An Invincible Summer - A Woman's Journey

The other night, my girl in England hadn't eaten so, despite the late hour, she was out looking for food. She is alone in London right now as her partner is on a hiking trip in Sweden. At a corner she stops and yields to a car. The car slows and a person hangs out the window and says, "Sorry mate". Then, with a BB gun, he shoots her in the chest about 5 times and speeds off. She's not hurt but I wonder how long it took her to register what had just happened. I wonder how much time it took to verify that it was, and I use this term loosely, a harmless BB gun and not something else. Did she look down expecting blood?  She went home and reported the occurrence to the police via the internet, not speaking to a human. No one to say that you are alright. The mother in me wanted someone to tell her she's alright. The mother in me envisioned a different scene, one that I don't want to write about. With the daily news of hate and ugliness here at home, I saw a differen...

We are eating lunch in a health food restaurant. We are planning out the rest of our day, enjoying the cool weather and the gorgeous rain. He's sitting across from me with his Oregon weather clothing. My previously natty husband now prefers Carhartt shirts (layered for warmth), thick denim pants and boots. Not the fancy expensive boots of his past though. Portland boots. The ones that keep your tootsies dry. We talked of love and friendship, weather, guests, family and holidays. As we sat in the intimate little corner, next to two giant windows, a preschool class walked by. Three and 4 year olds in their rain gear, boots and knit hats all holding on to the rope that began and ended with a teacher. Boy Scout says to me with a big smile, "Look at them".  I look over and noticed the little group of 8 or 9 tots.  He adores children and they return the gift ten-fold.  Not being quite as enamored with them as he is, I  quickly  turned back to see his face tighten and ...

Nearly every morning, my man wakes with a smile and an attitude as if he has won the lottery. Despite the constant pain, despite the fact that he is doing a young man’s job and working a young man’s hours, he greets the new day as if it were a gift. If I could bottle it, my fortune would rival that of the Amazon man. Yep, sometimes I just want to smack him but most of time I want to get close enough in the hope that a little of it rubs off. 

The other day my girl comes home from work and I can tell she's down. I wait.....which is something I have learned to do....wait. I am not pro at it, I must bite my tongue, resist the urge. A few hours go by and she comes in to the room where we sit and out it comes. Her dad, whom she loves very much, invites her up to a local camping spot. She doesn't especially want to go but makes the effort. She knows how much their camping experiences together were special to him (and her) and feels as if she can stop by for his sake. She gets there and he is not alone. He is with one of the guys from his sober living home. One thing about the sober living homes is that you can kind of tell the men who are trying hard and the ones who really are not. This is one of the guys who appears to be going through the motions but not actually getting it. The Secret Keeper is happy to see her. After light talk, he seems to need to tell her about a recent problem and explain what happene...

WORD FOR THE DAY By learning to accept and even embrace the inevitable sorrows of life, we can experience a more enduring sense of happiness. SHARON SALZBERG I know this is not referring to it specifically, but I am always surprised by people who lose a pet and decide they will never get another because it hurts too much. Pets enrich life so much, that to shutter the idea of ever getting another because of the pain of grief is so foreign to me. Living means grieving, it is inevitable. There are many studies the show that people who are accepting of all their feelings, whether society deems them good or bad, fare better, both emotionally and psychologically, than those who attempt to repress or avoid. I do, however, understand the idea of the last dog. My sweet auntie and her husband have had dogs for the last 60 years. They had boxers and retrievers over and over and I can remember being particular friends with 2 of the many. Their last one, Gidget, passed and they d...

Did you learn how to fight? Not physical fighting....the healthy kind. Did someone teach you that you can disagree, be angry or hurt and what to do with those feelings? I never learned that. I am learning now, at 55, to deal with those feelings but it is not easy. When my partner does something that angers or hurts me, I tend to punish and threaten to banish instead to sitting down and explaining how much his actions hurt or angers me. I can be reactionary. It's not all that pleasant for me and I can imagine that it is not at all pleasant for him. But I am aware and I am working on it because I want to be a good partner but, mostly, I just want to be a good me with a ton more peace. So, did you learn how to fight? Do you React or Respond? Do you stick up for yourself or do you take on someone else's anger just to placate and diffuse the situation?

I am doing a couple of Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings a week now. It is so inspiring for me to hear the stories and relate to the feelings expressed and realize that I have a community. There are other people that have to fight the need to control and to try to force others, through various behaviors, to ease the uncomfortable emotions they may be feeling. There are other people that are afraid to feel certain emotions like hurt, shame and uncertainty and that fear presents itself in far more hurtful or counterproductive ways than actually dealing with the feelings. People can be so damaged by their families even if their families are/were not aware. I think of a few of my blogging friends and of some of the people in my meetings that are fighting, tooth and nail, to break out of that shit they were handed as little children and rise above to a more beautiful and peace filled place and I am in awe of them. By comparison I didn't have it too bad but I am aware that that is...

