piecesofpeace1

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08 Jun 2013
3 Comments

Love Songs. . .Part I

My husband and I recently went to see Josh Ritter in concert.  He is a poet; an incredible singer/song writer who sings with a beautiful smile on his face the entire concert. On the way there my husband turned to me and sang a line from one of Josh’s songs, “All the other girls here are stars – you are the Northern Lights.”  I love it when my husband sings to me – actually I just love to hear him sing. He is a talented musician with a unique voice who lets his head get in the way of letting others enjoy what he does.  Several years ago he dedicated most of his time to playing guitar and singing at local coffee houses.  Our home was filled with his voice and guitar chords.

I would come home and he would be jamming; I’d walk into the other room to change clothes or put things away and I’d hear his voice and would become paralyzed. I would stand as still as stone, and a warmth would encompass me as if I was enveloped in a loving hug while simultaneously tingling from the goose bumps spreading over my skin.  Unfortunately, because of my own inadequacies, I couldn’t share this intimate feeling with him.

One day – years after he stopped playing, we were in the car and he was singing to a song on the radio.  I said (with a lump in my throat), “I love it when you sing.”  He stopped singing.  Not just then, but for a long time after.  I got so hurt and angry and would bring it up every now and again to let him know how happy it made me when he sang.

My husband is a keeper.  Whenever my faith falters in a God or some type of Universal Goo that pulls the strings for us mere mortals, I think of my partner, and my faith is restored.  Although this may sound harsh – true love, and a strong, committed (perfect in all its imperfections) marriage was not in my cards.  I had a tough beginning, a rough adolescent, and a flat out terrifying early adult life. I met Jeff shortly after I stepped from darkness into light (although the step took hundreds of days). It was love at first sight – on his part.  He says the first time he saw me he knew he wanted to marry me – he was 20 – I was 26, and I was still seeking tall, dark, handsome, and mean.  Jeff was a tad shorter than me with red hair and a permanent smile (at least when I was around).

Shortly after the Josh Ritter concert, I was alone in the car listening to one of Josh’s songs and crying.  I wondered why these intense love songs bring up these strong, dark, old emotions.  Is it because they aren’t true? It will never happen to me?  And then voila’ – it hit me.  It is because it has happened to me.  I am in that relationship – the one where i am the “Northern Lights.” And still – I cry – out of a sense of unworthiness. I compare our relationship to others as if ours isn’t good enough.  What a a waste of time!  Today – I am starting over, and once again stepping from darkness into light, embracing the love that is right in front of me, so close that I miss it nearly everyday. I am living the sappiest of love songs – I just have to get out of the way and listen so I don’t mess it up.

The funny thing is that  beautiful line comes from a song that is mostly about a one night stand, but the feeling in that line is what stands out and describes the tension between the lovers [contact-form][contact-field label="Name" type="name" required="1"/][contact-field label="Email" type="email" required="1"/][contact-field label="Website" type="url"/][contact-field label="Comment" type="textarea" required="1"/][/contact-form] in the song – a tension that can make one blush.  That is what I experience in many moments of this 20 year marriage – that is miraculous – and all mine.

Check out Josh here: http://www.npr.org/event/music/176171890/josh-ritter-coming-out-of-the-dark-clouds

Peace.

Posted in Josh RItter, Love Songs, Marriage, True Love, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , ,
21 May 2013
1 Comment

Running Away – Want to go?

I am a runner – although I rarely call myself one – I make excuses why I’m not really a runner.  I’m wimpy, I don’t LOVE it (except when I do), I have only ever run 6 miles, sometimes I walk.  But one thing I am usually pretty good at is running away from my feelings.  But they catch up to me and I am one big ball of snot and tears, and I can’t figure out why I’m crying.

Today is that day. It’s Tuesday at noon and I am in bed.  My head is killing me and I spent 2 unproductive hours running around work trying not to cry.  I eventually came home. I work in a school, and I really don’t like the students or other visitors to see me crying so I usually stay in my office.  My colleagues there – I’m not so worried about, because I’m certain they have felt like crying before.  Adults get it – – – except some of them don’t!

Once  a few years ago I was crying in my office (away from students) about 3 days after my brother (who was only in his 50’s) died suddenly.  A colleague/friend was with me, and an adult walked in the room and said, “What’s the matter!?!?”  I said, “My brother died.”  She said, “Oh my God, your other brother?” As if, after 3 days, I shouldn’t be crying over this loss.

This sadness today has been brewing. But I have been too stubborn to simply sit and let it steep.  Nooooo, I had to keep running.  Sunday I was headed to a spiritual gathering.  I was so heavy with sadness, and I started thinking how peaceful and joyous I felt just a week ago. So I start with the bad talk, “What is your problem? Look around at the beautiful tress, and feel the breeze.  There is nothing wrong – stop feeling like this!”  It’s been brewing.

