Family, friendships

my wake-up call

Last Thursday night, I remembered the importance of life’s checks and balances.

Upon entering my garage door, at 9:57 PM, my eldest son explained why my husband’s truck was not in our driveway.  Their aunt, my husband’s sister, had flat-lined and he’d rushed to the emergency room to be with her and her husband.   I immediately looked at my mobile phone log, remembering the distinct cell ring of my mother-in-law at 8:16 PM during the budget meeting I had been presiding over; balancing income versus expenditures.   My sister-in-law had been at the right place at the right time; immediately revived.  She is expected to have a full recovery.

On Mother’s day she had complained of feeling under the weather, sharing that age was catching up with her as she entered her fifth decade earlier this year.   I had noted that, instead of mother’s day being a day of celebration, it was a day of higher expectations and stress.  In trying to celebrate her mother-in-law, her own mother, as well as being a mother herself and acknowledging her daughter, a young mother, she had been worn out trying to do it all.  The symptoms she had exhibited on Sunday came in full force Thursday; finding herself in an emergency room and being resuscitated back.   This was a definitive wake-up call.   Literally.

We, women, try to do it all; at a cost to ourselves.

My own physical body felt the stress and I took the time to sleep from Friday afternoon through Saturday morning.

This weekend, at a family BBQ, I was reminded of the earlier years of motherhood; my younger cousins now beginning to have kids of their own.  As toddlers roamed and babies gurgled in delight on other Moms’ laps, my pre-teen and teenaged sons attempted to sit on my own; dwarfing me.  Only a decade or so earlier I had been pushing double strollers and carrying boys on infant carriers; trying to do everything.  My days had been filled with caring for their every need and these days, I struggle knowing that I must let them go.

I am feeling the weight of life’s transitions as I watch family and friends go through their own.    My sister-in-law is now forced to make her own choices versus trying to please everyone.

  • Deteriorating health issues commanding lifestyle changes and watching numbers.  Blood sugar, high blood pressure, liver and heart function.
  • Burying loved ones and caregiving for those left behind.
  •  Worrying about the future with our current economic and political climate; including retirement
  • Adjusting to the empty nest and discovering new interests, occupations and relationships
  • Raising grandkids when your own kids can barely make ends meet

We look at the numbers and ponder statistical probabilities and outcomes.  We worry about aging successfully, both in health and in wealth; as we navigate through midlife and beyond.  We work to define our roles, roles that constantly change and merge into one another.

We are mothers, daughters, sisters, grandmothers and we try to balance it all.  We nurture everyone, but accept care from none.

Something has to give; and it usually is the mother giving.  It is in our support community of family and friends that we must gain strength.

For the past month I have walked from one room into another, assuming different roles.  I step out of our business into the threshold of my home; briefly getting dinner before heading into a volunteer role at one of my sons’ programs or schools.  It is important for me to serve and contribute; knowing this is my way to remain involved in my growing boys’ lives; lives that no longer need me to hover in the wings.  And so I work behind-the scenes to promote and support the activities that sustain them since the time with my sons grows short.  I am thankful for the distraction and rarely complain.

I watched my older sons turn left, in their car, as my own vehicle continued straight; our paths diverging.  I hadn’t expected the sharp pang as I drove alone in my SUV to my destination and I turned down the music; preferring silence.  The loss of their presence in my, now too large, car was felt and the tears began to gather.  But the bright glare of my destination, among adults, brought me back to the tasks at hand.

I’ve spent a lot of time letting go of ideals and unmet expectations in my life.  As my sons soon embark on their journeys beyond high school, I recalled my own hopes and dreams; hoping their paths will be smoother.  Their accomplishments do not need to be grand, photo shopped or shared on social media with hundreds of followers or likes.  The bigger things are fleeting.

Life is lived in the details of waking every morning and striving to do the best that we can.  To give the best of ourselves without expecting much in return.   When life gets busy and crazy, as it always does at the end of the school year, it is the boring, routine that I crave.  To make the smallest of choices within my own spaces and cultivating relationships within these places.  

I struggle to find my balance, each and every day.  But numbers no longer define me.  Not on weigh scales, clothes sizes, bank accounts, friendships nor age.  Age is just a number.

Successful aging is embodied in the spirit we choose to live our lives.

We can awaken each morning expecting the worst.  Or we can awaken each morning hoping for the best.  To continue to believe that we serve a purpose and that the world is still filled with people who are good.  It’s not about what the world can do for me.  It’s about how I can contribute to the world.

My sons and husband know I chirp,  “Good morning,” as they grumble and throw covers over their heads or turn off alarms.  Some days I take it personally but most days I take it in; hoping to get a smile or a, “Good morning” in return.  These days, these gestures are few and far between.  But occasionally I catch glimpses and it is enough.

No longer do I project into the future past twenty-four hours.  I have learned to focus on the minutes before me; to be present in them.  To not use my words to break, but to build.  To not be present where I do not want to be.  To not compare with what I don’t have.   It is a huge learning process, this change in mindset.  Success is measured in navigating through the day and looking forward to the next one.  

This is my wake-up call, each and every single day.  May your life be resuscitated by those who revive you.

And I STILL sing this song to my boys; much to their annoyance.

 

 

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friendships, School, Work

take two, or five

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I hung up the phone with my son after he refused to attend any of his scheduled activities last evening.

He was to be in three places at the same time.  I’ve come to realize that when this son is stressed, he becomes adversarial and shuts down in all things.  There would be no reasoning with this teen as he continued his diatribe on the phone as to why he couldn’t attend any of his events.  He had already been excused from attending a jazz pep band at the high school basketball game due to a conflict with his Confirmation class.  But the high school course information night was sandwiched between these two commitments and he stated he was not required to be there.

It was easy to disconnect the line.  It’s hard to have honest conversations; to not seem disingenuous.

  • After a long day at work I want to ignore the fact that my sons are (on social media/playing video games/general procrastination) not doing what they’re supposed to; namely homework.
  • To tell the employee off when he feels “sick” while doing a task he doesn’t want to do.
  • When your friend/spouse sounds like a broken record; repeating the same issues over and over and not wanting to find resolutions.

Being an effective communicator takes a lot of tact, patience, empathy and practice.  I struggle with all of these things within my own circle of family and friends.    I overthink my words and in doing so; choose to be silent.  To mull them over and over, just so, until the perfect lines emerge.  Since this hardly ever happens, I swallow them and work through my issues on my own.

I am one that can sit silently.  To observe quietly.  To serve humbly.  I do not need a lot of words; a mere tap on the shoulder, a simple smile or hug can relay encouragement or acknowledgement.   I find that when people use too many words; are too effusive with their thank yous or compliments; that they are not sincere.  I know, I’ve caught myself doing this same thing.

With our current political climate dividing our nation I listen and observe as those around me weigh in.  But recently, the hubs called me out.  In choosing to remain passive and quiet, I am choosing not to participate and allowing events to happen so that I do not take ownership of the outcomes.  His words were not just meant for politics; but in all things regarding our home and business.

Ouch.  To this I must plead guilty.

I got quiet when the hubs chastised our sons that things cost money.  February, traditionally, is our slowest month at work.  Anticipating our upcoming property tax bills and income tax filings, the hubs’ worries pervaded our dinner.   Later, the youngest asked about our financials and I found myself explaining economics.  On my high school transcript, my one B was in this course.

How transparent should I be with my boys?  With people?

From work I headed to the high school to glean information.  Ironically, I thought about this while sitting in an economics class as the teacher presented the course to would-be senior students.   As a parent I appreciate the efforts the school administration and staff offer to include parents in our students’ education.  The texts, that very morning, from my girlfriend regarding the confirmation of the new secretary of the Department of Education were etched in my mind.

