuffled between green needles of pine. Step out. Look from behind the north face and over the rising moon. Enjoy the thrill of the meet, the hunt for understanding.

Visualize your view. Only yours. Keep it simple and kiss it hello.

Allow today to enter through your mind’s eye, ahead of the unconscious scrum of ancient messages. Intend. Intentionally push suspicions away. Useless to imagine thoughts, feelings and expectations unstated. Observe your ego. Talk yourself up. Use reminders. Conquer triggers. Stomp stigma. Hope.

Step onto the tightrope, the one parallel to your horizon. Your line. Your walk. Your decisions. Balance or hit the net. Then mulligan if necessary.

peace

namaste

shalom

I’ll run. I’ll fight

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 03:50:00 +0000

"who are you to tell me it'll always be this way?”

~the martinis

When all I want is something different and you can’t give it to me

liar

linked by chains

chained

levels of life

intersections of hardwoods and cotton balls

sparkling tips of wheat colored grass

standing tall enough to mask true height

field of dancing glitter

bending blades pointing

at stoic greens and hills made of sand

where deer appear in the lost rays of sun’s set

“so free for the moment

lost somewhere between the earth and the sky

so free for the moment

lost because I wanna be lost

don’t try to find me"

~the martinis

Karma

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 07:56:00 +0000

And sometimes that's what giving back is all about.

Lifting yourself to a height in which you may be able to see clearer.

Allowing your instincts to lead.

Feeling the moment.

Reading the signs.

One person's generosity lays foundation for another to receive,

humbly, proudly, gratefully.

Give and take.

Teach and learn.

Laugh and cry.

Because I open my mouth, however so subtly, I learn.

Ask and ye shall receive.

Posing the tough questions of myself,

writing,

sharing,

receiving reaction,

relationship building.

Circles overlap and connect us.

Being humans.

Infallible and involved.

The rhythm of reason marches on,

without us if necessary.

When we choose to step back into line, we are rewarded with minute gifts,

barely noticeable through the daily fog of perseverance.

Through the NOW.

Through the wtf's and whatever's.

Through and through we trudge on and do what we have to do.

And our gifts lie unopened until we need them, and then are opened unconsciously, while we sleep and dream and refill our energies.

We awaken refreshed and renewed and ready.

Today we have more than we had yesterday.

We know more,

we sense more,

we realize more.

we must give more today.

Only love can leave such a mark, such a scar...just a fight until we die.

humpty dumpty sat on a wall...

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 08:10:00 +0000

Child molestation is not a happy topic, especially when an American college football coach is in the middle of the scandal. You've probably heard enough about the man they call Jo Pa, too much in fact. His kingdom is crumbling and he is partially to blame. I have no sympathy for him and the wall of lies built around his unhappy valley. I want to know where are the stories about the traumatized children and their families?

I am enraged. I am sickened. I am embarrassed, once again, for our country. We are socially inept. We've proven this in several ways. We claim to help the world, yet at home, our residents are flailing. Morality and ethics are lost a midst team jerseys and statistical polls. Blinders must have been on sale this past decade, on the shelf next to the foggy glasses and rosary beads.

Yes, I'm referring to the Catholic mess. The entity who raped my generation of dignity and trust. The church I trusted to teach my children about honor, respect, loving one another, and helping those less fortunate. My fault, I didn't read the disclaimer: 'priests may seem holier than they appear.' The Vatican cover up and the Penn State cover up are huge. Two powerful, public, influential groups who have been revered and praised for good deeds. Two groups of human beings choosing to look the other way, brush under the rug, deny, create excuses, and harm. Once wronged, shame on you. Twice, shame on me. Action is needed.

My interest is twofold. I am a mother. I am a psychiatric nurse. Protective maternal instincts cannot be matched. Like the wild animal charging the invader too close to her babies, this mom feels like kicking butt and taking names. My patients have shared horror stories of child molestation and abuse, sometimes at the hands of their loved ones, parents, siblings, aunts, uncles...stories that explain the psychosis, dissociation, self-hatred, and self-harm of adulthood. Where does the cycle end? How? When?

