Holidays

I used to hate Sundays as a child. They were odd days that often began with lovely breakfasts in the dining room. Fresh orange juice, bacon, eggs, toast and sometimes cinnamon rolls. It was the rest of the day that was bad. Everyone else in my world went to church and had big mid day dinners and couldn't come out to play. My parents had no problems with me going to church, but that always turned out disappointing too. It seems all the little prizes for succeeding, or exceeding, are for children whose parents are members of the church. No white Bibles for kids who come alone even if they don't miss a Sunday and pass all the tests. They still fail the big test: do your parents tithe.

Legal holidays were pretty much the same. All the stores were closed. Most people went to parties and my family stayed home -- alone. We did not barbecue or go out to parks and celebrate. My father said human beings had spent centuries getting indoors, why would he go back out? In all fairness he was a teacher who generally held down three extra jobs, so if he wasn't at work, he was in his office at home.

As an adult we had the house for entertaining, but our families seldom came to visit. Our family of the heart would come and that was nice, but on major holidays, they were with their own families. My husband's family was too old to come to us, or really be interested in us coming to them. Three small children were a lot of noise and energy and confusion they could do without. Most of my family didn't like to travel more than thirty miles from home, so if we wanted to be with them we drove the two hours from our house to join them, leaving the big house, the pool table, the pool, and all the things we wanted to share behind us.

The last Christmas I was married was in our dream house. We had just built it and had a huge tree in the two story living room. I had made dolls with matching clothes for my granddaughters and getting ready was everything I had ever dreamed of. Then on Christmas Eve something happened. I went to bed pretending to be ill just to get away from my husband. I fully intended to get up just before the kids arrived, but suddenly I was really sick. I missed that whole night. All I heard was my children celebrating without us while I threw up in my bathroom. (My husband ended up sick in bed too!) The next day the turkey was still frozen, all the restaurants in town were closed and we had French toast for Christmas dinner. Three months later we began the divorce.

Holiday's after the divorce have been pretty good, but there is always a tension there, someone who makes things awkward and sometimes I end up sick again despite telling myself it is all in my head. One year my daughter failed to show up with her children and we had no idea where she was. Other years my daughter-in-law felt the need to create issues, or my granddaughter was three hours late, or something else happened. I never know if it will be a good holiday, a disappointing one, or even a difficult one. I have taken to just going out to a restaurant. It feels safer. Whoever shows up is there and whoever doesn't can't throw a monkey wrench into it.

I'm not sure why this is all so complicated. My sons live far away now, but my daughter lives in town and she is never a sure thing. She and I have nothing in common. Since she turned twenty we have never been able to count on her for anything. She does whatever she wants in any given moment and except for her one favorite daughter, the rest of the world just has to deal with it.

So, this holiday weekend I am feeling like a jaded old woman who is probably doing something wrong.

The nightlight at the end of the tunnel

She lay there listening as the baby stirred in the next room. Soon there would be a wail and she would have to hoist herself from the bed, stumble through the darkness and feed him. Exhausted, frustrated, feeling a little like she'd been tricked she wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. She dreamed of sleep, but it was not to come for years.

Lying on the couch wrapped in darkness she heard the children playing far away in some distant part of the house. The guilt grabbed her heart again and again, but the darkness would not let her go. It hadn't seemed like too much to ask him to love his own children.

Sitting on the balcony enveloped by water shadows from the pool, staring at the moon dappled gardens below, waiting for her teens to come home. It seemed tragic that she had so much and so little all at the same time.

Grown children, grand children almost grown, the world turning into the one she'd dreamed of all those long years.

Now sleep calls to her like an endless echo chamber.

Dragon

He is a dream come true.

An ancient water god moving sinuously through the water hyacinths. Strong legs kicking out behind him, propelling all eight feet of him towards me without stirring the water at all.

Large eyes luminous. His mouth in a perpetual smile. He entrances me.

Emerging from the water he rests his chin on the edge of the pool, silent, staring, mesmerizing.

Perfectly coordinated strength, compact body glowing with the nimbus of an other worldly light.

He is a white scaled dragon rising from the depths of his meditation to gaze at me when I come to visit him in his watery prison, at the zoo.

Reborn

Born again Christian.

Reincarnation.

All sorts of phrases for people starting over.

Dramatic. Newsworthy. Things to shout from pulpits and mountaintops, but that is not the reality of it for me.

Not a conscious choice. Painful even. It requires things I don't want to do, never chose, wouldn't choose.

And yet it seems to have occurred.