Education is important and I do not want to sit passively.  I want to be informed.

As I had exited the general meeting, deciphering the location of the sessions my son may decide to take, a figure appeared from the shadows and grabbed my arm.  Shocked, I blindly followed my son through four sessions before he walked to his Confirmation class at our church; which is adjacent to his high school.  He had asked his father to drop him off.  We went to none of the courses I thought he’d be taking.  I’m glad he decided to show up; to take ownership of his education.

It was in the economics class that I could process my thoughts.

I spoke with my sons after remaining quiet for a few weeks about the virtue of honesty.  They have felt my bitter disappointment.

  • I am not fooled by screen savers masking online chats, inappropriate content or video gaming.  Do not deceive.
  • I do not want the carpool mom to sit in a high school parking lot waiting for forty-five minutes for a son who claimed he was “studying” and was walking at the outdoor mall with his “friend.”  Do not be disrespectful.
  • I will not be fooled again when the attendance office tells me a son has unexcused absences in a period to visit, said “friend” in her classroom.  Do not lie.

I recount the details of those who have deceived me in the not-so-recent past.  Of the grade level teachers who said one thing and turned around and did something else.  Of the friend(s), whom I asked a question confidentially, who shared my probing with others.

I realized who were true, who wanted to discuss things with me to work things through and those who never would.  The parachutes that held me down have been cut loose and it has taken me time to forgive; but not necessarily forget.

I cannot be fake; nor disingenuous.  In dealing with disappointments I discovered what was important.  Trust and truth trump all things.  The words I need to speak finally do come.  And it always takes two.

I will speak up.  I do not have control over how my words are received.  I must accept this and remain true to who I am.

The two boys sitting in front of me, in an economics presentation, reminded me of what friendships are.  These high school teens have not mastered the art of deception.  When their fellow friend went through a difficult time with a cry for attention; these boys rallied.  They listened.  They didn’t completely understand.  They didn’t lie, gossip or tell their friend that everything was okay.  They continued on their quests to work things through and trusted that their conversations were confidential.  They are loyal to one another.

I hope that life’s distractions don’t ruin what these boys have, right now.  It may not last.  But each of these guys are accepted for whom they are; not by an outside measure of success like high grades, cool gadgets/ cars or by whom they know.  They don’t need to be popular.  They just need to be their transparent selves.

HLM cake

Recently in the midst of a boisterous book club group, someone heard the distinctive ring of my cell phone; Dave Brubeck’s tune, “Take Five.”  Our shaken friend had just been involved in an accident, while driving to us, and was alone with police and paramedics with very low cell battery.

My hubs, still at work, was not nearby and so I interrupted the group discussion to inquire if any of their male counterparts were available to go to our friend; to provide support and inspect the vehicle.  Immediately four girls called and texted their spouses.

I had just settled in; a glass of something yummy in-hand.  I knew I would not be of much help but felt the plea of this dear friend; who didn’t need anything additional on her full plate.  As her minivan got towed away, the officer urged her to let it go, to have a good time at book club.

When she walked through the door, the hugs engulfed her, the tequila relaxed her and she was embraced by the room of women discussing a book about hormones.  It was later that I discovered our hostess loaned their extra vehicle so she wouldn’t have to be without a car.  And the other friend, who has always opened her home and heart to this family who has undergone too many hurts and disappointments, deployed her husband to her aid.

I have been empowered by these friendships.  For the moms who look out for my sons; as if they were their own.  For the girlfriends who hear me on repeat and listen; gently redirecting me to other solutions to my issues.  To those who are transparent; even when we do not agree on parenting, religion, politics and everything in-between.  I hope to be able to reciprocate; even when it is not convenient.  Even when I can’t afford it.  Even when time doesn’t allow.

It is in honest, genuine interactions with others that matter.  I can’t let life passively go by.  Silence is lonely, solo and a cop-out.  It takes two (or in my family’s case, five).  Engage.

Family, School

just cheer

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The blog posts in my drafts folder are full of words, all negative and unpublished, as I filter through my days.  I currently struggle with my words.

As a young girl I never said them; taught by my conservative parents to “not make waves” and to assimilate.  In my formative years I was shy, asking my girlfriends to speak for me.  I was to blend in and please others; to succeed academically.  I was taught that I would excel based on merit alone.

I kept my words to myself; my only escape in writing stories.  Recently, while clearing garage storage space, I found the dusty photo album among my late mother’s things.  While my husband encouraged me to toss trophies, give away clothes and furniture, the only things from my childhood home are my mother’s china, and photo albums that sit in my garage.  As I sneezed my way through its pages, my sixth grade son found the newspaper articles and certificates I received at his age.  His curiosity made me remember.

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As an only child I always listened and observed my environment, trying to understand the social dynamics of people.  At a young age I would re-enact the social situations with my Barbies or marbles, creating families and social groups based on the interactions I encountered.  I would create stories for fun.  At the end of fifth grade, a teacher submitted my essay into a local contest and to everyone’s surprise, my writing won.  The quiet girl had a hidden world.

I had been happy to join a group of students in an extended learning program (the precursor to Gifted and Talented Education aka GATE) to hone my writing skills.  It was a ten mile drive for my older parents and I excitedly headed into the classroom, ready to learn.  But then I heard the comments from first, fellow students and then from parents.  I didn’t belong there.  It was only because I came from a poor, immigrant town that I had been accepted.  And so I rarely spoke and doodled on my papers.  When my essay advanced to the university level, I felt no joy.  I felt unworthy; the token kid in a prestigious writing program.

My sons listened to me quietly.  My voice had become brittle and hard as the memories washed over me.

Real life entered the picture as I grew older; the lessons learned in high school, college and beyond.  Humility and silence does not always serve well when you must lead or speak.  When all other things are created equal (grades, test scores, essays) the person who got the nod was the one who spoke up and touted these things.  It didn’t matter what I looked like on paper if nobody knew what I did.   I had mastered the ability to remain quiet.

The names from the past came to mind.  Mrs. Murphy, Mr. Jennings, Gerry Starowicz, Mr. Osborne and Mr. Murtha; the teachers and counselors who advocated for me and taught me to speak my words.

The elementary ELP teacher, Mrs. Murphy, ferreted out why I had lacked motivation in the writing program.  She spoke directly to the program administrator who quickly put a stop to the unkind comments but I always sat alone; choosing not to make friends.

Mr. Jennings, in seventh grade, brought a modem to my home and taught me how to dial a connection to my first online chat board. He made science fun and introduced me to technology with a Commodore 64.  Could this be why I married a computer scientist LOL?

Gerry Starowicz, the cheer/song advisor and arts teacher, finally taught me to yell and to yell LOUD.  It was on a high school songleading squad that I learned about queen bees and wanna bes and how to navigate through what was popular and what was right.

Mr. Osborne, the band director, kept me interested in music and challenged me to continue playing.  After twelve years of piano I still got jitters performing in recitals or solos.  But concert groups and marching band kept me involved and eventually, my university choice came down to its well-known college marching band.

Mr. Murtha, my high school counselor, guided me to scholarships and college financial forms when my father was dying of colon cancer.  He walked me through the  college application process and  proofread all of my college essays.  We had hoped I would gain entrance to a few of my colleges and he celebrated when I got into them all.

In high school and beyond I learned to assert and to speak my words clearly and succinctly.  I thrived.  But my glaring fault is that justice, in my eyes, must be served.  To call out when things are wrong.