I started leaking yesterday, but today was full force!  The worse thing is – I tried to work. Things got complicated. I began crying, and the person I was with said, “Are you still in therapy?”  I really just wanted to scream!  There is so much to be sad about that I think people who don’t cry are the ones who are unstable! Granted – if we all went around crying all the time – that wouldn’t be good, but most folks know I’ve had multiple losses in the past year or two, so crying is the norm – – -sometimes.

I did receive a blessing. My boss needed something from me as I was leaking. She came in my office and asked if I was okay.  I shook my head.  She asked, “Is there anything I can do?” Again, I shook my head, but this time I said, “I just wish I could keep it together!”  She gave me a hug and said, “You keep it together 99% of the time. Why don’t you just go home and fall apart.  I’ll see you tomorrow” I didn’t even have to make up some problem or explain – she didn’t judge me on my falling apart – she actually judged me on the whole shebang! The whole kit and caboodle (is any of that spelled right?). Falling apart is simply a moment – it does not define me.

I’m not good at this coming home to fall apart.  I am actually all cried out, and my head hurts so I will try to sleep.  But writing helps.  It gets it out, and I am hoping that someone reading this someday will simply let themselves fall apart.  Fall apart – for God sakes.  Just do it.  If you are too afraid to fall apart – borrow my faith! You must have the faith to know you will be back together again soon – laughing, enjoying the sunshine, and feeling the breeze.  So go fall apart, and I’ll see you tomorrow!

And – if you aren’t the one who needs to fall apart, but you are in the presence of someone who does – PLEASE, PLEASE just let them! It is a gift that cannot be repaid. It is God working through you.

Peace.

Posted in Crying at Work, Fall apart, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , ,
11 May 2013
7 Comments

Mother’s Day

Simply reading the title of this blog may elicit a plethora of emotions and expectations. Reading it knowing that this will be the first Mother’s Day I celebrate without my mom, may make some cringe and think, “Oh boy, another post about death and darkness.”  I’m not feeling one way or the other about Mother’s Day this year, and maybe it’s because I’ve never been one to fully engage in what I once heard described as “Hallmark Holidays.”

A few years ago, I read an excellent blog post by Anne Lamott about Mother’s Day (Salon, 2010) and I revisited it again yesterday on the advice of a friend.  Anne Lamott did not raise her son to celebrate Mother’s Day.  I wish I had that insight when my kids were young, but I was too hung up on cultural norms and guilt and control. I expected my husband to perform, when the kids were too small, and make sure the kids got me a present, blah, blah blah.

I am a mother of two incredible children, but what does that mean – being a mother? Does that mean I should never leave them alone with any one that isn’t related until they are old enough to tell me if anything bad happened? Does that mean I should sacrifice things I may enjoy to be a stay at home mom? Does it mean I should put all my needs on hold while parenting my children? Does it mean I should attend every game, recital, parent visiting day at school, etc.? Well yes and no.  It depends.

What if staying home with my kids makes me angry and resentful? What if finding a balance between work and home brings me peace? What if I find safe, nurturing people who enjoy being with kids 8 hours a day while I do things that make me feel confident and darn good about myself? Does this make me unworthy of Mother’s Day cards? Am I the reason the current generation is so self-centered and out of control? (As most generations feel about the younger one).  Or am I simply  a human being who doesn’t meet the expectations of those sickening verses on Mother’s Day cards?

My sister and I used to hate picking out Mother’s Day cards – okay maybe we didn’t hate it because we used our humor to help us through. We made fun of them and made up what a true verse would sound like coming from our family.  It was difficult to find a card that was true; our childhood was not rainbows and cupcakes, but we loved and admired our mom for many things.  However we didn’t love and admire her for any of the things that are written about in those verses.  I don’t remember my mom being around much when I was younger. My mom struggled with many issues – and I bet a big one was trying to live up to the societal norms of motherhood – and boy oh boy – I think that one can really mess with you.

My mom and I lived together as adults; she lived with me and my family.  Ninety percent of those 13 years were just fine.  The last few were very, very, very difficult.  I went to therapy during those years, and I remember one of my first sessions complaining about the stress in the home and saying, “I would never ask my mom to leave!” My therapist responded with something like, “That sounds like a really dangerous and unhealthy statement.”  I had this Mother’s Day verse mentality.  She did not tell me to kick my mom out, but she pointed out to me that in some homes, it just doesn’t work. If my mom got too sick or mentally ill, or if the tension just got to be too much, I would of course need to look at other options.  Once I created some space away from the Mother’s Day verse, I was able to exhale and see how difficult and tense this Mother/Daughter Dance had become.  I was then able to be kind (most of the time), lower my expectations, ask others for help, and most importantly: not feel guilty about it being so damn difficult sometimes.