I promise each of you this: if I see an adult sexually molesting a child, I will be talking to 911 dispatch sooner than that predator can pull up his pants. Period. No second thought. I knew this 22 years ago when my daughter was gracefully growing inside of me. I know this everyday and forevermore. Help is my middle name, even when I may be requesting, I can feel others' pain. Maybe there in lies the motive for my anger today. Maybe my anger is ever present because I so strongly feel the hurt around me. I hurt for the children unnecessarily put in contact with predators, unhealthy adults who were given multiple chances to prey, given permission from their bosses, their confidants, their elders, their bishops and cardinals. I hurt for the children who lost their youth and live daily with doubt, and wonder why they deserve their horror. I hurt for the students at Penn State who do not understand the severity of their university's indiscretions, their judgement clouded by the pedestal's shadow. I hurt for the believers who follow doctrine, blindly and unquestionably, their muteness deafening.

Yes, to be human is to err. I, of all humans, am a walking err. I will not cast the first stone. Too late for that pebble. I'm looking for a rock to chuck, a boulder to roll, a stick of dynamite, anything I can use to awaken senses and knock heads. Wanna' join me?

go green!

peace and love

how many rejections does it take me to get to the center of my soul?

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 16:21:00 +0000

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confidence cracked

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 04:29:00 +0000

you know what pisses me off? friends who don't act like friends. friends who tell you they always make time for their friends and don't. friends who ignore you. friends who are happy to see you until they realize you don't fit into their life. friends who don't reply to your email, not even one word. friends who comment on everyone else's wall except yours. friends who encourage you to open your heart and subsequently crush said heart.

you know what also pisses me off? how angry i am with my friend and how important this friendship is for me...why are my eyes welling with tears now? how did i get here? once hopeful and energized by friend and now frustrated and regretful. rejected again. rejected by an old friend, one whom i never thought i would talk to again. one who reminded me of happy me, pre-depressed me, innocent me. one with whom i share common interests. or so i thought.

damned if i do...be myself, tell my truth, feel appreciated.
fuck this world and the horse it rode in on.
too tired to climb the emotional ladder
tired of looking through rose colored fun house mirrors
distortion persuading my heart to peek
look, just a little, maybe this time will be ok
persuading my soul to unlock prayers
and go to bed before I wake
again i fail, fall, frustrate my forward progression

what happened?
no answer
was it something I said?
no answer
one too many emails?
no answer
intrusion of public privacy?
no answer
expectation higher than yours?
no answer
will you please contact me and explain?
nothing
i hear you loud and clear.

i hear gentle crackings, like the iced lake removing itself from the warming shore
that's my confidence
that's why I'm pissed
at myself

emergence

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 02:41:00 +0000

I've tended my garden,

hoed and tilled and fertilized.

Ignored it too.

The muddy path and tangled roots are clearing.

My seedlings are planted,

sheltered from the wind and snow that will fall again.

Spring will come.

I didn't realize how lost I was.

I didn't understand my need to recover passions, dreams, and to answer unanswered questions.

A spark lit inside of me that I had no idea was dying.

I had no inkling of its existence, of the flames preparing to ignite.

I found an old friend.

And everything changed.

I opened my eyes and pointed my gaze inward.

He reminded me of a lifetime where my heart was clean and fresh and trusting. He represents a part of myself, of my life, that was forgotten and left for dead. His contact revived me without intention. He assured me by proxy. My friend did what I remember of him three decades ago: shared kindness.

I felt encouraged to bust open my soul’s windows,

to enter cautiously into the dark depths of myself, kept hidden and cold.

And I ran.
I ran into my fire.
The warmth engulfs me and I become complacent and charred.