I used to do this to get noticed (in school and in work); to be the one to get things done.  But in these middle years I’ve realized that words don’t need to always be spoken.  With words I say what I mean but saying them doesn’t always make things right.  I am a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. I must mean what I say.  In some cases, I must NOT act upon them.

  • At work when the evil boss tasks me with unpleasant tasks, I whine in complaint.  We own a small business and so I remain with my evil boss 24/7.
  • In organizations which I serve, the queen bees and wanna bes suck me in.  I try hard to keep my words to myself as egos and hidden agendas get in the way.
  • In the social groups I am involved with I try not to let kid or parent dramas affect my relationships.  I cannot change others’ opinions; even with mediation.
  • At home my pent-up frustration builds.  The words flow freely but I find no resolution.  My need to make things right gets in the way.

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My preteen and teens listened intently as I shared the words above; of the adults who made a difference in my life.  They, too, are on this precipice  where they are discerning what is fair and unfair; right from wrong.  They weed through social groups, heavy homework loads, time consuming extra-curriculars and looming college applications.  I had forgotten these pubescent memories; wishing them away.  But my sons gleaned information from sharing about my own preteen and teen years; a time I rarely speak of.  A time they currently reside in, in their own lives.

I went from the quiet only child to the extrovert adult with too many words.  I feel the burden as scenarios play out in my overactive mind.  And when the words build, unspoken, they always find their way out.

In the most random of places, a music store, the epiphany came.  I had been slow to recognize the solution to all of the negativity surrounding my life.  For weeks I filtered and kept my words, hoping that time would lessen the urge to say them.  But I had gone about this all wrong.  The multiple unpublished blog posts were symptomatic.   It goes against my nature to be something I am not.  Words are my medium and my negative environment didn’t have to dictate who or what I am.

I dug deep for the inner cheerleader within.  The one that emerged in high school as my father’s cancer spread.

As a teen I often wondered why I could not be gloomy or negative at school; knowing my father was dying at home.  School had  engaged me and I found respite in books, writing, music and cheering at games.  I inherited my father’s indomitable spirit; his zeal for all things social.  Both of my parents exuded hospitality; my father with words, my mother with hosting others in our home.   I often felt like a fraud for not publicly grieving my dad’s deteriorating health.  But I’ve come to realize it is this trait that kept me going, and the ability to compartmentalize allowed me to survive various difficult periods in my life.

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We commiserated in the store and quietly absorbed the negative vibe when my own son’s words came forth from my lips.  It had been on a day, this week, when he was exhausted and frustrated; hearing comments from various people as his marching band prepares for an out-of-state national competition.  He hears of how his section struggles and he plopped on the couch stating that they would, most likely, not make the final cut and they felt the burden.  They have tirelessly worked and played towards this goal from the month of June; even canceling a Yellowstone trip so he and his brother wouldn’t miss camp.

I had sat beside him.  It’s not always about winning.  My sons knows this is an acquired mantra; my competitive streak reined in during their younger years in recreational sports.

boys-adrift

I’ve struggled with my competitiveness and my perceived sons’ lack of it in sports, academics.  I see twenty and thirty year old men addicted to video games, porn, or substances like alcohol or marijuana.  They don’t feel the compulsion to work and lack competitiveness and drive and have no motivation.  I don’t want this for my boys.  In a competitive world I want my sons to engage and participate; to self motivate and serve.  Dr. Sax’s book, Boys Adrift is affirming many things that I observe.  Winning can’t always be everything but it is a great motivator.  It is only by initiating and leading by example, particularly with male role models, that my boys can become productive men.  I am grateful they have plenty of those type of men in their lives.

I also enjoy sports, particularly college football, and my voice can be heard in the crowd as I cheer my team or my boys’ teams on.  In soccer I’d squeal excitedly, in competitive swim I would chant at the end of the lane as they flip-turned.  I had to remain quiet for golf; so I clapped politely.  The shy girl has become quite boisterous; cheering everyone on from the stands.  I try my best to applaud all things good and my boys know their mother has got their back.  I had forgotten how to do this simple act; too busy criticizing and analyzing.

The girl I once was, in high school, has resurfaced.  In the midst of frustration and exhaustion my inner cheerleader has returned as I compartmentalize the chaos and craziness of our busy lives.

As the friend listened and commented on my son’s frame of mind, I shared my resolutions and we both agreed on what we will do.  We must encourage our kids to do their best.  They must put aside the negative and accentuate the positive to move forward, to encourage others.  When I encourage others to do better, I am forced to do better for myself.  Those are the words that need to be spoken.

When we encourage others to do better, we are forced to be better for ourselves.

I am deleting my drafts folder full of diatribes and frustrations.  I acknowledge that they are there and when the right time presents itself, I may share these thoughts; or not.  I don’t need to be right or call things out all the time.  I just need to speak encouraging words that are true.  To say them clearly and just cheer.

Uncategorized

walking-the-line

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In the pre-dawn stillness I jog towards my shadow, cast by the illuminated street lamps.   Pretend you are a runner, I say to myself as I put one unwilling foot in front of the other.  It is the rhythm of my wake cycle but this is not something I like to do.  It is something I have to do.

I say this out loud to the hubs; how I mentally do this.  How the amount of time I jog is decreasing.  My youngest son, nearby asked,

“But why do you pretend you are a runner?  You’re running, aren’t you?  You ARE a runner.”  Out-of-the mouth of babes.

I’m finding my way among people who pretend to be something else; myself included.

The ones who are super Moms who put all this stress upon themselves.  They make homemade lunches for their kids.  Their homes are immaculate.  They can do all things and look great at the same time and their kids are perfect.

The co-workers who have exciting lives that are way better than yours.   On Fakebook they have hundreds of likes for the interesting things they do.  Their weekends are full of amazing things and you wonder how they afford it all.

The parents in volunteer organizations who think they are managers of corporations.  Their suggestions are always right and they know the right people to implement them; including you.  They want the star by their name to be recognized for all things.

The parishioners who sit in mass and cut people off in the church parking lot with crude hand gestures.  Piety lasts for one hour.   Being religious is merely an adjective that doesn’t transcend into practice and real life.

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While lunching with a girlfriend she shared the comment her son made after experiencing great disappointment.  You don’t need a title; to be a leader.  I applaud this teen for having the maturity to recognize this.

Because sometimes, our teens are more mature than their parents.

I find this happening among alpha parents in the organization which I serve.  There is always something to be gained: recognition, financial profit or access to people to garner favor.   I grit my teeth and filter my words.  This is a fault of mine; my words have to be spoken (or written).

Alphaadj. Being the most prominent, talented, or aggressive person in a group [Def. 5b]. (n.d.). In The Free Dictionary Online, Retrieved September 28, 2016, from http://www.thefreedictionary.com/alpha.

I feel weighed down by politics and control issues that are a part of human nature.  When there are too many alphas, conflict arises and words and actions are misconstrued.  If there is no transparency, people arrive at their own skewed conclusions.

Frustrated, I wheeled the tiny portable cart with two cases of water to the stadium.  Things were not going my way, the entire day.  Emails and texts were flying.  Communication was misfiring.  People were angry and accusatory.   I found myself treading carefully between groups; trying to move forward.  When the cart spilled over, it foreshadowed how the evening would go.   I was wary.

I stood in the aisle, handing out bottled water to the two sections of students I had promised I’d serve water to; over a month before.  It had been a hot day in August, the kids sweltering in the heat, and as I had walked by, the friend of my son asked if I could purchase water at the concession stand for his group.  I told him I couldn’t this time, but that I’d take care of his section of kids, next time and he shrugged and returned to watching the game.

