Past me vs Present and Future me

Does anyone else have time laden conversations with themselves?

Like Present me is grateful to Past me for taking pictures of the garden, especially the iris in bloom so I know what colors they are when I'm separating them. 
But Present me is also somewhat irked because Past me planned to organize the photos such that Future me could easily see what was where without having to search through years of photos. 
Past me was also going to make beautiful photo albums for each of the children when they turned 18.  Or 21.  Or 22.  But Past me has not been as helpful as she intended. 
Present me would like to do better for Future me, but Present me is also already talking to Future me about exactly when would we have the time for that kind of bullshit?  It's a nice idea and all, but I don't see you doing it either bitch, so cut the complaining already.

Also, pouring through the photos makes Present me jealous of Past me, who got to travel and take lots of fun camping trips.  Present me wants to do that, but thinks that being a thoughtful adult means that would be a stupid and irresponsible action right now.  Present me hopes Future me appreciates our sacrifice.

Ya, so that's a tiny bit of what it's like to live in my head.

These smell like purple kool-aid!

this exists somewhere in the yard, good luck figuring out where

Good job making things work

I had a really good day today.
I did good work.
I did not get paid, in fact, we're down money. 
I barely got recognition, and what I did will not be remembered.
I hardly got done anything I'd planned to do.
But, it was a good day.

I helped someone get some medicine.  I lifted a little chore that made 2 people's lives easier.  I walked with one friend and listened to her thoughts around a hard decision.  I walked with another friend, vented some of my frustrations, got some good ideas, and listened to her vent about her frustrations.  I practiced letting go.  Yesterday I was in a well justified snit, but it didn't make anything better and wasn't helpful so I'm still practicing letting go.
I accepted the chance to help an older adult learn to read.

I'm not exceptional.  I'm the norm.  This work I did?  There were others directly involved doing even more.  There always are others, doing what needs to be done, not because they get paid, but because it just needs to get done.  What do women do?  Get shit done.

This world runs on the unpaid, unacknowledged, and unappreciated labor of women.

Just thought you should know

Also, to all my women friends doing the good work every.single.day.

 I see you.

You're amazing.

It's definitely me this time

I'm am so sick of old white men who think they are the center of the fucking universe.

I'm also sick of women who belittle and disrespect other women.

But mostly it's old white men trying to propagate the patriarchy, especially as it relates to them.
How ever unconscious it is for them, it's fucking exhausting for me.



That's all.  Thank you for coming.

It it me?

I had a day.

You know those days where everyone around you seems like an idiot?  Maybe it's just me.
I've got a thing....
One idiot, probably is an idiot.  Five idiots in the same day, I start to think it's me.  I'm grumpy and impatient and need to put myself in a time out.  Actually, by the third idiot I'm usually sending myself home asap, so as to not injure anyone.

So recently I've been feeling ignored, shut out, pushed aside, shut down.  If it happened just once, I'd write it off.  Some one was having an off day, or I rubbed someone the wrong way, or I read the situation wrong.  But when it happens again and again, in more than one situation, with more than one person, over a series of days and situations, I start to think - maybe it's me.

Maybe I'm being particularly abrasive, or bossy. I heard that enough growing up to know - not everyone can take a full dose of me.  Maybe it's karma catching up with me.  Maybe I'm extra sensitive for some reason and reading things into it that aren't there.   Or maybe lots of people are short tempered and feeling sensitive themselves and I'm just handy.

Here's the thing - I have not had the experience of it being nothing when I sense something.  Whenever I get these feelings, something has been up.  The question is, is it something I need to do anything about?  Is it something external or internal to me?  I don't know yet.  Maybe there's something in the air, a general feeling of anxiety and fear, an itchiness just where you can't reach, a rock in our collective shoe.  Maybe I'm being a bitch on wheels and am oblivious.

Here's what I know is true, people have been acting unusually irritated around me. It's unpleasant and unexpected. 
I think I'm ready to not people for a while.

It's complicated

We live in complicated times.  Children in tent concentration camps, "Fake news", the Kavanaugh hearings,  teachers on food stamps, #MeToo, school shootings, so much complexity, such stark reality, it's hard to bear.

There are a few things in the world that aren't complicated.  A babies laugh.  The smell of a rose.

And even as I write that, I think, oh, but what if  the baby is your husband's mistress' baby?  Or if the the rose is on the grave of your child? 

So maybe only very small things in isolation are not complicated?