It feels good to throw off the old ideas I carried for so long. Not just about Mother’s Day, but Valentine’s Day, our Wedding Anniversary, even big ones like Christmas or birthdays.  I am turning 50 in a few months, and I am throwing my own party!  It won’t make me feel any more or less loved or valued if you do it for me!  Just like tomorrow – Mother’s Day – doesn’t mean I need to sit in a chair with my feet up – that would just feel stupid to me.  Being a Mother means I birthed a child – if you didn’t – it shouldn’t make you any more or less valuable than me.  In fact – having a special day just comes with baggage about how I’m supposed to act, and it gets in the way of the true me, and for me, it gets in the way of true joy.

One disclaimer: if you are a mom and feel good about being with your kids 24/7 – that is awesome for you, but not for everyone.  Maybe this is just my issue, but I feel a lot of times we moms are posturing to be close to others that are just like us so that we can judge the ones that are different.  Not all families need the same things emotionally. Not all kids need to be parented the same way. Not all couples need the same things for their relationships to be successful.  It’s okay.  It’s okay. (I say this twice as a mantra for myself). There isn’t a template for human relationships – it always all depends.

One of the best things about being a mom – is finally letting my mom off the hook.  Finally realizing that those silly storybook or Hollywood or Leave It to Beaver moms where not REAL.  I am not a perfect mom – nor do I want my kids to see me as perfect for that may set up some sickness in them to go out and be perfect.  We are all raised by human beings and I have yet to meet one that is perfect. Real moms come with baggage . . . and personalty.  The  personality is what brings me joy.  I laughed so hard with my mom at times that I cried.  She was a goof, and I loved her. I can’t fit her into a verse on a Mother’s Day card.  I certainly will take some time tomorrow to remember her, and miss her, but guess what, I kind of do that everyday.

Peace.

Posted in Mother's Day, Suffocating Cultural Norms, Uncategorized, What is a Mother and tagged , , , , , ,
05 May 2013
6 Comments

On the Fence?

We are all living on the fence.  Think about it – we all want it to be this or that, but it is often (I’d say always) this and that. I was in my therapist’s office the other day asking what she thinks of procrastination   “Do you think it is laziness or fear?” She has this way of never giving me an answer because she too believes it is always both this and that. She says, “Why can’t it be many things that cause one to procrastinate?” Well – because you are the doctor and I want answers!

I then go on to talk about the anxiety.  How for many years I never felt my skin crawl with pins and needles, or the lump in my throat that blocks the air to my brain, or the racing thoughts at 4 a.m. I ask her, “is it all the grief, is it the fear of raising teen girls after experiencing a horrendous teen girl adolescence myself, or is it menopause that heightens anxiety.”  Again she responds, “It seems like you have many things to explain the anxiety.”

We seem to come to the same conclusion in each session – life is living on the fence.  It is being the mom of a newborn and being brought to tears by so much love and gratitude, while at the same time needing sleep or a shower so badly that you feel intense anger and resentment against that same precious newborn.

And what a set up that is!  How many women instead of allowing themselves to feel this anger and resentment (because what would people think!?), instead screams at her partner or blames hormones, or in-laws for the anger?  What would happen if we just started saying, “Yes, I love my kids, but some days I really want to run away from home.”

Why do I get such weird looks when I talk about how difficult it is living with teens, and that I am looking forward to them finding their way in the world.  This doesn’t mean my kids are bad, or mean, or even obnoxious for that matter.  It doesn’t even mean I won’t feel blue when they actually do leave home. Mostly it means I have learned that at this point, I can’t do much to control, soothe or help them, and that is an incredibly uncomfortable fence on which to sit.  I need to hang here until they pass through this phase.  I heard a great analogy for parenting teens: “You want to stand far enough away so that when they crash you don’t get hit by the shrapnel, and just close enough so that when they crash (not if), you can go in to help them.”

Isn’t that why new love is so grand, because we lean into the euphoria that clouds any humanness and we get hooked into only goodness? Then once our relationship transitions from the new, euphoric stage into the adolescent stage, we realize our beloved is actually human. . .well divorce seems the cultural answer.  When really our partners are both lovely and hideous. Most people who leave a relationship because they get uncomfortable about not being loved or appreciated enough – or sometimes being loved too much – being smothered. Our partner doesn’t act the way he or she should, we can’t get what we want when we want it so we leave for a new relationship.  Then, voila within a few months or a few years there we are struggling in a different relationship with the same stuff trying to find comfort in our own skin – on the fence – sitting with the good and the bad.