I saw the moment it registered to this teen that I had remembered, when he craned his neck out to catch my attention.  I continued to pass water down the row to the eighteen students in his section, and the twenty-two students, with my son, in the row above.  The simple act of bringing bottled water to these kids was appreciated.  When my son’s friend grinned and yelled, “thank you,” I smiled back.  I remembered.

At a Friday night high school homecoming football game, I was reminded why I serve.  This was why.

The heaviness and parent drama still remained.  But I don’t serve any of these people.   I want for these kids to enjoy the same rewards I experienced at their ages and so I serve in this booster organization; to advocate for them and their program.

Our tweens and teenagers begin to notice the subtleties and snubs; they discover there are gray areas and observe the adults on how they navigate through them.  We look at this age group and assume they are rebellious and difficult.  They don’t expect follow-through.  They’re accustomed to people telling them what to do.

But respect earned by a teen is a feat.  They can see the imperfect yet appreciate when things get done.  They want consistency and respect; to know that they count.

Respect is important, yes.   But I don’t want others’ respect.  I need to be able to look in the mirror, each morning, and respect myself..  To walk/jog/run through life trying to do the right thing.  To have integrity.

Integrity.  Noun.  firm adherence to a code of especially moral or artistic values [Def. 1].  (n.d.). In Merriam-Webster Online, Retrieved October 2, 2016, from http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/integrity.

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Walk-the line. Verb.  1. (idiomatic)  To maintain an intermediate position between contrasting choices, opinions, etc. [Def. 1].   (idiomatic) To behave in an authorized or socially accepted manner, especially as prescribed by law or morality; to exercise self control.  [Def. 2]. (n.d.). In Your Dictionary Online, Retrieved October 2, 2016, from http://www.yourdictionary.com/walk-the-line.

I include the definitions; not for others, but for myself.  I need to see it in black and white to navigate through the gray of life.

And so the email is typed, the words are said.  I do not lean towards what is popular; nor easy.  I say the things that are usually unsaid; unsure how they’ll be received.  I walk-the-line of integrity and when I choose this path, the gray haze becomes clear.

  • I am an imperfect mother, but that is okay.  My kids need to see me struggle through conflicts so they can learn the tools to struggle through their own.
  • I don’t have to travel far to enjoy amazing moments with my kids.  Most of those moments are usually when they’re home or in my car, sans Instagram or Fakebook.  The best part?

Giving and receiving joy is FREE.

  • I don’t need to be seen with a title, star or accolades.  I am not a CFO of a corporation among alphas.  I volunteer my time for the kids and do what needs to get done.
  • I am not a saintly woman.  But I have faith, moral values and try to follow them as best as I can.  God loves me, just as I am.  Flawed.  (I try hard not to cut people off in the parking lot).

I walk-the-line, straying from it often.  But what’s important is to know where that line is and what it stands for.  My path is clearing.

vet path

Stop pretending and run with it.

Family

sitting still

It’s hard to sit still.  To let life blur past, spinning on its axis while I remain in one spot; unmoving.  It is normally not my modus operandi (m.o.) to sit still.

But sit still, I do.

As our family schedule transitioned from hectic end-of-school activities to the summer we, traditionally, jumped right into Father’s day, two of my three sons’ birthdays, the 4th of July and various camping excursions and vacations.  We are always on the go and my most favorite pastime is sitting in the passenger seat as the yellow center lines on highways blur.  The camera strap causes neck burn as I twist and turn snapping shots from my wide lens.

I laughed out loud as a line from Jamie Lee Curtis & Laura Cornell’s book, It’s Hard to Be Five, came to mind.

sitting still

Most summers I leap from one hectic schedule to another, keeping busy with vacation itineraries.  My hubby, the type B personality, is happy to stay put while I schedule various points of interest to sight see.  His constant complaint that there is no rest or relaxation on vacation falls on deaf ears as the boys and I look for the next thing to visit; happily tired at the end of each day.  Our summer months usually are filled with leisurely things to do.  Things that are fun.  But to some, leisurely means staying in one place and taking in the scenery.

Last year we traveled too often; neglecting things needed to be done at home: the garden, the garage, unplugged family time.  We stayed busy to distract us from the normal, mundane every day but when all was said and done, it still awaited us when we returned.

The epiphany came recently.  My constantly busy personality stems from a very boring and lonely childhood.  Our sole trip, each summer, was a one week trip into the city from our rural town to visit family.  Sometimes I would be asked to join trips with a friend; but most times I remained at home.  As an only child I entertained myself with books, reading of faraway places.  I often dreamed of what life would be like away from this small town and would get absorbed in music to pass the time.  Each day seemed to remain the same.  This was my life for the first seventeen years.

Once I moved away to university my life never stopped.  I ran to catch up with the years I missed to pursue bigger and better things.  I moved further away to pursue post grad studies across various state lines.  On my very first cross country road trip; the boyfriend (soon-to-be fiance and hubs), shared the drive to help me move.  My fond memories of road trips stemmed from our to and fro on Interstates 10, 20, 40 and many more.  He and I have since traveled to many places near and far by plane and by car.

I glanced at Fakebook at the vacation pictures from friends as the hubs glanced over my shoulder.  We both feel the pull to travel, to get on the road and go and as the long 4th of July weekend approached; we began to consider options.  Our summer plans to Yellowstone/Grand Tetons were re-scheduled to next summer due to school related activities for our two teenage sons.  This year, due to work and school related commitments, we have only traveled once.

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I long for redwood trees and tall mountains, large bodies of water and purple clouds strewn across red and orange sunsets.  I enviously glance at other friends’ scenic outdoor pictures and pull up the gallery of my own.  But pictures don’t do the outdoors justice.  I need to be out there too.  I am counting the days until we meet my childhood girlfriend and her family for camping; a trip that is becoming an annual outing for us both.  We come from the same place.

I continue to sit still.

I purposely chose to remain home for the first part of the summer.  Why?  To decompress.  To adjust.  With most social obligations on hiatus, I have chosen to find my inner introvert.  To fill my time and space with nothing but my own breath and thoughts.  The silence is deafening and I struggle to sit with it.  To let it wrap itself around me; like a peaceful, comfortable item of clothing.

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I’m trying this one on for size this summer.  And it is hard.  I am easily distracted and default to complacency.

In my mind I see the outdoor places I long to be.  Sunsets on lava rocks; waves rolling to the shoreline.  Boulders in rivers as my sons and dog swim in the cold flowing waters.  High vistas spanning miles of natural landscape.  I center these things in my mind for brief moments and open my eyes to where I am at the present moment.  And I sit still.  I have always told myself that if only I was: (fill in the blank) that all things would be better.  But really, I need to clear that mental block.

I. am. here.  Enjoy where I am right now.  There are too many if onlys and too little nows.  These past years I’ve lived my life in the rear view instead of the present moment.

I move from one room to another in my home, following the sun with a book in hand.  I sit on warm concrete with a towel, the sun filtering through my hat.  I put away dishes and focus on the scenery of my yard instead of the cracked tile that sits nearby.  I soften my gaze to see the green plants out my kitchen window.  The ones that create my landscape; clearing mental images of outdoor vistas of past trips.  Instead I evoke the feelings of gratitude and appreciation from these memories to the present ones.

This mental work makes all the difference.  I don’t have to travel to other places, rely on external people or things to bring me happiness or to affirm who I am.  Instead of distracting myself with itineraries and busy work I sit still and do my mental work.  I am grateful for right now.