It's all so complicated.  Or maybe I'm just making that way.  Maybe it's simpler than I can understand?

For example - My grandmother died last May.  She was 93, and had been sick a long time.  It wasn't a tragedy.  But for those who loved her it was sad, and, complicated.

At her memorial service a cousin asked me to speak and to share a memory.  She insisted.  As I stood to speak, I could see the concern on the faces of my mother and her siblings.  What would I say?

You see, my family kept secrets.   Keeps secrets. Secrets are different from privacy.  Privacy is healthy and normal.  Secrets are corrosive.  Secrets eat away at you, destroy trust and relationships.  Secrets make a sham of the systems they live in. 

Some of the secrets in my family were around abuse - substance abuse, and the abuse of people.  When I was little, I had my own secrets I thought I had to keep, and I could feel the secrets of others when I stepped too close to something - but I could never tell you what those secrets were, only that there were certain people, certain times, certain subjects, that required you to walk on egg-shells.  Eventually you just gave up going there.  There were lots of places to not go.

One secret was that when I was 3 years old my uncle molested me.  It's complicated.  We were living with my grandparents at the time.  My family loved me, the best they could.  I loved them.  But they didn't protect us or take care of us the way they should have.  It's complicated. 

Long story short, (long, long, story) I became distant, and even a bit estranged from that part of my family.  When as a young adult I finally told my mom what had happened, she made me promise to not tell my grandparents. "It would literally kill them" she said.   When my cousins started having children of their own I finally told them and my aunts, hoping to protect their children from my fate.  But, they didn't want to hear it, and I was shamed for telling.  I was told I was "rude" for mentioning such a thing.  No comment of any sort was made about etiquette of sexually abusing a 3 year old child and the life long effects of that secret.  The hurt from that made me even less likely to visit any of those people, but I've missed them.  I lost my family, because of a secret.  It's so complicated.

I did visit my grandparents, sometimes, very occasionally, very briefly, with years in between some visits.  When I was 4 my grandfather taught me to whistle and garden. He was also very disrespectful about women for most of his life.  I remember baking pies and bread with my grandmother.   She was mean though.  She could bring you down to size with a sharp word, and didn't hesitate to use force on children.   My own children only met their great-grandparents a handful of times, and those visits were short and closely supervised.  They never got to go to the big family gatherings I grew up with, surrounded by cousins and aunts.  I didn't feel welcome, and I didn't feel safe trusting my children to the family.  I've missed that part so much.  My children don't even know to miss it.   It's complicated.

People try to say nice things at a memorial service.  Sometimes it's harder than others.  More than one cousin talked about the bruises Grandma's "love" pinches left.  "We would compare them, saying "Mine's bigger, she loves me more"."   More people talked about the food and handcrafted items she had given them.  Then it was my turn.  I honestly had no idea what I would say.  It wasn't the time to tell her family and neighbors that her son molested me.  How sad I was that I never told her, so I never heard from her what things happened in her family and her life that might have contributed to our twisted family dynamics.  It wasn't time to share my grief at all the years I lost the chance of knowing her as a full person just because I couldn't live with lying to her and didn't want to hurt her or my mom with the truth.

I wish now I had.  You should never take from someone an opportunity to learn.  You should not deprive someone of the chance to do the right thing.  I did that, I never gave her the chance to change.

This is what I said
"The summer I was 3 years old, our family lived with Grandma and Grandpa.  Grandma had to go to work early in the morning, and for some reason that upset me.  Grandma said she would leave me a note, so I would know she was coming home.   In the morning I would find the note, with words on it I couldn't read, because I was only 3.  But, on the bottom of the note, was a great big red lipstick kiss.  I could understand that." 
"That big red kiss was Grandma's promise that I would see her again."

It's so so complicated.

I'd do it again

Having children is probably the most selfish thing I've done.

Think about it.

I brought 3 human beings into this world.  I did it knowing that they would suffer, have pain, lose friends and family, giving birth, I knew some day they would die.
I brought 3 human beings into this over populated world.  This world so full of worry, sorrow, horror, and despair.  This world overburdened with Americans sucking up more than their fair share of resources, now has 3 more people living the American dream.

and I'm not sorry.  Not one bit.

I gave 3 human beings the biggest gift I knew - life.  Messy, complicated, challenging, life.  I gave birth to the three people I love best in the world.  Three people who I know, inside and out.  Three people who I will be forever discovering I don't know, because they change and grow every moment, they are not who I thought they were.  These tree people I will be forever discovering.   Three people whose eyes now show me a different world than the one I thought I knew, three different worlds in fact.