The beauty of being on the fence is that it is very uncomfortable.  However,  the more we can simply live with the uncomfortableness until it passes, because it ALWAYS passes, then we don’t have to react.  We wait on the fence until we reach a place that doesn’t feel so desperate, and then we make a decision.  Sometimes the decision is to remain on the fence.

Peace.

Posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , ,
21 Apr 2013
5 Comments

The Good News about Aging

The good news is – I am turning 50 this year.  In America it seems almost sinful to age, but also sinful to die before turning old.  Which one is it? Do you want to live or die? I’ll take living! I’ve never had issues in telling people my age or my weight – they are all just numbers, and truly do not define me. I don’t know what the big deal is about aging – I think it is cool to be turning 50.

Besides – I’m getting better with age.  I continue to stay fit and try to take care of myself physically. I also continue to grow spiritually and emotionally with the help of spiritual friends and professional helpers. I am old enough to have friendships that span decades, and some of these friends know me well enough to tell me the truth about myself when I can’t bear to uncover it alone. And I listen.  I talk a lot too, but I listen more than I ever have, and I continue to change. I even enjoy being surprised by the changes in myself and those around me. Changes used to scare me when I was younger and needed to control myself and others.  I continue to let go – not completely – but I’m heading in the right direction.

Why don’t we focus on these aspects of aging instead of continuously fighting the physical properties of the aging process. We are instructed to cover the grey, get a shot of Botox, a tummy tuck here, a neck lift there, and then we will be beautiful, satisfied, happy.  Yeah right!  A few years ago I began asking myself if getting____________ would make me more lovable to my family and friends. You can fill in the blank with – whiter teeth, Botox, being thinner, tanning, dying my hair, wearing more make-up, etc, etc. If the answer was no, than why would I get it?

When I was younger – I tried changing the outside stuff in order to be happy, and I am now wise enough to know it does not work! Those of us that are lucky enough to grow old will witness our hair turning grey (or losing our hair) and our skin will begin to droop.  Why do we have to hide this process – why are we expected to hide this process? We should celebrate these things – they are all proof that we are still alive!

When I was 44 my dad died.  This was my first significant loss, and it had a profound, and yet wonderful impact on me.  I had a twinge of guilt about not being available enough to my dad.  Instead of letting this eat at me, I decided to live differently going forward in respecting my dad’s life.   I tried to “show up” for people more often. A few weeks after his death an old friend of mine wanted to get together for lunch; we stumbled upon a crack in our busy schedules, when I noticed I had an appointment to get my hair dyed that day.   I chose to have lunch instead.  I remember thinking I had recently hosted a wealth of friends and family at my dad’s viewing. I felt like an adult; a rite of passage had taken place. I earned this grey hair.

It is very difficult to let your hair grow out! Very difficult!  It looks pretty dreadful for awhile, but I have an awesome friend who has been doing my hair for over 20 years – she was fabulous! My mom and my sister were horrified.  They said – you are younger than us – if you go grey everyone will know we are really grey too!  I ran into a male acquaintance at a gas station who was taller than me who was looking down onto my head and asked, “What is going on with your hair?”  This from a grey-haired, slightly chubby biker dude who was just an acquaintance!  I said, “I am letting it go – going natural.”  He proceeded to tell me to look around – women all over were dying their hair and I should too.  It was amazing and fired me up even more to let my hair go grey.  Lots of women then and now still say things like, “If I had pretty hair like yours, I would grow mine out too.” I didn’t know my hair was going to look this fab until I actually let it grow out, so they don’t know either.

We live in a culture that devalues aging.  I have 2 teen daughters, so I have been in a few dermatologist offices over the years.  If the ads there don’t make you feel worthless if you aren’t getting some “work” done – nothing will.  I don’t actually like taking my kids there either – they have enough issues trying to live up to the standards of beauty in America. My older daughter has near perfect teeth, but began asking at 13 if she could get her teeth whitened! Whitened? What the heck!  She is now 17, and has learned to live with her near perfect teeth; as she herself ages and becomes wiser, she realizes that nothing is perfect except the unique (perfect) imperfections that we all bring to the world.

This isn’t to say I’m totally opposed to hair dye and make-up.  It was fun to experiment with hair color and make-up in my youth. It was only when I felt I needed to get hair dyed or wear make-up to look younger or wear make-up before being seen in public that it got ugly.  A part of becoming wiser is giving myself the freedom to wear or not wear make-up, but to do it or not do it on my terms, and not to please a man or a woman or to “one up” the neighbor or the ex’s current girlfriend.