My need to move is based on not dealing with things not dealt with.  I now do the simple tasks to fix these little things in my every day so that each moment isn’t based on distraction, but interaction.  With my hubby.  With my kids.  With my immediate surroundings.  But most importantly, with myself.

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To be true to others, you must take the time to discover your own truths.  Until then, you do not live authentically.

My sons are amazed at my silence this summer.  I work on little things: cleaning closets, organizing paperwork, understanding finances.  I water gardens and clean yards.  I work on my own inner struggles and discontent to communicate them with my spouse as we journey this midlife path together and beyond.  I make time to interact with my ever growing sons who continue to seek their own spaces and discover who they are.

In the silence I am finally listening to the beat within that has always pushed me forward.  We all have our own rhythms and without all the noise, I can finally hear them once again.

I am trusting my body cues to tell me when I’m hungry, when I need activity.  I find myself yearning to be outdoors on predawn jogs and late evening swims.   There is no magic program or elixir to perfect health.   If everything is in balance (portion control vs. activity) it works out on its own.

I surrender control.    My successes, my failures.  My needs and my wants.   I used to think I could control these things and get riled up.  I have no control over these things and can choose to not let them control me.  I am learning to accept things as they are and walk the path that fits who I am.

To dwell on the things not dealt with.  The dramas that unfold in family, social groups and organizations. To laugh, to cry, to shout.  To find my inner introvert and look within; to reflect in solitary silence and figure out how to progress forward or if not, to let it go.

In the silence the words emerge, the inner writer finding solace in them.  I read books, once again, of far away places.   I unexpectedly found a novel that filled my desires to travel while still sitting still.  I escaped to Yellowstone, Yosemite, Zion and many places in-between and gained insight on the mental work I continually push through.  I don’t need to be on the move searching for answers to my queries.  In fact, I think I know them and finally made the time to actually sit and listen to them.  They have been with me all along and this summer, I don’t need to travel far to appreciate my destination.

take me with you

I am here sitting still.  I have already arrived.

 

 

 

Marriage

my midlife crush

I have a crush.

My husband called me out and I, quickly defended, I do not.  But, as in all things, my mate happens to also be the one who knows me most and I had to take some time to deliberate his preposterous idea.  To which I came to the guilty conclusion that he was right.

I do.  

I am happily married to my husband, the one I’ve known since age eighteen.  We are approaching twenty years of marriage.  We have lived apart, during his flight training years and my graduate school studies; as well as the sixteen years he served on active military duty.   For the past seven years we have finally settled in our “forever home,” where we work, side-by-side, in the family business we assumed from his parents.   He no longer deploys, by choice, to watch our three sons grow after missing ten years of our eldest’s life.  We are together 24/7.

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The hubs merrily dubs him as “my boyfriend.”

I thought this crush was temporary, a distraction from my normal daily grind.  The crush recipient happens to be one that I admire, older, and A LOT like my husband regarding his personal and political views.  He is happily married and is unaware of my silly infatuation.

My girlfriends knew I had a crush on the former NBC news anchor, Brian Williams, and this continues to be a source of amusement.  When fires destroyed our neighborhood and we had evacuated, I had been tempted to return to our local supermarket where this TV anchor reported from.  Upon his departure from NBC for his misleading reporting, I received many condolences and smirks.

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After a year and a half,  I had thought this crush had gone away but found myself, once again, tongue-tied while at a recent event.  For those who know me, this is rare indeed.  I can usually talk to inanimate objects and hold trivial, as well as deep, conversations.  As an adult, I have become an extrovert.  But I find myself becoming the person I was in high school, shy and introverted; upon being in the presence of my crush.

I shared this with my book club girlfriends to which one replied, “this is where affairs begin.”  Is this true?  I frantically searched the internet for resources as to why people have crushes.  Is this my midlife crisis?  Am I on the path to adultery?

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Thankfully, my girlfriend heard me over brunch and laughed.  She reiterated the answers I had hoped to hear.  Crushes are natural and are ways we distract ourselves.  Many of the things that irk her about her own husband, are ones that I share.  Does he have to snore so loud?  Wake up!  Why does he have to be messy?  Can’t you pick up after yourself?   Small things in the longer, wider picture.  Her husband’s words, upon her lament of all things trivial, sat between us in the crowded restaurant.   The material, trivial details that we mull and obsesses over, all even out in the end. 

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The negative space between people was just as important as the positive space we occupy.” ~ Alyson Richman, The Lost Wife.

We can both look past our husbands’ flaws to remind ourselves why we are still married to them.  It is for the heart within; the steadfast beat that puts up with my daily in and out.  The one who hears my laments and doesn’t fight to make me hear his.  I am the yin to his yang.

The crush is a mental separation; to give me space to ponder other things.

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Life is not a bed of roses.  We have transitioned into small business in an economic recession.  Finances, never an issue before, lie in foreboding. We have three sons to feed, clothe and house and future educations to fund.  We have old drainage pipes and vehicles, cracked tile, leaky roofs and a plethora of other problems associated with home ownership.  We are sandwiched between aging parents and raising tweens/teens and are confronted with our changing body images and new health issues.  Wrinkles, gray hairs, unwanted belly fat, and inner cellular changes came at a time when the stressors of life run high.

Gone are the years where we are trying to climb ladders, at this point we are holding on in hopes to maintain; to not drop the ladder or fall off.  Aging has a way of slowing our metabolism and diluting hopes and dreams.  We’ve buried parents and friends, marriages disipitate and friends and/or their kids, fall dependent on drugs and alcohol.  Faith in our nation, our future, in religion are at an all time low.  It’s easy to take hold of our own destinies; to forge new paths than to work through deep seated wounds and issues.  It’s much harder to work things through.

… I believe the measure of a vow does not lie in saying it, or in upholding it when things are easy.  The power of a promise is proven in times of difficulty, when keeping that pledge is hard.” ~ Stephen P. Kiernan, The Hummingbird: A Novel.

Is this what I’ve lived life for?  Where is the promised ease of reaching our pinnacles;  our hopes and dreams?

And so I delve into the real reasons for a crush.  Dissatisfaction of where one is in life.  In a mate.  In a career.  All of the above.   Do I really see myself pursuing a senseless crush?

Thankfully, these have all been musings in my mind for the past year and a half.  I can communicate these questions, sometimes uneasily and heatedly, with the hubs.  It has helped me appreciate our relationship as it has matured through the years.  Even though our experiences have changed us, essentially he and I are the same two kids who met in a calculus class lamenting derivatives and integrals.

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At the happiest place on Earth, amidst my angst of being late in traffic to my cousin’s wedding, our son grabbed my camera to snap the shot of his arguing parents.  One of our very first “dates” had been at this same place and the picture of us, in a roller coaster car on Splash Mountain with a white corsage on my arm, had been the beginning of our relationship over two decades before.

After grinning for our shot the trivial traffic worries disappeared; the love from the newly weds shared among the guests invited to celebrate with them.

My husband looks past the stretch marks and wrinkles and I do the same.  But my crush puts things in perspective.  He embodies a few of the things my husband does not have; the things I desire that are unfulfilled.

In comprehending these things I can communicate this to my spouse; as he reciprocates with me.

It is fun to project my ideals on someone else and to entertain my mind.  But the history, love and understanding; the acceptance of one another’s flaws and fears are what binds the hubs and I.  It is in our transparency with one another that makes our ties stronger.

The hubs endures this song as I play it on repeat as I process and blog my thoughts.  He is my bestie and a keeper.

Family, friendships, Marriage

In memoriam

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I spend a lot of time looking through the rear view and not enough time in the present.