In some vague, but vivid way I feel that I am not the woman I was. Nothing to do with religion of any sort. More to do with nature and a sense that my chrysalis is starting to crack open and I am being squeezed out into the world.

Suffering through this initial darkness I see a pinpoint of light ahead.

The rest is mystery.

It's the little things

I am convinced it is the little things that control the world, at least my world.

Yesterday was filled with frustrations. I got on the scale and tested my blood sugar, both were not even close to what I thought they'd be. My phone died right after it was charged. No one was answering their phone and when they did, instead of giving me a straight answer they all seemed to be trying to manipulate me into doing something complicated and unnecessary. One business called me back even though I did not leave a message and he gave me a simple answer. I took my phone to him and he fixed it, but I had to leave it there for two hours and during the time I missed several important things.

I found myself totally without energy and did not walk. I gave in to self pity and ordered a large gondola sandwich with dessert for dinner. I watched the only scary movie on Prime that looked interesting and I hadn't seen, then I had nightmares all night last night. Scary movies almost never give me nightmares, but this one honed in on one of my deepest fears. Being manipulated by people I love and therefore finding myself in terrifying and frustrating situations because of their ignorance.

I think wars begin, not because someone shoots the archduke of Serbia, that is only the excuse, but because someone insulted all the female heads of state in the world, and made fun of disabled people and laughed at all the wrong times. I don't think we explode into war.

I think we chip away at things until they make life unbearable and finally the frustration makes unthinkable things -- thinkable.

Fear and joy

Don't hold on too tightly to those things you treasure because they are fragile and wonderful and way too delicate to be crushed against fear.

Life has a way of moving that disregards everything we think we know and there is really very little we can do about that.

I think that is why so many religions and cultures have this idea of living in the present, or letting go of the past. It is the only way to truly find some kind of contentment, or joy.

Remember, even as you mourn grandma's passing, it is the memories of her that make that old ornament on the tree so precious. In time, if you allow it, painful memories can become beautiful and mellow with age.

You can choose to cling to the sadness and drown in your tears, or you can float gently in those tears until they become a cradle that allows you to rest and rise up to continue on along a way that will hold new joys, new loves, and probably a few new tears.

Being fearful may keep you safer, but it isn't guaranteed to bring you joy. Joy tends to slide in between the chinks and cracks where you least expect it.

Courage and fear

I was born afraid. There are family stories of my younger sister rushing out and doing things gleefully that I was afraid to do. Partly because I had been told not to do them and I was also obedient, but partly because I really was afraid.

I was afraid of dogs and death, doctors and the unknown, and going to heaven alone all before I was three. I was afraid of being disobedient, of my mother and father dying, of being lost in a city, of people hurting me, and of fire. I have always been terrified of fire.

I was so ashamed of being afraid and I was even afraid to be afraid.

People like me find ways to cope and I cope with fear by diving into it. So far that has served me well, because once you are in the middle of something you have a different perspective and you do things you probably never thought of when that fear was something vague and in the future. I am a pretty decent reactor under stress.

Except with dogs. Sometimes dogs paralyze me. I had a dream when I was very very young that I was torn apart by white pigs. I still remember their red mouths and I think part of me associates that with dogs and wolves and bears and other wild creatures who are stronger and wilier and toothier than I am.

I'm still working on dogs, but most of my other fears are faced by going out and just doing what needs to be done.

Take two asprin and call me in the morning

The problem with being a person is that people are impossibly imperfect. With the best of intentions they can create problems that last a lifetime.

I was born in November 1949, twenty one and a half years after my mother was born. By the world's standards she was a competent full grown woman. In reality she was a distraught girl grieving her father's long, horrible, nightmarish death from cancer.

Some of my first memories before I was four were that if I died right then, who would I know in heaven because I had no memory of my grandfather. My mother assured me that he would be there waiting for me. I spent a lot of time thinking about heaven and what it was like.

My mother was terrified of doctors and dentists. She talked about the horrors of her father's death and whenever we had to go to the doctor I knew it was possible that I was going to have unimaginable experiences.

And unimaginable is probably what I still carry with me today.

Most of my medical experiences have been relatively simple and painless, but the anticipation is an agony. I had tests done last Friday and by the time I went in to discuss the results with my doctor yesterday I was a mess. My blood pressure was way up, my respiration was up, I had lost six pounds in four days.

Intellectually I knew it would be okay, but my mind was all over the idea that he might be going to tell me I would die, or need some horrible treatment. In the end he prescribed two prescriptions.

This is a new doctor. I really like him. He is calm, easy to talk to and very affirming. He has already done things that make me wonder if my old doctor, who I loved, was really the best for me. She moved out of state, but she also tended to catastrophize things. I thought I was a lost diabetic with her and have since discovered I was barely prediabetic. Everyone has their own way of presenting things.