Yes, I’m getting older. I am sometimes more tired or forgetful or tearful. But I am also less tied to social mores and societal standards of dress.  I choose which commitments I want to attend; I no longer go to be with the cool kids or because I don’t want to miss something, and never because I “should!” (Aging has taught me not to “should” on myself). All of this has taken years of practice, and I’m still not perfect.  So . . .I hope to live a lot longer, get a lot older, and get a ton more wrinkles, so I can become freer and more comfortable in my own skin with each passing year. I wish you all the same.

Peace.

Posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , ,
07 Apr 2013
1 Comment

6 errors. . .

Isn’t it great when we allow ourselves to change.  Years ago, I went through a very angry stage.  At age 26 I hit a bottom in my life where I was faced with the choice – change or die.  Shortly after this, I took a sobering look at my past, and it was horrifying.  Rather than feel sad about this I got angry – angry at institutions and politicians and heck even baseball players.

I remember going to a Noam Chomsky film where he alluded to the fact that sports in America are manufactured by the media to distract us all from what is really important – poverty, crime, peace, war, etc. Mr. Chomsky is an incredible writer and philosopher, who has opinions and views on many things.  When I heard that – I felt I couldn’t be both into sports and into peace or feminism or helping the poor. I lived in a very black and white world for many years. I was hurt and angry and opinionated. I was in no way ready to do the therapeutic work involved in getting to the bottom of these strong feelings, so I jsut stayed angry.

I will be the first to tell you – I think pro athletes are incredibly overpaid.  However, I also enjoy pro sports these days.  I grew up in a family of Baltimore Orioles fans.  We lived in Northwood, and I remember being quite young taking the bus to Memorial Stadium, and also going with my dad on my birthday. As I got older, I enjoyed going to the games with my friends. Then I moved out west where it was tough to follow Baltimore sports, got married, and had a few kids. Oh – and I was angry, and had that seed planted from one comment I heard in a documentary. Don’t get me wrong – I didn’t stay angry about sports all these years. I peripherally followed the local sports teams and attended Raven’s parties, but I hadn’t legitimately rooted for the O’s in a long time; I barely recognized any names on the team.

Then last April, the O’s were playing on Easter Sunday. My nephew, who learned to read following the O’s in the newspaper, was watching the game.  I started asking him about the O’s, and I had this sense we could really use a winning season.  Keep in mind, my brother, my nephew’s dad, died suddenly the January before this. My mom was recovering from lung cancer treatment, and my sister was gone from leukemia.  It just felt like we all needed a winning season. It became my my mantra – “we could use a winning season!”

I not only became a fan, but a Fanatic!  It was wonderful basking in the Orioles first winning season in 14 years.  I wasn’t sure in April it was going to be that way, but I hung on to every pitch. I read sports blogs and read stats and history on the players. I cheered, I cussed, I went to games. I stayed up until 2 a.m. when they were playing on the west coast! I was distracted, and it felt damn good!

I watched tons of games with my mom, and it was wonderful.  It had been a couple of tense, difficult years, and the O’s were something we could do together – something that connected us to our past – something that brought us joy, excitement, frustration, and celebration. Even when mom fell, and went to the hospital and rehab, I went and watched games with her.  Unfortunately – I watched the final games in the post season with her, but she was at home in hospice, and unable to really watch the games.

Yesterday was Opening Day here in Baltimore, and it was my oldest daughter’s 17th birthday, so the girls and I went to the game. Yes, ball players do make a lot of money, but they also take me to a place of nostalgia and joy that eludes me most of the time. This year they had a few minutes of silence for those who left us since the last Opening Day (mainly Earl Weaver – one of my childhood heroes).  For me it was more like remembering all who  left us since my last Opening Day many years ago.  It was touching, and respectful, and meaningful.

Another thing that really caught my attention were the 3 Gold Glove Awards that were presented. One was given to our shortstop – JJ Hardy. Hardy had only 6 errors in 779 chances last year. However, he is  a million dollar athlete and he made 6 errors.  He made mistakes. We make mistakes.  Perfection truly doesn’t exist.  We follow doctrines in our 20’s, raise kids, pay mortgages, bury people, return to our childhood traditions, and make a ton of mistakes. If we are lucky – IF we are lucky – we change.

There aren’t many parts of me that are still recognizable from my early 20’s. My opinions, my friends, my favorite music, my styles, my hair color, my idea of fun, have all changed – thank God! I’m sure glad no one is keeping track of my errors, and I will continue working on the change that allows me to stop keeping track of them as well. I don’t know about you – but I could use another winning season!

Peace.

Posted in Embrace Change, Mistake, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , ,
31 Mar 2013
3 Comments

Easter Yummies!

Good Friday was tough this year; this is the first Easter since my mom died. What’s worse  is that last Easter was the first Easter without my brother (who died last January), so mom’s last Easter was really messy in many ways. But we celebrate nonetheless.