I wish it was a better world, safer, cleaner, fairer.  I try to do my part, I recycle, I donate, I volunteer, but the biggest thing I ever did to make this a better world was to give it my best, the very best I could do - be my children's mom.

Martha and Mary

We all know Jesus loved Mary best, but if we thought about it we'd know it was because Martha did all the work that Mary was free to be lovable.


Mary gets all the glory, washing his feet and all.  But who was it that made sure the disciples had food for dinner and a decent place to sleep at night?  Martha, that's who.




There are the Mary's of the world, pretty, well spoken, knowing what to say and do at just the right time.  The then there are the Martha's.  Martha's can be short tempered, mostly because they're over worked and underpaid.  But without a Martha, doing what needs to be done, when it needs to be done, Marys wouldn't have their chance to shine.  They'd be all like "Here my Lord, let me wash your feet with the expensive oil...oh.  Out of oil.  How about some tears?  I've got those."

So, give the glory to the Marys of the world.  But now and then, give some thanks to the Marthas.

P.S.  If  at first you thought I was talking about Martha Stewart, you're not alone, but you do make me shake my head.  Even this heathen knows the bible.

So good to see you!

Let me tell you about Pieter, and the power of a joyful welcome.

Pieter joined our church choir while I was a well established soprano.   He was older than me.  That is, he was no longer middle aged, but he's spry, cheerful, and active, so it's hard to say "old", just older than me.  We were glad to have him, he has an excellent tenor, and gawd knows our church choir can always use more male voices.  (Of course, it would have been better if he had been a bass.  Who doesn't need more bass?  But we were glad to have him anyway.) Beyond his voice, he was engaged, reliable, and cheerful.  Every organization needs more people like that.

The thing about Pieter is that, inexplicably, he was always glad to see me.  Me. Personally.  Shortly after he joined he started to seek me out at the church social hour. (Social hour is like coffee hour, except inclusive of non-coffee drinkers too, 'cause that's how we roll).  Most people just say "hello" and smile, and that's nice, that's expected.  I'm cool with that.  When Pieter found me he didn't just say "Hi". 

Pieter would greet me with remarkable enthusiasm.  His whole face would light up with a big smile, he would open his arms wide, "April!  So good to see you!" and offer a hug.  He never forced a hug, just opened his arms to welcome one. 

The first time he did this I was actually a little startled.  I don't remember anyone ever being so glad to see me. (OK, maybe my dog.)  I remember thinking "What does he want?"  But he seemed safe and well intentioned, so I stepped in for that hug.  It was an excellent decision, because seeing Pieter at church has become something that never ceases to make me smile.  Nearly every time I saw him after that he repeated his sincere and energetic greeting. "Hello April!  So good to see you!"  Hug.  Sometimes he followed up with a compliment "What would our choir be with out you?"  or an inquiry "How's the family?"  He introduced me to his wife Mary Pat.  He started to tell me about his grandchildren.  I learned a little more about his life and history.  We started to become friends.

Although it doesn't seem like it's been that long, all this happened over the course of years.  I met Pieter while I was still in the church choir.  I dropped out of choir to do my year of cancer treatment in 2012, over 4 years ago, and I've never really gone back.  I can't reliably stay up that late and still drive home,  and too often the kids' school schedules things on choir night.  I miss choir, but not enough to miss my kids activities, or enough to stay up and drive home once a week so late.  We don't sing together anymore.  I only see him at church social hour.

But still, every time he sees me, Pieter still greets me like a long lost friend.  Which, now, he is.  His joyful greeting, open heart, and willingness to be vulnerable has given me not only his friendship, but that of his wife's.  I look forward to hearing about their holiday plans.  I worry when I see he's been sick or hurt.  I'm glad when he gets better.  I care about him.

I didn't, and still don't, understand why he started greeting me that way.  I liked Pieter well enough, but only knew him as a choir member.  He wasn't even in my section.  We'd never had a heart to heart.  For some reason, he just decided that he was always glad to see me.  Or, he acted as if he was always glad to see me, which, from my perspective, was exactly the same thing.   His repeated and sincere greeting created a friendship where there was none before.

I don't know if it was hard for Pieter to do that.  Did he have to think about being outgoing and engaging or did it just come naturally?  Was it even conscious?  Does it matter?