This new doctor told me my weight and vitals were really not that out of line for someone my age and he looked both concerned and a little surprised that I was that terrified.

I hope I am able to continue growing and learn not to be so afraid in the future.

Eternal

I have six plants in my apartment. They appear to be flourishing and all I do is watch them.

When they begin to droop and look sad I pour water over them.

Some day they will not pop up like they always have before, no matter how much water I pour.

There will be nothing I can do for them when their time is up, but in the meantime I love them.

I enjoy their color. I find peace in their shapes and I am aware that they make the air here better for me.

I am better for them being here.

And they benefit from my breath too.

There is a symbiotic beauty to this relationship that describes the whole world. We are made to care for each other, to love each other, to find peace in understanding.

There is no need for me to wait until I am in some particular building to find this peace and there are no magic words that will work better than others. I do not have to fear that I will suddenly be flung into a pit of fire, or be carried away by a band of angels.

My heart and my memories keep you safe within me until we become one with everything and then nothing stands between us.

I am what I am and that is part of this incredible, magnificent world where the life cycles make us all eternal shapeshifters.

Perfectville

If you were born in Perfectville you probably grew up knowing you were better than everyone else. Your family was more intelligent, more beautiful, more real, more moral, more everything!

And woe to those who weren't!

Let anyone do something new or progressive and the town would buzz with horror. I remember when my uncle began jogging early in the morning during the seventies. Rumors ran from he was on his way to the crazy house, to maybe he was some kind of pervert you needed to keep your children away from.

Perfectville is like one of those bubble nests that fish make when they are laying eggs. Every household is a bubble of perfectly grandiose, better than thou people who tolerate their neighbors (who are under the false assumption that they are better than everyone.)

The main topics of conversation are not about literature, or ideas, or conservation. They are mainly about people and how tasteless, horrifying, stupid and put upon those people are.

You cannot escape Perfectville. By the time you are old enough to leave you have been steeped in the ways and means of surviving there. Your mind is infused with nagging doubts about everything, especially yourself if you are a thinker. Smiles are worn over anxiety and always suspect. A look of downhearted despondency is the proper attire for most social occasions.

Signs of success include how miserable your job is, how difficult it is to maintain your yard (the harder the better,) and how much stuff you can stuff into your little part of God's holy acre. The needier your friends are, the better person you have the chance to be.

Breaking away from the plasma that attaches itself to you when you leave this town can take a lifetime.

The most beautiful thing

If you love horror movies, or ghost movies, it is bound to occur to you.

That the most cherished part of your life . . .

The thing you always dreamed of, but never dared to hope for . . .

The thing that gets you out of bed . . .

And gives you a reason to live . . .

Is only an hallucination.

A vivid dream.

Perhaps a bit of bad beef.

That you are going to jump in your car and drive twelve hours only to discover an old abandoned house in a cotton field in Alabama.

With broken out windows, rickety doors, and maybe an unmarked grave with a large coon hound sitting on it.

Who runs over to you the minute you appear.

Wagging its tail like you are its long lost friend.

True

If there were any justice in the world the truly good people who are taken advantage of by the people they love would eventually live happily ever after.

Instead some of them eventually escape the love that is ruining their life, but the others live on unhappily ever after. Grasping at crumbs, hoping against hope that things will get better, trying to convince themselves that a one sided love affair can be more satisfying than escape.

Religions often seem to imply that suffering for sufferings sake is a worthy reason for living. I think that is just an excuse for either the lack of courage to leave a bad situation, or the hopelessness of those who cannot afford to leave a hopeless situation.

Because some things are hopeless. They are not going to change. They may even get worse and there may be no escape that is not even worse than the current situation.

There are truly evil people in the world. People who are the antithesis of loving souls. People so damaged, so heartless, so soulfully willful that they would rather see others suffer than set them free.

I don't believe in God the father and I do not believe in Satan, but I do believe in true love and I do believe in true evil.

True evil is never happy, but willing to sacrifice everything trying to make themselves happy at any cost.

True love only wants what is best for the one they love.

Hierarchies

Money is important.

No one can deny that without money life is almost impossible. We need it for rent, food, medical care, clothing, education, transportation and the little niceties, like bedding, coffee pots, and towels, that make life tolerable.

Everyone also knows that the most important things in the world cannot be bought, but it's hard to believe that until the basics are there and -- until --

You lose one of those dearest things.