Grief and life and death and family and holidays can be so very complicated.  I found myself sitting outside of Wegman’s on Friday crying.  I am a novice at Easter; mom did Easter! I had a list – I never have lists – mom had lists! Actually I found myself outside of Wegman’s with my anxiety amping up into full blown panic attack mode.  Luckily I have learned a few tricks in my life – one being to reach out and ask for help. I called a spiritual friend and began crying.  As I was crying, I realized I really don’t cry much anymore, and when the anxiety starts it feels almost like lots of crying is crammed up inside of me and that is what is causing the lump in my throat and the racing heart that makes it difficult to breathe – the anxiety. So the crying was wonderful, and the talk was “soul food!” Complicated.

I talked about buying Easter candy for the first time in years, because my mom always did this. I talked about how my mom drove me crazy with the amount of money she spent on the holidays and the massive amounts of food she made, and how I was the one that was often left throwing it away. Now it is on me to carry this on – going into the store to buy cabbage and kielbasa and channelling my mom’s recipes (because we rarely follow them anyway and never write them down!), and making the Polish food, and carrying on the traditions – some of which really drove me crazy! Feeling inadequate about carrying on the traditions and not helping enough when she was still here. Complicated.

When my mom died – I felt a lot of relief.  She was dying in my home as my family cared for her knowing what was coming. She was often confused and scared, and so were we. When she died I was relieved and then went to work and got distracted. On Good Friday, I finally began feeling very sad and missing her, and feeling too exhausted to carry on these traditons. Worst of all is the guilt! Seeing how hard it is to do all of this, and knowing I was not very available to help her.  She wasn’t good at asking for help. Complicated.

But guess what? Easter was delicious! Alleluia!!  The house smelled like it always does on Easter.  I am sad leading up to the holidays – knowing how the absence of loved ones is so very present, but then people – the living people show up – and we laugh! We pick on each other as only family can, no one cares that i cuss (okay – maybe they care – but they love me anyway)! We talk about the dead, and we talk about the living! We connect, we eat, we all stare at the new baby, the new life, we live! Complicated!

This year was good. Not perfect – I used too much rice in the Golumpki –  but good. It’s a big deal making the Golumpki.  I am a novice, and I knew I used too much rice.  Funny – I said it a few times, and everyone said they were good, dismissing my self-criticisms. After the extended family left, I asked my husband – my soul-mate of forever, “How were the Golumpki’s?” He said, “Good.”  I said, Good? But?” He said, “There was too much rice.”  I was so thrilled.  Complicated.

We truly do have to get through Good Friday to appreciate Easter. For me it is mind boggling that I can’t quite get it that the thinking about doing is always, always, always, always worse than the actual doing! Don’t get me wrong – I’m not where I want to be with this lesson, but I’m not where I used to be either.  I do have this voice that tells me the thinking about doing is always worse than the doing. I then go through the self lecture, “stay right here in this moment – don’t go into the future. Nothing is wrong right here – right now – what are you really feeling – Okay – you are sad or tired or frustrated.  Just be sad or tired or frustrated, but still get into that store and get what is on the list!” Leading up to the holiday is tough, thinking about it, letting my mind control me.  However, actually filling the house with smells (that can be bittersweet, but yummy all the same), filling the house with family, filling the house with inside jokes, filling the hosue with connections – – this is the easy part, the yummy part.

The feast is the Easter Sunday part; the part that makes getting through the darkness of Good Friday totally worth it. I have this sense tonight that we all continue to grow, and evolve, and learn, and maybe even relax a bit.  It was good, really, really good. I held to some traditions, and I broke others.  We assembled a mere community Easter Basket instead of several individual ones  costing hundreds of dollars.  Although I said several times when cooking, “I don’t know if I am making enough. It is going to be a good crowd this year.” I didn’t overdo.  Rather than feeling guilty about being different from my mom in some ways – maybe I can see this as a lesson learned from her – no guilt – no intense feelings – just that – a lesson learned.  And let’s face it – who wouldn’t want to teach the next generation lessons. Complicated.

Peace.

Posted in Uncategorized and tagged
28 Mar 2013
2 Comments

Holy Thursday. . .

Lent is coming to an end.   I was raised Catholic, and I have been blessed to change my views of church and God and Spirit at different times in my life.  Mostly I’ve been blessed to have spiritual supporters who accept me with whatever concept of God I choose today.  I’m not a weekly participant at the Church of my childhood these days, but I am also not angry or resentful about it; I respect its believers and many of the rituals – especially Lent.