What magic.  What power.  What a gift he gave to me.

So, that happened....

Boy, 2016, it's been some year.

We've had some big changes in our house, and, gawd help us, some big changes in our country.

The ascendancy of Trump changes everything.  It changes how I look at my fellow citizens, 24% of whom voted for a known sexual predator, a self-professed racist, and a reasonably incompetent and demonstrably amoral businessman.  It changes my  assumption that I knew what "long" meant when Theodore Parker said "The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice."  It changes my complacency about social and political involvement. 

I could write for days, months, on the effects we're already seeing from the 2016 election.  I might,  but right now I'm still processing this.  Trying to get my feet under me, trying to understand, trying to figure out how to be most effective and support those who are already feeling this seismal shift in our national expression of democracy. 

I. Can't. Even.

So, I'll sequester that for a bit, and think more immediately.

The biggest change for us personally this year is that Firelord accepted an early retirement package last spring.  His high tech employer was reducing their workforce and he qualified for early retirement.  That was way better then those who simply were laid-off.  (He came in one Monday morning and some really excellent engineers were missing.  That certainly didn't encourage him to stay.) We felt the timing was good, we have some savings, the Affordable Care Act meant that we could be insured even if we didn't have an employer's group policy.  Firelord could have some time with our last 2 boys before they leave home for good, give some time to the local Maker Space, think about starting his own business or consulting firm.  I could work on my own pursuits a little more. (You know, after I figured out what my own pursuits might be after all these years of sublimating my personal energy.)  Maybe we could get our house clean. (Shhh.. let a girl have her little fantasies)

Then last Tuesday happened.  He-who-must-not-be-named did what so many of us thought was laughable,  dangerous, impossible.  Today's paper exclaims his new cabinet choices.

I know there are others with bigger more immediate worries.  Compared to our Muslim friends, our black friends and family, our LGBTQ friends and family, we're privileged.  Privileged enough that I sat my boys down and gave each of them another Mama Talk.  We talked about using their privilege for good, the dangers to society (and to their souls) of being a bystander, and how we can safely support each other when we're calling out the forms of bullying.  I hate that I had to do that, I'm ashamed it took so long.  I'm proud that they felt they already knew that.  I'm proud/sad/frightened that Hot Dog chose to wear a safety pin to his pubic school orchestra today. 

I know we're privileged, insulated by our class and my husband's white skin and my ability to (mostly) pass.

Which isn't to say that we're aren't personally affected by this.  Most immediately we no longer can depend on being able to get health insurance when the COBRA runs out.  Stage III cancer is one hell of a pre-existing condition.  The next time I need cancer treatment it could wipe us out. 

We are now looking for ways to make this work.  We'd have to make some serious bank to cover medical costs if we don't have insurance.  Can we do that?  Do we try to start the family business Firelord has in mind?  Does one of us need to go back and work for "the man"?  Which one?  Do I go back to grad school so that I can work (finally) as an engineer?    Dare I write more? Keep up with my volunteer work? 

And can you imagine navigating these changes if you are a person of color in this country?  If you're brown and fellow citizens are shouting at your children to "Go back"?  If your black child comes home from school shaking because a child in her class called her a "nigger"?  These things are happening to people I personally know.

So today I'll remember to be grateful for my 1st world problem of how to get and keep medical insurance, and I'll think about how we can change this country to truly include everyone wholeheartedly.

Dear World,

Be gentle with me today.  My heart is tender, my soul is tired, and my spirit is weary.

I love my children, I miss my son, I wish I could hold on to these tender and increasingly rare moments we have together.

So many times in the past I felt melancholy, bitter sweet, because that particular moment was so precious, everything was so very right, I wanted to hold on to it.  I knew I would miss it when it was gone.

I was right.

I miss having that little baby look up at me while he nursed.
I miss having that little hand holding tight to mine as he practiced walking.
I miss watching him learn, seeing the light of discovery in his face.
I miss listening to his ideas and plans, however impossible and impractical.

I miss that time when we were all everything to each other.

Dukkah

Dukkah - the suffering caused by attachment

You know that moment, or series of moments, when you see that so many things are changing? Not always bad change, but change from something you loved, enjoyed, appreciated?  Maybe things have changed and you just now noticed.

It happens so often, so regularly, you'd think we'd be used to it.

But I'm not. Not ever really.

I know that if I just released my attachments, I would not suffer.  But I choose to.  I choose that suffering of attachment.  I care, even if I could choose not to, I would still care. 