In the hustle and bustle of end-of-year school projects, concerts, open houses and competitions there was no time to be still.  I took the days, one-at-a-time; focusing on the schedule and things needed to be done that very day and not looking ahead to the next.  Juggling three sons at three different schools, our work schedules and family commitments was as much as I could handle.  So when the text from my girlfriend came that a dear friend was in ICU; I pushed it to the back-of-my mind.  I quickly shared the words with my hubs as I pushed through invoicing and his response shocked me.

Go now. 

I verbally retorted the tasks due that very morning.  I told him that I probably wouldn’t even get in to see her; the rules for ICU usually allowing few visitors except family.   This 38 year old girlfriend has been in and out of hospitals for the past two years and I have visited her in these different places.  To this my hubby had replied.

You never know.

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I did go, standing by her bedside with three other women.  I stared at the monitors and IV tubes, looking at O2 saturation numbers on the ventilator.  On a whim I had returned the following evening before our school’s open house; the place where her presence was always felt in PTA.  Less than two days later, this girlfriend would leave us to greener pastures in the heavens above; free from the burdens placed upon her body.  She rests in peace.

I pushed through each event, each day, and in random moments the memories would return with this fellow parent and friend who leaves a husband and eleven-year-old son behind.  The feelings of guilt came upon me of the email she had sent, just a week before.  I hadn’t had time to return her words while at work.  Her request had been simple.  She had asked my girlfriend and I to write a letter for her son’s sixth grade promotion book; to encourage him as he transitions from elementary to junior high.  It would be presented later in this month, in the classroom, with a breakfast.  Each child would receive their book to read the letters from family and friends.

As news of her passing spread through our school there were many parents who also felt guilt.    The recurring undercurrent was in the guilt of not seeing our friend often.   As  I sat in the memorial service I had been surprised at the reach this girlfriend has had in our community.  When healthy, this woman could unceasingly talk with boundless energy and tenacity; a force to be reckoned with.  Most people only saw this side and it was rare she would reveal the person she truly was.  She was generous and loyal; to a fault.  She had many groups of friends but very few knew her.  Those of us who had these glimpses of who she was realized the fragile woman who sought close meaningful connections within.

When I questioned the medical advice she received from her physicians she’d remained strong in her convictions and in her faith in God.  I often offered to advocate for her, to question the cocktail of infusions and drugs she received for her treatments.  But she always remained steadfast; knowing she was always in God’s hands.  The book she had given a few of us, several years back, has always remained on my nightstand.  I am always the doubting Thomas; the one that must always question, why?

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This is the gift our dear friend has given me; her strong and unwavering conviction in her faith through adversity.

As I jogged, out of breath, in the mornings I would think of my girlfriend on the vent struggling for air.  As I picked up in my sons’ messy rooms, I thanked God I was still here to be a mother to them.  I reflected and dwelt on the past too much; not appreciating the life I currently have.  Soon my boys will leave this home and the noise and mess will be gone with it. I look through my camera lens and capture great shots; but am not really present in them.   I take shots through the rear view mirror of the amazing views that I’ve already left behind.

But it’s time to change all that.  It’s not too late.

We have to live life to its fullest each and every day.  This isn’t to say that we must be perfect, far from it.  What I am learning is that I must own the things that I do, the good and the bad.  I should let go of expectations and of trying to please others and solely focus on those lives who directly impact my own.  The relationships that nurture and build, not the ones that make me feel inadequate and tear me down.  Bank accounts and grand vacations, kids’ accomplishments, large cover-worthy homes; even plenty of friends are not things that define who I am.  The dramas of people around us are inconsequential if the relationships that matter remain strong.  I may not see my dear friends or family often but I know that they are there and will always affirm me.

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Discover and invest time with those who make the time to be with you and accept who you are.  Forgive those who’ve done you wrong; you never know.  And if you are fortunate to have already found them, take the time to appreciate them and tell them so.

That includes your spouses.  I know, I am guilty.

My girlfriend and I were not very far removed; both of us seeking meaning in the diverse groups of people we are a part of.  We both realized those friends who were superficial and those who were genuine.  We both were blessed with husbands who endured our over-the-top ways of giving in service, and who balanced our personalities with their strong, silent ones.  We were bound by the need to contribute, to leave legacies so that our only child lives would have some kind of meaning; primarily for our sons.  We were both driven to give our boys the best and to be involved; unlike our own parents growing up.

And so I grieve alone, through words, as I know this girlfriend has these past two years for the losses she has endured.  She would understand my guilt for living, while she is not here, and she’d feel guilt in leaving so soon.   She would want the best for her husband and son in the years to come and would be happy at the outpouring of love from our community.  She would be surprised that so many people would remember her contributions at her school, her church and the lives she touched outside of her family and small group of friends.  Her short life had not been in vain.

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It had been said, during her service, that our girlfriend’s overwhelming nature was because she would have to make up for the short years she would be on Earth with us.  For those of us who knew her, we have been blessed.

This Memorial Day it is important to look back to those who have laid down their lives for our freedoms.  I am grateful to my own father and my veteran husband, for serving this purpose.  But we must also live our every day lives so that we, too, embody these things.  So that we do not regret or look back at the things we never said or did.  Plant yourselves in the present (not past or future) and appreciate what our country is NOW during this controversial presidential election year.  We are the land of opportunity and of the free.  Today, (and every day), be grateful.

 

Family, friendships

a place found

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Most times, when a void occupies a place in my life; it sits empty and hollow.  Bad things hover on its edges; thoughts of insecurity, anger and sadness hope to fill the empty space.  My tendency is to venture into the void to dwell; to remain in its shadows.

It is when I let my expectations go that I gain unexpected joys.

This morning I had, unknowingly, jogged past my destination; lost in thought.  When the realization registered I was overcome with happiness.  It is a chore for me to awaken, early in the dark hours of the morning, to get some form of exercise for myself.  Initially the expectation had been to lose weight; to regain the body image of years before birthing three boys.

But in the year or so that I have forced myself outdoors; it was only today that the true benefit was realized.  My early morning  run is my time to sort through my dark and jumbled thoughts; to clear my mind.  The end had arrived too soon and I finally was experiencing the adrenaline of a “runner’s high.”

I no longer jogged for vanity; I jogged for sanity.

I came to work and stared at our office entryway.  The paint brushes and trays remained from our additional accent color on our office wall.  The small Christmas tree sat upon a dusty table.  The banker boxes leaned against the wall.

The hubs found me sifting through files, storing away the years to make room.  I had let my worries about the future go; concentrating on the present.   Somehow my perspective had changed and I racked my brain for answers; wondering How?  When?  Why now?  What had changed?

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I have finally taken ownership of my life circumstances and claim them as my own.

I held onto the Yellowstone National Park reservation; the one I knew I had to let go of due to a scheduling conflict with my sons’ activities.  I had made the reservation a year in advance; securing a coveted area at an enviable savings.  I had been looking forward to this vacation and was shocked when the middle son shared that his favorite memories from our family excursions were our road trips in our car.  The car?  I had realized my favorite memories of trips were always in the journey and spontaneous stops along the way.  To hear the teenager say he enjoyed the car had brought unexpected tears.

As I sadly and regrettably cancelled our reservation with the ranger; she reminded me what great amenities I had given up.  But, as a consolation prize, she then proceeded to instruct me on how to get the better and preferred room for the same price as the one I had given up; for 2017.   The information she passed along was priceless and I profusely thanked her.  I will get to this destination next year with better amenities.

