Satisfaction

What is the criteria for making you who you want to be?

The mothers of toddlers in tiaras don't see what they are doing as kiddie porn. They honestly believe that teaching little girls life is about make up and provocative gestures will get them started out on the right foot.

Sarcastic people believe they look sophisticated.

Desperate people think looking sexy equates with love.

Children want to be unique -- just like their friends.

We want to be loved, admired, looked up to, valued. We keep thinking, "Am I there yet?"

Problem is it's not any one place or thing.

Satisfaction is a cocktail not a two dimensional picture. No one can really say what exactly goes in it, or how much you should drink.

It's a personal thing.

Users

Savages among us gnawing on our fears.
Dancing round the flickering fires
Of ignorance with spears.

Savages among us clothed in grisly guise
suits and vestments and smiling mouths
Topped by scary eyes.

Savages among us praying to their gods
Feeling holy being wholly
At truly godless odds.

Savages among us shedding godless tears 
Sifting out the hate fueled words
For use upon their spears.
 

I hate Augusts

I just watched Lucy and as it ended I felt sad. Their divorce was the way all divorces should be, but ours was not.

We did not sadly end our marriage and remain friends forever.

We are not enemies. We get along just fine, but not because we regret the problems that caused our divorce -- although I think everyone does regret the problems because they make it hard on the children and leach years of joy from otherwise happy lives.

I didn't believe in divorces when there were children. Back then I'm not sure I believed in divorces at all then. 

By the time our divorce was finalized I mostly felt relief. Any trust and respect were both long gone. Our marriage was over nearly eighteen years before it ended. Maybe longer than that.

He asked for a divorce. I got it. and, I assume, both of us felt an immense relief that it was over. Looking back I realize we never talked about the important things before we got married. Had we done that and not assumed our families and backgrounds and expectations were the same, we would never have taken that final, seemingly irrevocable step. 

 I can barely believe that, at last, twenty Augusts have passed quietly without any heartbreaking incidents at all since that day we walked out of the courthouse unmarried.

It seems like only yesterday.


 

Feelings

They move around me wearing little masks. I know they are all unique and different, but it's hard to tell them apart. Most of the time I just stand back and watch them anymore, marveling at the fact that they exist.

I know their names. I know how I am supposed to react to them, but thank god for Bestest. He is like a herding dog, rounding them up, putting them back into their proper place and then cuddling up beside me offering comfort.

A little moral support goes a long way.

The way things are

I am getting things done.

The floors are clean. The bathroom is clean. The clothes are clean. The litter box is clean. Even the sheets on the bed are clean.

I met my sister in another town yesterday and we went to look at the places we grew up then I had a pumpkin spice milkshake.

I held Annabel and cuddled her for a long time today. I re-arranged her kitty house so she has new things to explore and play with.

Everything appears to be fine and dandy.

Except it doesn't feel that way.

Nightpairs

My dreams seem to be heading down the same pathways lately.

Last night I dreamed I was in charge of teaching the cello to a young girl in the second orchestra.  The weird thing about it was that our orchestra sat facing the first orchestra and the conductor was in between, so I was facing the teacher of the first cellist and he was looking at me. We never saw the conductor's face though and I think we might all have been playing at once which sort of negates having two orchestras.

Of course another weird thing was having the teachers sitting right in the orchestra with their students, or at least the two of us. And, and this is not insignificant, I have never played a cello!

I sat beside my student able to read the music, but having no real idea how to interpret the music for her on the cello and finally I left to go down to a small room at the end of the hall and ask my instructor what I should do.

It was like a hall of mirrors. Instructor after instructor there to teach the teacher of the teacher of the teacher and I wondered if the others were as handicapped as I felt.

The night before I dreamed I had trouble hearing.

It seems my dreams are about coping with my shortcomings -- the story of my life.

A second life

I am wearing a white linen Victorian suit dress and coming down the steps of a city house with my two toddlers. The children, a boy and a little girl are also dressed in white. They are sweet cuddly looking children and I take one on each hand. Another woman comes out and takes them in because I need to go to work. 

I meet a man on the patio of a very large place with white wicker furniture and large palm like plants. He is wearing a Panama hat and white linen suit, as well as a monocle. I am  there to interview him, but  having a difficult time hearing all his words. It wouldn't matter except that I cannot write an article about him if I don't know what he said, so I struggle to read his lips as well as listening to him.