When I was living in Utah I was very much involved with the Catholic Church as I belonged to a progressive, supportive parish on the campus of the U of U.  One Lent, when I was an undergrad at the U, I decided to give up make-up for Lent. The gal I was sharing this with reminded my that God didn’t want us to look like we were suffering during Lent – she pointed me to Matthew 6 (http://www.esvbible.org/Matthew+6/) in which Jesus instructs us not to be hypocrites and talk about how difficult this fasting and alms-giving is.  Jesus instructs us not to pray in front of everyone like a martyr but to go to an inner room and pray privately.  Her point was – that I shouldn’t want to “look bad” in order to praise God.  As we talked through this – my giving up make-up was more about giving time and service (and maybe even money) to things that were not about my physical appearance.  So I stopped – for about 15 years!

Life is so very much like Lent!  I mean entering that darkness and silence is so quiet, so peaceful, so different than what we usually do.  For me, it isn’t about not eating meat, it is about why we fast, give-up, and give more.  Each time I sacrifice, I am reminded to make peace with that which makes me uncomfortable.  If you are Catholic – it reminds us that Jesus was pretty uncomfortable for us.

More existentially though – it helped me practice darkness. When my spiritual quest took me to the Buddhist meditation cushion, I was reminded again about being at peace in all conditions. Although this time I wasn’t really being asked to fast (until I visited a monastery for 4 days), I was being asked to sit.  Most faith traditions have a contemplative prayer practice, but the Theravada Buddhists just spoke to me with their simplicity.  Just sit. Just breathe.  Just do this for 5 minutes! Ha! Five minutes seemed an eternity.  I actually began sitting on our sofa while the morning coffee brewed – this was about 3.78 minutes (but who’s counting). During this time I was a Buddhist/Catholic (I guess I still am); carrying principles of breathe, silence and mantra, and including the Holy Spirit into the mantras.

As I began sitting for longer periods, I needed the advice of those who went before me, so I began listening to Dhamma (teacher) talks. The one that sits in the back of my mind is one entitled “Making Friendliness with all Conditions.”  This talk was about sitting on the cushion and watching your mind tell you not to sit there!

I sit and try to just be right there, but what happens? My mind starts thinking about answering the email for work, or worrying about my daughter not doing her homework, and then failing, and then not graduating, and then not going to college, and then never leaving our home, and then people judging me for not being a good parent, and then, and then, and then, and then.  When I return to the breathe and bring it back into my living room, I am just breathing, and my daughter is just sleeping. No one is failing, no one is judging. If I had stood up and checked my work email when that first thought came to me I could have stopped all those other thoughts.  But then I wouldn’t have ever learned how that mind of mine is really out to torture me when I don’t just sit and watch it for what it is.

Watching it allows me to get to the point of me being judged – which really causes the heart to race and the sweat to start – it has very little to do with my daughters’ brief (doesn’t feel brief when you are sitting next to it) stage of adolescence. Making friendliness means that if I learn to sit on the cushion and just be comfortable with the thoughts, with the silence, with the uncomfortableness, that I can take this into life.

So when I am in the hospital holding the hand of a loved one, and my mind begins taking me to the future of planning a funeral and who I should call, and to the past of pointing out my inadequacies about not doing enough loving deeds and feeling guilty – I know this is just my mind.  All I am doing is holding the hand of a loved one who is dying. I am present. It is difficult. I am making friendliness with this difficulty. I can sit here in this present and not break and not explode.  I am able to be with the awesome present moment knowing that Lent ends and we experience the Sunlight and Resurrection that is Jesus.

Peace.

Posted in Uncategorized
27 Mar 2013
2 Comments

Saying yes to life. . .

The Thing Is. . .

To love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
― Ellen Bass

I really am not sitting around ringing my hands, going through old pictures of loved ones who have passed, reading depressing poetry, and otherwise looking like an old haggard lady.  Yesterday I write about death, grief.  Today I post a poem about suffering.  BUT – in the poem and in the post we say “Yes to life!”

I’m wondering if some of you think I am stuck grieving? Or feeling sorry for myself?  The thing is I think for a whole bunch of years I had a pretty charmed life.  I actually had a pretty horrific young life, and a dangerous adolescence, but in my mid-twenties, I started “living right.”  I got in with a group of folks who were also “living right,” and this is when the charmed life began.  I married my soul-mate, had two lovely children, lived with my mom to help her avoid financial difficulties, she helped parent my kids, we had gardens, we had a wealth of friends, good health, employment.

Unfortunately I began believing that as long as I am living right bad things won’t/don’t happen.  Delusional?  Defense mechanisms? Humanbeingism? When I began suffering with all this loss and grief, I was living a life that didn’t allow for much “numbing.” So I was feeling everything – I was absolutely not in control – paradigms were shifting all around me – I was full of fear – and I was feeling everything.