In letting this go; something unexpectedly filled the void.  Our schedule opened up to share the fiftieth anniversary milestone with my in-laws and family.  The hubs who refused to take a cruise finally relented; at his mother’s request.  The years are rapidly flying by and opportunities for our sons to vacation with their grandparents and aunt’s family will soon be few and far between.

Friends have come and friends have gone.  In letting relationships run their course, for lack of reciprocity,  the unspoken words no longer wound me.   I, the only child, have been fortunate to have friends that continue to walk alongside as young as age four; who’ve shared my various milestones, both good and bad.  We camp together, our high school kids are in classes together, we meet in various cities and quickly remember the ties that bind.

I assumed I had no room for others, after recently feeling disappointment, but I had been wrong.  In the void that was left; my capacity to feel connections with others was rekindled and surprising.    We have boated on lakes, sat in bleachers and homes eating cookies and cakes and served in programs that matter.   This was freeing.

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I am coming to terms with my new stage in parenting; the letting go.  I am not the end-all, be-all, person for my children any longer and to be a good mother, I need to pursue things that bring me happiness.   I feel an affinity to cacti and how they sustain harsh climes and weather systems and remain standing tall.  They fill my entryway.

I have rediscovered the joy of growing all things green.  It is not the short-lasting showy blooms that bring beauty to my yard.  It is the variegated leaves, trees and shrubs, that are present all year long, that fill in my canvas; the textures and varying heights that bring interest and pleasing diversity to my outdoor landscape.

It is the friends that remain constant, with diverse backgrounds and varying views, that fill my life’s stages.  I can finally look past what’s popular and expected; to create my own canvas and fill in my open spaces.

The books pile upon my nightstand and I am devouring them.  The fifth grader snuggles nearby with his own blanket; the avid reader reawakened as his stack grows.  My thirst for reading is currently unquenched and with that in mind; I have let go of my expectations of the various social dynamics in our ever-changing bookclub.   I focus on the books; the words that have always brought me comfort and escape.  With or without  these women, I would still be reading them.

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It is how people choose to deal with one another; with authenticity and transparency; that matter the most. 

I am grateful for the people in my life who value these same things, who keep things confidential and will speak their words clear and true.  I repeat this often to remind myself; to not get complacent or get stuck in the void.   I have found meaningful relationships with my husband, my family and friends (old and new).

They sustain me in this space.  They continually give me grace.  In their lives they grant me a place.

There’s a spanner in the works, you know
You gotta step up your game to make it to the top
So go

Gotta little competition now
You’re going to find it hard to cope with living on your own now
Oh oh, oh oh

Let’s make this happen, girl
You gotta show the world that something good can work
And it can work for you
And you know that it will

Let’s get this started girl
We’re moving up, we’re moving up
It’s been a lot to change
But you will always get what you want

Took a little time to make it a little better
It’s only going out, just one thing then another
You know, you know

Took a little time to make it a little better,
It’s only going out, just one thing then another
You know, you know

Let’s make this happen, girl
You gotta show the world that something good can work
And it can work for you
And you know that it will

Let’s get this started girl
We’re moving up, we’re moving up
It’s been a lot to change
But you will always get what you want ~ Two Door Cinema Club, 2009.

Uncategorized

my in-between place

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There are those who seek and those who settle.  And those of us in-between.

For years I stared at the barren space adjacent to my front walkway.  Some years I planted annuals that fit my whim.  Other years I transplanted items from neighbors or family members; unsure what to do with them.  Each weekend my neighbor cultivates the shared plantar between our front yards, fussing and pruning.  Every year-or-so the yard landscape changes; concrete plantars re-paved, outdoor light fixtures removed and added.  I have watched various appliances come and go, large yard renovations constructed and indoor items redecorated.  Our homes are mirror images of one another and ours has always remained the same; original to the builder’s plan.  You would never believe our houses are the same.

Our neighbors had been surprised, last weekend, to find me in our front yard digging through dirt.  They peered through the beautiful flowers and trees, between our homes, to the stark barren landscape of my yard and splotchy green grass.  I grinned as their curiosity got the better of them and chimed that my yard could not possibly compete with the beautiful landscaping, the wife, maintained.  In prior plantings I had hoped to create a vignette to complement my neighbor’s meticulous garden; always to no avail.  None of my entry walkway ideas remained for long; my desire easily distracted to the messy and neglected things indoors.  When the hubs turned off the water and sprinkler systems to maintain our state’s drought mandate, all things wilted away and returned to the earth.  My neighbors continued to water their gardens and washed their vehicles.

I knew this time, my inspired planting was different.  This one was sustainable.  I finally found what I’ve sought for so long.

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Although I’ve been on this mental journey for quite some time, this last year finally brought me some answers; ones that I would’ve known all along if I had listened and trusted myself.

I had spent quality time hiking local mountain trails with my family of five.  The recommendation to have breakfast on a mountain peak dissolved when we learned the lift was only open on weekends.  The one local cafe to eat would not open for forty-five minutes.  The five of us were hungry and knew there was a long hike ahead but, at the hubs’ urging, we pushed forward anyway.  We hiked-in for 2.5 hours before our grumbling stomachs urged us to turn back.   All we had with us was water; erroneously thinking we would have a large breakfast at the summit and a local mart to purchase granola bars.  When all of our options dissipitated in the cool mountain air, we trudged on and told ourselves we wouldn’t hike in very far.

But on this day, as we improvised and returned for dinner in the quaint, college village nearby, I shared my desire to visit a local garden and library.  The hubs and sons gave me blank stares and, knowingly, I heard the words none of them were saying.  This was not their thing but they knew I always liked doing family outings together.  When the hubs gently suggested I should go on my own, he hadn’t really considered that I would do it.  But I had known that this was something I would do, solo, and, with my family’s silent blessing, I planned my outing for the following day.  I am responsible for my own happiness.

I found myself on the streets I traveled often where my extended family lives.  During college summers I lived with my late cousin and his family, working in a local hospital and then the university research lab during my four undergraduate years.  I realized that I knew this area more than my childhood home as I drove by the gated Mediterranean and Colonial style mansions with the large expanses of manicured lawns and entryways.   In my mind I had returned to this place to quietly reflect on the Chinese and Asian themed gardens; to find inspiration in their beauty and walk the paths to sort through the various thoughts and ideas in my mind.  No one knew me here and, amidst the tourists and visitors; I noted there weren’t any kids my own sons’ ages.

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I was comfortable being alone.  I quietly ate my Chinese lunch overlooking the bridge; listening to the different languages being spoken all around me.

The next day as I roamed nurseries, the plants I thought I’d be choosing weren’t the ones I had gravitated towards.  I had returned home to stare at the plants in my backyard and saw the theme I hadn’t realized I was trying to create in my house and outdoors.  I love all things spherical and instead of the bonzai trees or cherry blossoms, it had been the prickly golden barrel cacti in the desert gardens that had beckoned to me.  I stood before the succulent section picking, and being picked and poked, by the various drought resistant plants that withstand high heat and low water.

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I chatted with my neighbors.  I realized I had no desire to compete with the artful garden that graced both of our homes’ front yards.    I wished to complement it with simplicity to withstand our drought.  I felt an affinity to the lone cactus in hostile weather and infertile soil; reaching for the sky. The golden barrels were prickly on the outside but they were survivors and withstood the harsh elements.  For the woman who spends most of her time indoors and toiling with trees and vegetables in the backyard, this was the perfect solution and fit all of my parameters.   This was sustainable.

Sustainability had been the answer I had searched for all along.