I've been running through my fire for months,

fanning flames with beer and chocolate,

throwing on logs made of restlessness and doubt,

walking over hot coals instead of walking with God.

Such is life. Life worth fighting for.
Life lived once on earth and life of grace to live later.
No matter how fast I run, or how hot my soul’s fire, life will lead.
I am life’s follower.

I am part of the massive picture, the one I cannot begin to see unless I believe.

Unless I allow my talents to emerge positively.
Unless I allow others inside, even when I doubt they will understand.

Unless I turn my face to the sun especially during the dark of night.
Unless I forgive myself for my past.

Unless I open my perspective to possibility I fear.
Unless I slow down enough to hear my soul’s song.

Unless I tend my garden and share my laborious fruits.
Unless I look around the blinders and stretch my head out of the sand.

Unless I ask and unless I answer.

I live

I see

I love

I am grateful for who I am

and who surrounds me.

Peace

Hugs

Light

Love~L

I'm hungry. I'm foolish.

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 13:42:00 +0000

I am the one in our family that brings up the death discussions.

When I was in college, many years ago (ahem), I was alone with my step Grandmother when she coded in the hospital and died. She was the first body I stared at lying in a casket wearing caked make-up, not the way she looked all those weekends she slept at our home.

I wrote about it and felt better.

I took a course at Indiana University called "Death and Dying" and read Elizabeth Kubler-Ross' book about the stages of grieving. After studying dying, death, and how our loved ones are affected, I promised myself to plan my arrangements. I bring up the subject freely, with my husband, my kids, my siblings, my parents...just as if the interest of my organ donation request and eventual cremation is dinner table talk.

I live and I die everyday.

We all do.

If we prepare for life's daily routines, then we should also plan for

the day we die...and a few days after that.

Look at one day in a life of a mortal being.

One day we cannot choose.

Life and death are in God's hands.

The most we can plan is the celebration of and the dispensing of worldly possessions,

including this body we wear now.

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

~Steve Jobs (Stanford commencement speech, 2005)

Life is NOW...let's LIVE!

How did I get here?

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 02:03:00 +0000

I am the face of depression.

I am the face of mental illness.

I am the face of mental health.

I am the face of recovery.

I am the face of emotion.

I am the face of misunderstanding.

I am the face of change.

I am the face of passion.

I am the face of humanity.
I am the face of generosity.

I am the face of frustration.

I am the face of negativity.

I am the face of a wife.

I am the face of a mother.

I am the face of a sister.

I am the face of a daughter.

I am the face of family.

I am the face of your friend.

I am the face of creativity.

I am the face of a nurse.

I am the face of reality.

No longer can I hide.

No longer may I crawl away.

I started writing here two years ago, when I felt like I found buried treasure. My writing voice tucked away and safely stored. My passion, masked by the veil I so proudly learned to cover my inadequacies. My feeling, my soul, my longing for more, all gradually reappeared as I looked inside myself, as I honestly asked, and stubbornly demanded answers. I have some now. I will hear more soon. I’m on the path of redemption. I am serving penance for my missing years. Years began a lifetime ago this month. Years I was granted by God and years I lived unconsciously, mind and soul split into pieces, like torn paper floating downstream. I was lost and now I’m found. Or something equally dramatic and less prophetic. How did I get here?

woods and water

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 13:56:00 +0000

rustic romp

two souls and a dog

temporary tin residence

louvered windows and flowered upholstery

avocado appliance

not your mother's kitchen

kids grown

uninterested

just us

taking off

turning corners

touching base

beer, cigarettes, bare feet

chopping wood, shooting pics, napping

walks on the pier, dune climbing, bag toss game

Coors light, Jim and ginger, mustard pretzels

grilled cheese burgers, garden tomatoes, scrambled eggs w/ snausages

good enough to repeat

looking forward to retreat

camp on!