To not be attached, to not love, not appreciate, that is even a greater loss.

January sunrise - just a moment of color

Then, there are those moments where time stands still.  

Moments that mark - Before and After.  

Moments where nothing is ever the same again.  

I wish for you not to know those moments, but you will.  You have. 

It is the price we pay.  Entrance fee to humanity.

A child died.  She was so young.  So bright.  Her parents are my friends, and my heart aches.  There are no words for such a loss.  

Yet.  Yet.  I write anyway.

Her moments are gone.  Her light shown only briefly.  
It had beauty and shadow, and it is gone.

Bullsh*t

"Tough times don't last, Tough people do"

I can see why folks love that saying. It gives them hope that their troubles will end, and it makes them believe that they are the strong, the chosen "tough people".

Sunshine comes with shadows

But I hate that saying.

Because, for some people tough times do last. For some people they never, ever, end.

And what about those people who don't make it? ,

Guess they weren't tough enough, eh?  

Fuck that shit.

This strikes me as another kind of blame the victim game. In our western culture of individuality we credit ourselves with the power to change reality - and sometimes we can -ish. But a lot of times we can't. 

We just can't.

"Chin up" doesn't cure depression.

Eating clean and thinking good thoughts doesn't cure cancer.

Faith alone can't heal everything (or anything).

And failure to keep a positive attitude and faithful spirit do not cause illness, injury, or death.

Sunshine comes with shadows, sorrows with joy, and it's not your fault if some days it's just too hard.

So, yes, I support working towards a positive attitude - that can make things more bearable, and help you find joy even in troubles. 

But I also give you permission to hurt, sorrow, grieve.  The troubles are real.

You are not wrong or broken to feel less than tough today.

You are loved and held as a child of the universe, regardless of how tough your times are, how tough (or not) you are.

Fine, thanks.

"How are you?" 

It seems like a harmless enough question. 

We ask each other that everyday.  Yet how many people really want to hear the answer?  If the person asking lives in your house, the true, heartfelt answer could be appreciated.  If the question is asked on the street or grocery store the correct answer is "Fine, thanks.  And you?"  Period. 

But what if the person asking is a friend, while you're in a public place?  And what if the friend presses for a real answer?  Do you tell her?  Those are harder questions than you might think. 

Here's the deal - if you tell someone how you really are, they may not be able to hear it.  They might try to change your mind, or at least your answer.  That feels pretty invalidating. 

So, unless you're willing and able to hear the real answer, and to accept it, without challenging the other person, don't press for more than "Fine, thanks.  And you?"  What you're really saying is "I'm glad to see you, let's exchange the socially correct greetings.", which is a lovely thing to say and do.  It's fine, really.  You don't have to press for more, especially if you can't take the answer.

Randomness

It's been a weird unsettling day.

We rushed to the car to go home tonight from an interrupted outdoor performance of "Midsummer's Night's Dream" which, until that point, had been excellent.  It was interrupted by a sudden rain and thunderstorm.  As we drove home I felt like I was in a video game, literally dodging fallen trees, barely able to see through the windshield.  It somehow felt like a fitting end to the day.

I'm tired.  Bone tired.  This morning Bit Boy and Hot Dog  were joined by a neighboring teen and they all helped me clear a side yard that had been ignored for the last two years.  We got it nearly all done in just two hours, and it was good hard work. 

I needed it.  When I'm troubled I need to move, work hard, and wear my body out.  I've been struggling to keep my chemo brain functioning, on track.  It's so hard for me to manage things that were trivial before.  I make lists, tuck notes in places where I'm sure to find them, but still, I miss things.  It felt good to have something concrete to do, and to get done even a small bit of work that piled up during my lost year.

It was good to focus on something outside my head.

Yesterday a good friend let me know her nephew had died.   What words do you give to a family who have lost a young life too soon?

Today another friend posted about the death of a friend's 15 year old.  A parent shouldn't have to bury their child, yet I know of too many who have. 

What does it mean, that a child dies?
And the rest of the world goes on?  

When something awful happens, a life changing diagnosis,  the death of a loved one, time stops.  There is a bubble of unrealness that surrounds that moment and separates it from everything else.  It's disorienting to look around notice that other people aren't noticing how, now, in this moment, everything has changed.  My heart breaks for those in the silent bubble of that isolation of loss and shock.
 
Today I went on.   I don't always know why I go on, but I'm glad  I can.