Not great Aunt Mabel's antique cameo, or Grandma's Victorian house, but Great Aunt Mabel and Grandma themselves.

People are the most perishable and important part of life. They nurture us, care for us, and fill our hearts when life everywhere else is insanely nightmarish.

A phone call from someone dear can be a lifeline. No matter what you say, or don't say.

A two line email can be more precious than a rare stamp.

And the mere presence of a loved one is never mere.

The gift

Most people who know me realize that I am a purse aficionado. Well, I am very attracted to purses in various styles and colors. I really do not need any new purses, but when I was at Target a few weeks ago, I discovered they had scattered their purse displays throughout the women's sections and since I am trying to walk more and get in more steps, this was just the kind of hunt that was made for me.

I happened on a circular purse that looked like it had been made out of those braided rug padded seat covers people put on chairs in country kitchens. These were solid colors and actually they only had three that I found in the store that day. Two were a sort of olive drab and one was black. Normally I would have gone for the black one, but it was already showing bits of lint and there was just something about the shape and color of that olive one that called to me.

I initially left it there, but finally went back and bought it.

For all the lovely and sometimes expensive purses I have in my possession I don't think I've ever had more than a handful of comments about them and those were spread over many years and many different purses.

Not this one! I have been stopped in the checkout of a store by a woman telling me how much she loved this purse and wanting to know where I got it. Then I was stopped in a parking lot by another woman who just fell all over me and my purse, because she loved it so much.

Today I was walking through a thrift store when a tall, beautiful, statuesque woman, with long shiny black hair and exquisite mahogany skin was in a wheel chair in front of me. She was shopping in the clothes section and I was on my way to the Knick knacks, so I excused myself and squeezed around her. We did this several times and then she was at the checkout when I was leaving.

As I passed her she smiled and said, "I love your purse!" I thanked her as I was going on by when she went on. "I can just see you carrying that and wearing a lovely sundress to match!"

 I was so taken a back I gushed, "Awwww, thank you," while thinking I would love to be the kind of woman who wore willowy sundresses that matched my purse (and maybe a big sun hat,) but I haven't been that for over 45 years.

She still didn't let me go. "No! Can't you see it? You even have the hair for it. Don't you wear sundresses? They would be perfect on you."

I shook my head no, feeling like I might cry. This gorgeous woman was making me feel beautiful!

I honestly couldn't own it, but it made me feel so good. I thanked her again, but it didn't begin to express how I felt.

The unknowable

What is the value of a good night's sleep?

How much of my life am I willing to sell off in order to have someone who can help me in my time of need?

Can peace of mind cost too much?

Sometimes I worry that I am narrowing my life down to an unsustainable number of people and yet, is it honorable to keep people in my life if they are only there in case I need them?

In the end the answer is that my life depends on getting a good night's sleep.

There are always other options for people to turn to if I really need them.

Peace of mind is an almost priceless thing to have.

If people are blatant racists, unfailingly negative and Trump supporters, I don't need them in my life.

In fact, they are taking more than they are worth to me and while I might miss the idea of them, or the memories of who I thought they were, I need to free myself from them just like I would any other heinous, dark, dangerous thing.

Every day now

Every morning when I open my computer I am hit with the latest atrocities in these United States.

People shooting children and other people in every conceivable place.

There is no safe place in our country right now. Not school, not church, not shopping, or eating, or watching movies.

And we have a president who thrives on this. Whether it is because he is a racist, or because he is just firing up his people for the next election, he draws the crazies out of the woodwork.

This is the most dangerous time I have ever lived in during my nearly seventy years on earth and it makes me terrified for my grandchildren and all the other young people who will inhabit this country in the future.

It has become a country that is the antithesis of what it started out to be. Safe for no one.

Today

I have a two year lease on my apartment, which means there is one more year to go here. It also means I have a rock bottom rent payment for what I want: washer/dryer, dishwasher, good plumbing and storage. Location, style, cost, this apartment has almost everything.

And still I am looking around. For next year, or the year after that, or sometime.

Maybe never, but that is unlikely. I am a nomad. I like moving. I almost need to move and yet it is expensive.

In an attempt to keep me here I asked myself what I like about moving.

1. New views outside my windows.
2. Purging, getting rid of everything I can before the move.
3. New possibilities for arranging the interior.
4. New beginnings.

Some of those can be done without moving! I have disposed of an entire backseat of clothes in my car. Some I gave to people I know, the rest went to Goodwill.

I made room in closets to store furniture I want to put away, but not get rid of in ways that increase my storage, as well as my outer space!

Today I have fun looking. Tomorrow I have fun getting ready. Who knows what comes next.