Later I go back to the house where the children are, scoop them up, one under each arm, like little puppies and whisk them upstairs to bed. The upstairs of the house is very sparsely furnished, but the floors are beautiful narrow hardwoods and there is a bathroom with a pedestal lavatory and little white medicine chest mirror where I can brush my teeth.

I realize that I am quite happy here and hope it can last.

And then I wake up.

Preaching to the choir

Election years are always full of crap. I'd like to say they bring out the worst in politicians, but a true politician is already one of the worst.

However there are gradations of worse and many of the people running for office do have some thought of improving the lives of the majority. Unfortunately, once they are in office and learn they have to play the game to get things done, many appear to lose sight of that. Their feelings of what is right subtly shifts to reflect the people they are working with.

Up until now, most of them tried to at least appear fair and concerned and respectful of due process and the ideas of decency. This is changing.

During the last Bush administration I had the feeling we were being hoodwinked into believing many untrue things. Now I know it was true. We ended up being many of those things the United States has claimed not to be. That seemed to set the stage for the current Republican party. They pretty much admitted there were no holds barred when they wanted something and we sank to using terrorist type tactics when we wanted oil, or confessions, or probably more things than we know of yet.

Now they are running a candidate who takes it even a step further. He could care less about what  anyone but himself wants. He thinks He knows. Elect a man like this and there may never be another election. Perhaps even more frightening is the thought that if we do not elect him, he may try to retaliate.

This has gone beyond reality television where lies just create drama and audience ratings. Now we have the possibility of a president who could really do all the things that create nightmares and the results will not be lower ratings, but world chaos. If you bomb a country or insult its leader, just saying you didn't do it, or don't care is not enough.

Imagine the president of the greatest country on earth up there pouting and lying and throwing temper tantrums and thinking he can scam anyone he wants to because he has enough money to keep them in court forever or till their money runs out. It's the school yard bully throwing his weight around because his Daddy had lots of money.

He taps into the lowest common denominator in human characteristics -- hate. You are being manipulated and used if you vote for him and he will get around to using you. Bullies have no loyalties except to themselves and even their best friends will eventually move out of favor.

We are between a rock and a hard place right now.

Forgotten

I can usually be relied upon to do the things I say I'll do, but today I forgot.

I can't believe I forgot, but I did.

Maybe because I am becoming more a creature of habit, but who knows?

It wasn't a big thing, but it was a disappointment and I know it was missed.

And yet,

There were no recriminations, no pointing of fingers, no harsh words, or attempts to make me feel guilty.

There is a lesson here that I won't forget.

Memories

I listen to people tell stories.

I read what people write in books . . . and on Facebook . . . and on twitter.

I think about the things I remember, etched in granite deep in my memories.

And I wonder about reality.

Because the way we remember things varies so much from person to person that it is often hard to believe they are the same stories seen from different eyes, remembered by different needs, retold for different reasons.

Is reality only a jumble of transparent slides tossed in a pile by all the people present?

A child

The world is in trouble.

We take our babies out to dark lakes in Florida at night and wonder how an alligator could eat them.

We allow our children to do things they are not old enough, or big enough for and blame others for their deaths.

We "forget" they are with us and leave them to cook in cars all over the country.

Nothing is more important than your child.

Nothing!

And if you don't believe that you should not have a child.

August

It's one of those primordial rainy days when the earth feels clean and new despite it being August.

August, the worst month in the whole year when everything is overgrown, wilting down upon itself and decaying with that sweet smell of moldering grass.

Humidity that wraps around everything until just breathing feels almost impossible. Air filled with grainy pollen and smoggy grit.

Too hot afternoons. Sticky mornings. Long still nights too cool for air conditioning, too warm to sleep without it. August.

Today the world has flung open the windows and is being wiped down.

August. Feels symbolic of our times.

Except for today.

Picking back up

Doing the same things over and over and expecting different results might be considered being an optimist for a while, but eventually it is simply crazy.

This has not been a good summer for me. I thought about moving, but finally decided that wouldn't solve any problems and might even create a few.

Moving is always my first choice. Run away from the problem. Escape from the tension. Remove myself if I cannot fix things. This time I decided to dig in my heels and change things. Whether or not that means fixing them -- we'll see.