searching for structure

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 06:07:00 +0000

sharing the love...a blogger is born

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 21:48:00 +0000

Expressions of a Restless Heart

My friend ~MB has created a blog! She is near and dear to me. She is a poet, provider, and purveyor of life. (read: she's young and talented) Please welcome her as you did me when I was a wee baby bloggie. Thanks and enjoy! peace ~L

um, yeah...click on the title above the photo. yes, up there. good. :)

my so called lifeline

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Tue, 09 Aug 2011 15:48:00 +0000

October 4, 2010

My doubt, self doubt, grows exponentially with my silence. When I tell him that I don’t think I can satisfy him, what am I really saying? Am I asking him for help or asking him to bail? He’s heard this over and over and it’s ingrained in his thoughts of me. He says he needs me to tell him what I want. Now. He needs me to tell him that I want him or that I don’t want him. That I want to fight for this relationship or that I won’t fight for it. He wants and needs to hear me include myself in the fixing of this partnership. Or he needs to hear the alternative. He wants to stick. God tells him to.

I am confused. I am hurt. I am sad. I want so many experiences and I don’t feel close to my partner. Did we ever feel close? When did we think the same and dream the same dreams? When did we share our desires?

I know I am growing and exploring who I never got to be. I have consistently been the work-on-it gal. But maybe my work hasn’t been for the good of closeness. Have I been working toward strengthening our togetherness or our separateness? What are my goals now? What do I have the capability of working on? Toward? What do I want to work on?

Testing my limits by going to school and listening to him doubt that I made the right choice without him.
Testing my mental health by submitting to illogical expectations of a psychotic boss and resigning before she canned me.
Testing my self confidence and if he is right about my nursing ability.
Getting blindsided by my own confidence.
Feeling like a fool at the mercy of strangers.
Falling into similar traps at a job without foundation.
Exhausting myself to please and push for more and to fit in.
Ignoring the signals of security as I watch the walls crumble around me.
Running away before the explosion begins, setting myself up for self implosion instead.

How did I get here? Where did I come from? Why do I think this way? Where is God?

I have felt lost in the last year or two, crying because I was hurt when he didn’t think well of me. I recall the times he told me that my way of thinking is wrong, that my way of expressing my thoughts is wrong and inefficient and is not worth his time. So I shut up. I stopped expressing myself to him. I stopped trying to explain myself and where I was coming from and how I felt and what I wanted. I gave up. After all, I did not want to hear that the man I loved thought negatively about me. I did not need him to reinforce my self doubt. Why put myself in a position where I knew I would hurt?

Our conflicts became broken records of despair and futility. One negative word or head shake or rolling of the eyes or fuck you, and I’m gone. Out the door. Out of the house. Out of the city. Out of my mind. Out of reality. Out of myself. This is the truth. I’ve been living outside of myself.

Depressed enough to give up my license. Depressed enough to say I’ll work for minimum wage. Embarrassed enough to tell him he was right about me being a nurse. Frightened enough to lie to myself and hide from the truth. Until the sunshine blinded my insecurities for a brief moment of clarity and WTF-ness.

I didn’t want to be Rainey anymore. Rainey is not taken seriously. Rainey is a baby and frail and frustrated and fragile. Rainey doesn’t know how to stand up for herself and speak her thoughts and commit to decisions or make and pursue goals. I want to grow up and be L. I want to make my own decisions and speak my mind and joke in public and cheer loudly at the games and talk about passionate subjects and tell my family what I really mean and not take their shit anymore. That includes him. No more shit sandwiches. No more crybaby. No more sulking in the corner. No more caring what they think.

And I landed softly. I landed safely. I carefully caress my nursing career in the home of mental health. And I feel confidence anew. I am a nurse. I am helping and learning and teaching and growing. And God is with me. The dance of life continues in the next room. Please join us. Please take off your shoes and get comfortable for this ride. We welcome you back. We missed you. Now get to work.

What I believe is truth in this room are lies inside the other room. How I perform here is different than what I perform there. The train tracks switch in between and my mind does not always follow. Which way do I turn? Which way do you want me to turn?