I sat in the crowded Asian gardens teeming with people and found myself walking the paths in the reverse direction.  I felt no refuge or beauty in the crowded, popular areas.  Instead I walked the hilly, curvy paths; past the formal gardens of herbs and roses and into the stark and silent beauty of the cacti.  I sat amongst the aloe vera plants amazed that, beneath their prickly and bony exteriors, lie the balm for burns and dryness afflicting humans’ outer skin.

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We, humans,  are well-kept and appear approachable on the outside; but most are brittle and hardened on the inside.

In these past few years I’ve circled back to the young girl I used to be; the one without expectations.  It was at this time that I began to collect circular globes and items that serve as decor within my home.  The corniness of the whole idea made me laugh out loud.  Who knew I’d be considering my life staring at a cactus; once again finding my passion, my value and my spirit?  This wasn’t quite the beauty I had envisioned.

My former expectations of success were not mentally or physically sustainable.  I sought value in the wrong places and settled in circumstances that were within my control.   It is a blessing to have others to walk alongside; supportive and full of encouragement.  I am responsible for my own happiness. 

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I existed in my in-between place; transitioning from one phase of life into another but never really taking stock of what I needed to simply be happy in my own prickly skin.  It wasn’t the lithe physique, fancy appliances or luxury cars; nor the full resume of degrees, titles or bank accounts.  We must all find our own happiness within and follow it.  To seek beauty, speak our own truths and have meaningful relationships (with family, with friends) and to follow where the path leads us.

It had been a conversation with my late cousin’s widow that made me finally see.  After being offered severance pay in the successful career she held for four decades, surviving the loss of her husband and watching her kids leave the nest and begin their own families; she sought to do what she loved best.  She didn’t sit around and wait for opportunities to find her; she sought them.  It was in these gardens that she offered to volunteer her time and share the beauty of this place.  Her love language is in service; just like my own.  It was why I had returned here, on my own time schedule, so I could explore the areas I wanted to follow without worrying or catering to anyone else.

For two days I tirelessly worked outdoors gardening.   Our own backyard represents the yards from our childhood; the sago palm from my in-laws, the trumpet vine from my late cousin, the rhododendron from another cousin.    The hubs handed me a gift card to splurge on a rose tree.  The fruit trees and vegetable gardens reflect the can do, independent spirit of both sets of parents; both wishing to go off-grid.  There is joy in watching things grow and blossom.    The things we’ve planted actually have a story or history; a purpose for why it is there: my husband’s obsession with horse radish, my sons’ desire for all things citrus.

I have settled into our home; no longer seeking greener, verdant pastures and in-between places.  Our landscape reflects who lives here now; simple and sustainable for many years to come.   I find beauty and inspiration in the place that matters.  The rain continues to come down as I sit at my window indoors; contentedly watching my gardens and sons grow.

 

Family, Marriage

pursuing adventures of a lifetime

table chairs

The hubs and I found ourselves sitting in the little kid chairs in the crowded room; intently staring as the numbers flashed upon the screen.  My number soon appeared and in I went.

Within five minutes I returned and the hubs and I walked out into the bright light and heat beyond; the weekend beckoning.  He proffered his arm, as all military men do, and I looped my own within.  Three days later I walked into our offices; the piles of work awaiting.  I quickly logged onto my computer and the Valentine’s screensaver filled my screen; replacing the Windows login.  And then the phone rang and my day began.

The week ended with another phone call; one I kept missing and not really wanting to receive.  In the midst of a task, the hubs heard my questions and sat alongside; my notepad filled with squiggles and doodles.  I thanked the nurse and replaced the phone on the cradle, turning to my hubs and sharing what I had suspected.  I matter-of-factly told him of the scheduled tests and appointments; only looking away when his eyes filled with liquid.  Life happens I say to him; the busyness of our business erasing the moment.  He stood and quickly strode away.

said I can’t go on, not in this way
I’m a dream that died by light of day
gonna hold up half the sky and say
only I own me
and I feel my heart beating
I feel my heart underneath my skin
oh I can feel my heart beating
cause you make me feel
like I’m alive again
alive again
oh you make me feel
like I’m alive again

turn your magic on, Umi she’d say
everything you want’s a dream away
under this pressure under this weight
we are diamonds taking shape
we are diamonds taking shape ~ Coldplay

structure

I sometimes feel like I go up and down stairs not really getting anywhere; stuck in-the same place.  That deja vu feeling stayed with me these past few days as I finally completed the last of my unwanted financial tasks.  The audit now sits complete and packed away in a bag; ready to hand-off.  It is done.

I crank up the Coldplay song and let it fill me, as only music can; filling the void.  Life has hardened me to its ability to take things away and at a young age; I had journeyed alone.  The bff across the miles understood this as we continue to live our parallel lives and it was only when my paths crossed with my future husband; that I shared the adventure of a lifetime.  There were years where our paths diverged as he served active duty and I remained home raising three young sons.  But being an only child taught me to be comfortable in solitude and I found strength in being able to do it alone.  We’ve weathered our storms, over the years, but I know this man always has my back.

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It’s Lent and so each day I receive an email on “What to Give Up.”  My goal was to discipline myself to not take second portions.  I fought the physician’s orders to take the med which will, most likely, cause weight gain.  I read the bff’s text, and all that it implied, from 2,000 miles away; from a gym as her daughter scored another point at her basketball game.

Vanity is a small price to pay.

I stood in the crowded courtyard, silently watching as my eldest huddled in a group of teens and leaders in prayer after a weekend confirmation retreat.   I was surprised, on Tuesday morning, when he wore it to school; this son who only wears solid colors and polo shirts.  To Pursue.  Romans 14:17-19. NLT.

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17 For the Kingdom of God is not a matter of what we eat or drink, but of living a life of goodness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit. 18 If you serve Christ with this attitude, you will please God, and others will approve of you, too. 19 So then, let us aim for harmony in the church and try to build each other up.

The message:  To continue to pursue his Catholic faith in a society that doesn’t value it.  To pursue his dreams in a world of chaos and instant gratification.

The definition of the word pursue is to follow, catch or get involved with something over a prolonged period of time.

Our children have been raised in a world where everything is instantaneous and now.  My sons are not accustomed to having to look up words in a dictionary, search for topics in an encyclopedia or use cards in a library.  They build relationships online via gaming, texting or Skype.  Gone are the days where you see teenage boys with arms around one another; working together and most definitely not in prayer.  The Catholic faith has taken a beating in this last decade and as a parent I struggled on how to keep my sons in my faith.

It was as he walked out the door to leave for school that my eyes welled up; heart overcome.   He chose to wear his t-shirt.  I hope he continues to pursue who he is, his faith, and his dreams.

dreams

b :  to follow up or proceed with <pursue an argument>  “Pursue” Def. 4b. Merriam Webster Online, Merriam Webster, n.d. Web. 21 Feb. 2016.

I found myself in another office, in a discussion I had hoped to resolve last fall.  To my surprise, my opportunity had come to pursue this sensitive topic once again, at his request.  I quickly mentally weighed the pros and cons; pondering if this discussion would provide closure for myself or for the person involved.  I chose harmony and building him up versus words and details that were unproductive and would wear him down.  I am a person full of words who yearns to share them.  I fought the urge to let them fall where they may.

There are times in life where we need to know when we need to pursue and when to let things work themselves out.

The adventures we live are sometimes not of our choosing.    My life isn’t always full of joy and peace or goodness.  It is our attitudes, on how we choose to deal with life’s obstacles, that makes life worth pursuing.   To those who always have my back, I thank you.

if we’ve only got this life
this adventure oh then I
and if we’ve only got this life
you get me through
and if we’ve only got this life
in this adventure oh then I
want to share it with you~ Coldplay