I have considered getting a cat for a long time and didn't for several reasons. I considered those along with the kind of cat I really yearn for and finally went to our pound. I went there many times looking for a cat that didn't elicit an allergic reaction from me, that was cuddly and trusted me and eventually found one. A few more times and Annabel Lee came home with me last Thursday. If you know Poe you will know Annabel who seems like a pretty sharp little kitty in so many ways.

She seems to know her name and understands when I want her to stop doing something. (She doesn't always stop, but she indicates that she understands.) She flies through the air with the greatest of ease and lands with all claws fully extended making mincemeat out of my skin. She lies on her back in my arms purring so sweetly for long periods of time.

In short she seems to be the perfect cat for me -- curious, cute, cuddly, and as limp as a rag in my arms.  She literally leaches the tension from my body.

She's younger than I was looking for, but maybe that is for the best too. We've been together now for four days and seem to be made for each other. Now, I've also joined Meetup and will be back in the school library soon, so I'm hoping things pick up a bit.

We the people

It is horrible to see people I know, even though it is only a very few, embracing everything I believe is wrong with the world.

This is the United States of America and we elected a president of the United States, not once, but twice and there are people who still disrespect the office of the presidency in one of the largest countries in the world. I have never seen this done to this extent, not even with Nixon and Bush, before. It is not just ugly politics or lack of patriotism, although it is both, it is also racism and bigotry and some of the ugliest things that exist in this world.

There is no point in talking to these people.

They want someone to blame more than they want truth, or justice, or freedom of religion, or separation of church and state. They have a double standard. They have a thousand excuses.

I don't pretend to understand how good people can be this dark, but I will never ever be able to look at them, or think of them in the same way ever again. I never wanted to know, but now I will always wonder what they are deep inside.

It breaks my heart.

Everything will be okay

Life is not a thirty minute soap opera, or even a three hour film. We don't get a fresh start after the commercials. There are no Oscars for survival, or Golden Globes for best story. When the power goes off we are in trouble.

We have created a disposable world. Except not everything is replaceable or renewable. Beginning at the top: our atmosphere is already in dire straights. Directly related to that are the animals who are dying out because they have no place to live except zoos. Then there is the land that is being reclaimed by water and the land that is turning into deserts and mudflats because of improper usage.

The airplanes and bridges and buildings that were built, not  out of stone, but rusting bolts and girders and fraying cables are falling down.

We can deny it for as long as we want to, but it won't stop the destruction.

Most of us won't even really suffer too much from the destruction we wreak. Like army ants we do our work and die, leaving the rest to our grandchildren and great grandchildren and any others unfortunate enough to follow in our footsteps.

Because you don't have to believe in science for it to be real. It's not a matter of faith. It's oxidation and bio-hazards and atmospheric destruction.

 Everything will be okay in the end. The earth is fully capable of going on without us.

One of those days

I woke up at quarter to five this morning for an eight o'clock eye appointment.

In all fairness I got there just on time, but the line was down the hall for checking in because only one receptionist showed up and all the over booked patients showed up.

I got in, had my eyes dilated and saw my doctor who informed me I needed some minor eye surgery. I remembered to take my heavy duty sunglasses and it was cloudy out so I could drive without too much trouble.

I went to a store on the wrong of town, near the interstates and it was forty minutes later when I got home and realized I had left my purse there in a shopping cart! My credit card, my debit card, my insurance cards and checkbook (which I usually never carry) were all at the mercy of whoever found my purse.

It took me nearly half an hour to get back there and the woman in the office said no one had turned a purse in! I practically begged her to say she was wrong and she finally said she'd check with other store personnel. It was locked in the office! Everything was still in it!

I drove back home and I just finished walking. It was no fun because my eyes are still dilated nearly eleven hours later!

This has not been a great day, but it was still better than Bestest's. He was stuck in Venice, Italy hoping Delta would get their computers up and running so he and a gazillion other people could come home.

Everything is still up in the air -- especially Bestest.

Off

The simple things in life are like gravity. Instead of keeping me attached to the earth, they bind me to reality.

Today I washed a window. I washed my sheets. I folded socks. The world is a little brighter and neater.

I watched The Station Agent. 

I took a walk.