I’m taking my meds. I’m writing and sorting and releasing stress my way. My way may be the wrong way. Wrong for this family. Wrong for these kids. Wrong for my parents and his.

He tells me the way I should do this. Live. Relate. Speak my mind. Listen. Form goals and work toward them. Parent. Partner.
He suggests and helps when he notices my confusion and frustration. He advises me to do what he does, because it works for him, has worked since he was a kid, 12 or 13 or 14 years old. Good for him to be confident in his habits and confident in his patterns and with his goals reached and processes of getting there. Good for him to rely on consistency. Good for him to keep him afloat through the dark ages.

When I was 12, 13, 14, I was watching my parents split up for some unknown reason and placing me in the arms of a stranger without skills to know how to relate with him. Placing me in a different world, switching scenes without telling me I had to follow. Changing the expectations and allowances of my pre-adolescent hormonally developing mind and soul and heart.

Choices stripped. Opinions banned. Extraction from comfortable and forward momentum. Forced into unknown and unsupported. Doubted and divided. Slapped and insulted. Stifled and censored. Ignored and injured. Where am I going? Where are you taking me? What am I supposed to do now? Who is leading me? Where am I?

And I ran. Toward acceptance of the negative sort. From strangers who barely knew me and who I didn’t have to reveal myself. I didn’t have to hold back my passion. And I flew. Into trouble and insecurity of the adolescent kind. The trouble of who do I like and how do I deal and what if I’m rejected? Trouble of trying to ignore my home life long enough to feel like I could be happy otherwise. Pretend to like yourself or don’t and pretend others do. Release and reject. Revive sanity temporarily. Act two roles. Isn’t that what I was taught? Be someone you’re not in order to survive? Be what they want you to be in order to be accepted? In order not to get hit or hurt or doubt yourself more?
Don’t ask questions. Don’t lead with ideas.

August 8, 2011 (10 months later)

Full circle. Right back where I started. I’m at it again. The last paragraph is my story. The only one. The missing link in my lifetime of sorrow. No rusted links, only shiny like new, strong as ever sharp, cold metal connections, from my ten year old happy-go-lucky fourth grader to my presently fucked up self. Breaking hearts and taking names by accident. The accidental tourist of my own life. 45 years take away ten real good ones and 35 links later, I’m the expert avoider. Just call me super sucka!

Therapist on board. Not holding back from the fears thrown at me. I’m taking strikes until my bat makes contact, until I feel the spark of energy, the mass of force pushing me through the motion by the release of weight off my shoulders. When I watch the homerun ball soar above us all, it’s arch predetermined by my positioning, and see the open sky smiling, I will know. I will know.

And since I have no idea how that Babe Ruth-esque moment will feel, or when clarification will arrive, I’m grounded in my garden dugout, watching weeds pop up out of nowhere and wishing a giant hand will reach down to pull me up too.

fyi: my legs are not shaved

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 00:07:00 +0000

Ridiculous I am. My intent was to write about the positives. Of my summer. Of my relationship. Of my self exploration. My intentions broke. Today’s pieces of peace are dwindled to this scene: out of my bed at 2 pm after lounging with WXRT radio and my increasing dependence on social media via smart ass phone; led downstairs by our house elder, ginger dog, through tumbleweeds of husky hair and over crookedly placed throw rugs, into 19 year old’s lair of play station and privacy to the box of kibble; with computer, cold coffee, chocolate and cigs, I park my night-shirted, unshowered body onto the shadiest patio chair and begin. Neighbors be damned.

Rebellious I am. Angered by a frustrating phone conversation last night, humbled by the amount of Jim Beam I drank out of the bottle post phone call, unwilling to face the challenge before me, eager to forget. I walked past the kitchen where my morning meds have yet to exit the cabinet. I left my glasses encased in my purse on purpose. My bra is off, my hairy legs are showing, and my phone is unwelcome.