I thought if I just prayed enough, or tended to others enough, or was honest enough, or was good enough, or surrendered enough, or let go enough,. . . that it wouldn’t hurt so bad.   I didn’t know that many human beings approaching 50, raising teens, losing loved ones – hurt so bad too.  Everyone else just looked like they were reading (or writing) the rule book on life, and to me it was all Greek (which I don’t understand).

My head knows all the right sayings – “Don’t judge your insides by other people’s outsides.” or “God won’t give you more than you can handle.”  or “Let go and Let God.”  I knew all of this stuff intellectually, but none of it stopped the hurting.  In fact it was really enough to drive me mad, because I KNEW IT and yet it didn’t work!  At least not in the magic wand sort of way.

Somewhere along the journey, I got the message that it was easy to suffer, that deep meaningful writing and art came from suffering.  That suffering builds character and makes us interesting characters. It does.  . .eventually. Suffering can really only be treated by going through it. I can’t pray it away, I can’t work it away, I can’t gamble it away or drink it away or sex it away or buy it away.  Well – I could, but it all of these things would ultimately create more suffering. What I can do is say yes to life.  And learn how to say no often!  Suffering finally helped me to tear away the formalities in life – saying yes to obligatory parties and commitments.  Suffering taught me to preserve my energy, and to choose carefully where I expended that energy.  Suffering taught me not to feel guilty about not writing a thank you card or forgetting a birthday. Suffering taught me how to say shocking things for the pure sake of shocking people.  Suffering also taught me to laugh, and laugh and laugh.  Mostly at really irreverent things.  Suffering taught me not to be afraid to say irreverent things – especially if it makes people laugh.

People think I am pretty messed up for some of the things I say.  Someone will say, “My sister and I went to the movies yesterday.”  And I will say, “That’s nice – my only sister is dead.”  Someone will mention their family coming in for the holiday, and I will say, “Most of my family died over the last 2-1/2 years.” No one quite knows how to act when I say that.  To be honest – I’m just saying it.  Saying it doesn’t make it any more or less true.  Saying it just puts it out there.  One could argue that I say it because misery loves company. But I will argue that I am not really miserable.  In fact, most often when I answer the phone or run into someone the thing that happens is we laugh.  I think I say it because I want you to know that I have suffered and am still standing. I am still here saying difficult things, saying ridiculously stupid things, saying poignant things, saying important things, saying useless things.  I’m still here, and I’ve started writing a BLOG!!!!

Peace.

Posted in Uncategorized
25 Mar 2013
8 Comments

“People are oft…

“People are often at their best when they are at their worst.” from the journals of J. Stilling – written while caring for her dying sister.

My first blog – and I’ve decided to quote myself!   I can’t believe my sister died on April 15th, 2010 – the images are still etched into my brain as if it were just last night.  My mom died just 5 months ago, and I can barely remember those scenes, but Terrie’s life, illness, and death are clearly imbedded into my consciousness as unique as dental records.   Perhaps the brain can only hold so much death.  After all – my brother died between those two deaths.

Was I at my best when these loved ones were dying?  Of course.  Do I feel this way all the time?  No!  I often feel guilty or shallow, or self-centered or lost or dark or empty.  But I am 100% certain that I was the best I could be in those moments considering the circumstances.

The above quote is more about the people I watched die – especially Theresa Marie Stilling born March 7, 1957 – my only sister.  My older sister by 7 years.  Not that the others didn’t die with tremendous grace and dignity, but my sister’s death (and life) hooked me in.  I was there – on the firing lines.  I was there for the others, but my brain won’t let me keep those scenes in the same way. Maybe Terrie’s death was just too big, or maybe I am still sorting through the lessons of that one to make room for the others or maybe this is simply where I am on this snowy morning in March!

My sister’s illness came on so suddenly and in the midst of an already heavy phase of life.  Her son was in the throes of addiction, and that alone was infiltrating every aspect of her life and of our relationship.  In fact the morning I received the call that she was admitted to the hospital – I refused the call.

It was in June of 2009 and I was with a meditation group about to enter the silence of a 30 minute meditation.  I saw the number and turned my phone off thinking it was some drama about my nephew.  An hour later, I heard the words “Leukemia Blasts” in the blood.  I was worried – since I do that so well, but I had no idea the nightmare that was to follow.

I guess this blog is about that today.  The fact that 3 years later I still have these memories. That 3 years later I have not only buried my sister, but my brother, and my mother, and I am still here – being my best self.  That 3 years later I am working, tending to a marriage, raising teen girls, working, praying, cleaning the house, working, reaching out to others, tending to friendships, working, stressing, dealing with menopause, working through anxiety, working, meditating, talking, accepting I’m a workaholic, and now writing.

Peace.

Posted in Dying and rising, Uncategorized and tagged , , ,

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