I started a new old book.

These are things I don't do every day. They are like the strings on helium balloons. They make things more manageable.

Later I may do some transcribing.

Heigh ho. Heigh ho.

The rest of the story

How do you respond to a crisis?  Not someone else's crisis, but one in your own life? When your child gets his finger caught in a door, or your world is rocked by some tragedy?

I become very quiet. The idea of screaming or making any kind of a scene is totally beyond my grasp. I am instantly thinking. What really happened? What do I do? How do I respond? It is almost as if I am outside myself -- watching.

Later when it is all over I may tremble or cry, but a sure sign that it was horrific is that I will be very quiet, almost like emotional shock.

Later I will have bad dreams.

I would be terrified to make a fuss and I have a very difficult time finding empathy for people who do. Hysterical, screaming people make me angry. They take up time and space that could be better used to help others.

I also know I would help those I love first. I know that sounds selfish, but these people are a known commodity to me. I know their value, their strengths. I can predict their responses better than those I do not know. But love has long arms and it can be amazing to find out who you love when push comes to shove.

And when all is said and done, I know I will have nightmares for the rest of my life because my mind will never stop processing what happened, what I did, what I could have done even if believe I have consciously let go.

I'm good in a crisis. It's the rest that is difficult.

These are the times

Ignorance and darkness can be so black and so deeply embedded that a fleeting glance revealing them can change everything.

It is relatively easy to have high moral standards and sanitized ethics when they apply to other people, other people's children, and all those other Others.

Righteous indignation, worn like a Halloween costume by those who know not what they do, hides terrible things.

Love's first bloom

 I dreamed of being in love. I wrote about it. I read about it.

I fell in love. Fell into it like a rose into a brandy snifter and there I floated.

A parody of love. Snow white in a glass coffin, cold and alone. Burning with drama. Trying to ignite a flame. A catalytic converter in a closed garage, but love did not die because it had yet to be born.

Only when drama died did I begin to sense Love's first bloom.

Not settling

Part of growth is the making room for change.

I don't have to make room. I could just pile the newness on top of the old and in a way this is what happens, but it's cleaner when I make a new room for a fresh new idea.

Making room. Cleaning house. Purging. All of these fit -- at different times and this time I am purging. Opening new places for new ideas. Trying out new ways. Considering new life styles.

It goes back to the idea that if I keep on doing the same old things then I should expect the same old results and I want new results. I would like to say that is easier when one is young, but I'm not sure that is true. People like to think it could be easier if . . . and it is the if where, if I am honest, it might actually turn out to be easier now that I am older and have found similar things worked in the past, so I take no extra credit for doing it now.

The older people become, the easier it becomes to settle in, to accept the status quo no matter how unsatisfying it might be.

It takes courage to change, because different doesn't always turn out to be good -- but it usually is not irreparably bad either. When something doesn't work out the way I imagine then the road just becomes longer. There is no reason to believe it is a dead end. Unless I quit and quitting assumes I am ready to settle.

I have settled too many times in the past. It's time to make a change.

Wholeness

Deep inside me is the part of me that is more powerful than any other part of me.

It is my cosmic code, an infinite umbilical connecting me to all that is.

It is me and not me and when I can hear it sing the world is filled with miracles.

When I cannot hear it I try all the things the world has taught me: pray, meditate, sing, cry, threaten, work harder, even give up. Those are worldly things. They pile up and build walls, making me think they are the way.

Doing -- anything -- is the illusion that gives me false hope. Not doing -- on purpose -- is the other illusion.

The singing is no more mine than a radio is singing Pavarotti's Nessun Dorma.

And yet, like the radio, without me this song will never be heard.

Nothing is set in stone

It has been an emotionally draining month with Bestest being out of the country and me dealing with some health issues. I have managed to stay busy with my granddaughter, going to plays and parks and band concerts, but most of those are over.

Time lies heavy on my hands.

I find myself reading more and more. The past couple of days I have been reading my own book and it's not as bad as I remembered. In fact, I am surprised, it is actually pretty good, so far. It is not for everyone, but I think it has promise.

In fact, it is fairly well layered. I'm kind of impressed. I am also embarrassed to say all this, but it doesn't feel wrong.

And it does help me fill the hours as I wait for school and Bestest and life to pick up.