Relaxed I am. Humidity absent, breeze welcome. White puffs streaming over the roof, birds talking, cicadas buzzing. If only we lived on a street with no name, and no traffic. G dog rests comfortably on the stained wooden deck planks, in the sunshine of course. Her hair moves independently, gently swept off her body by wind. She lays unaware of her loss. I twinge jealousy.

Relieved I am. The kids are at work. The husband is out of town. I am alone. My family in Norway is safe. My father is alive. I have a best friend I can call to invite out tonight. I have the Band Back Together. I have a comfortable relationship with a wise woman who counsels. I write. I shoot.   I laugh. I cope. I have job security. I am blessed.

Running I am. For my marriage. For my family. I race alongside my thoughts, the ones I am unable to sort. I race against my history and hope to beat the demons to the line. I ruminate why’s and why not’s. My mind is not a sieve, it’s built of mud and sand and is a bitch to clean. Every memory encased side by side like ladyfingers lining the tiramisu. Standing at attention, at the ready, for my consciousness to replay. During my drives to and from work, I remember. A song on the radio, a line of trees, the odor of manure, a passing motorcycle…all triggers during a 40 minute commute. The title of a book. A cut of cloth. His glasses. Her accent. Memories flood my day as normally as water fills locks. Sunny or cloudy, warm or cold, winter or summer…triggers.

I remember I am. My brain hoards memories of aromas inside Grandma’s kitchen, nervous tension with a boy, warmth of Caribbean sunshine on pre adolescent skin. I hear the birdsong outside his dorm window as we lay awake in bed one Sunday morning. I face the fear of death as I sit in a plastic chair while medical professionals run toward her hospital bed and the public announcer states “code blue.” I see through the unfocus of depression’s dark hole. I cover my ears to the raging arguments I participated in. I feel the towels I fold as I receive the role I am cast in their divorce. I see her unfamiliar face behind the funeral makeup. I ache from the hours cried. I feel the sting of his hand on my skin. I feel comforted by the willow tree’s leaves above the flagstone seat I have made my private reading spot. I crave his attention. I appreciate hers. I’m embarrassed by my actions. I’m elated by his offer. I’m pissed off and betrayed by her accusations. I’m thankful for her loyalty. I wish and wonder and weave my thoughts into an afghan of sense.

Exhausted, I am. The elephant in the room is sleeping on the couch and we continue to tip toe around the trunk. Last night's phone call conversation requires a reply. The week will fly by, filled with tasks I will accomplish and projects I will complete. I excel at avoidance. Out of sight, out of mind. Wait, the elephant isn't invisible anymore. I see the limbs twitching and the eyes opening. We may have movement soon. This pachyderm may create room on the couch for me after all.

until then....peace.
~L

speed writing

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Tue, 12 Jul 2011 20:57:00 +0000

waiting for 50 minutes
sipping iced mocha through a red straw
reading mail
reading blogs
watching an old friend work and wishing I knew how to repair the chasm
waiting for clearance to land
enjoying the air conditioned hallway
free wifi without a password
the new hippies of west michigan serve me
the old hippie from the burbs dons a homemade bracelet
tied onto my left wrist
created by a new friend
coworker united and loved
fresh perspective
alternate choices against the grain
similar fears
recognizable needs
hugs glue the years together
profession sets the pasts in line
typing my heart out doesn't happen enough
what are you thinking about now?
are you going to throw yourself over a railing to catch your homerun ball?
are you going to analyze your soul after it cracks open and spills onto a stranger?
are you trying to repair your relationships?
will you be pleased with yourself or the others soon?
change has to come and loss will lay near
no tears anynmore
lol with me please
summertime sweetness is apon us
and even the humidity bitch will eventually chill
write to me
write with me
live your life
~L

tiny tiles color my world...thank you Marc Chagall

noreply@blogger.com (~L) — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 04:03:00 +0000