Met the Boy Scout's ex for drinks (why does it always have to be drinks?) so that he could see their communal dog (Cooper) that now lives with her. It was fine, it was lighthearted, it was pleasant....it hurt. Thinned skinned me notice every little smile and look, every inside joke they shared from their 30 some years together. The packet of pictures she produced from the big 30th birthday party she threw, where my man lovingly held and kissed another woman (her). They drank the same drink. They gleefully talked of football and the coming season. They laughed over some of their amusing shared partying past (which wasn't all that funny to me). The easy, relaxed way he interacted with her. The way he jumped when she sent him off on an errand as if it was still his job to be her partner. After he left, she talked to me about what I could do for his 60th birthday. Something she had in the back of her mind for 20 years or so...  It hurt. But the difference is I recognize...

I know I got in bed on that Saturday night. I don't know why I bothered. Who in the world could turn their brain off? Honestly it was in the following two months that the idea of using a drug or drinking sounded like bliss. How, even for an hour or two, I could forget everything. But that is not who I am. I did not sleep and sometime in the night I decided to check out a few places that I knew he gravitated towards. I drove around the quiet city realizing how crazy the behavior was. Normal people don't do this. Normal people have dinner, watch TV, dine with friends, visit grandkids, feel happy or lonely, but now are peacefully sleeping. Only crazy people drive around a city and look for someone that doesn't want to be found. Somewhere around 4:30 I found him. He was at his office. I parked and walked around the building, the night air chilling my tense body. I saw him in the window. He was at his desk, clearly agitated. Making phone calls, looking on his computer, repe...

I cannot remember now. I can't for the life of me remember how we figured out that this man, this good man, was a junkie. That the disease of addiction had made it so that methamphetamine was more important than anything else.  It all makes sense now. The crazy behavior, the writing checks for cash but never using it in front of me, the sores on his arm and hands, the disappearing, sleeplessness, etc etc etc. Why can't I remember? I'll have to talk to my daughter because it seems like an important detail. We get up in the next morning....me frozen, seeing my kids in pain but being unable to do a damn thing about it because I am in shock. I am walking but cannot feel my feet. I am hearing but can't make sense of the words. The crazy texts are still coming. I hate him and the texts. I want to text back horrible things but know if the man kills himself my kids will read those texts and hold me responsible. So I don't. But I lay there, wishing he would. For th...

February 28 in the Little Blue Book – One Day at a Time in Al-Anon We are advised to detach our minds and emotions from the problems created by alcoholism. This does not mean detachment from the alcoholic, who needs our loving understanding. When I learn to disentangle myself from a difficulty, it will be easier to think it through. I will remind myself to pause and analyze. This will keep me from impulsive decisions and give me time to devise constructive action. Each time this happens, it may seem a small conquest, but each helps me build a serene stability. The words from One Day at a Time do not always speak to me in a compelling way but we are taught, in Al-Anon, to take what we can and leave the rest. I do not currently have an addict / alcoholic in my daily life. That does not mean that I have ceased being an Al-Anon. I gathered tools as a child that helped me cope with the life I had been given. They were useful and made my life more manageable at the time. Those to...

I am not a writer. I am a woman, mother, partner, sister, orphan and, sometimes, just bat-shit crazy. Today, feeling more emotional than usual, I wonder what it is that causes the feeling of needing good cry and whether I could put it into words. To be sure, there are many things in this world to cry about. There is pain, hunger, sickness and violence or simply seeing someone I love hurting. I think of little Victoria Martens, who had the unfortunate luck of being born to evil incarnate.  Or of all the African American men who cannot walk or drive the streets of our country with the comfort and confidence that I am afforded. Of politicians that can say and do anything they want and still be followed like demigods. Honestly, if the tears flowed every time I heard a heartbreaking or maddening story they would rarely cease. The funny thing about crying is that it is not just for sorrow and pain, it is for joy and relief too. I read that Dr. William Frey, Biochemest and ...

We must be true inside, true to ourselves, before we can know a truth that is outside us. But we can make ourselves true inside by manifesting the truth as we see it. ~Thomas Merton: No Man Is An Island~ Deceiving myself from the truth is so darn easy. It takes no effort what-so-ever because it is a default that was slowly built in so that I could survive in the world with the least amount of pain. I am learning that I can survive pain and that it is a necessary part of life that can promote wonderful qualities if allowed to do what it does best. Hardships can aid in the building of resilience, patience, empathy and forgiveness. Sadly, they can also make one bitter, angry, distrustful, avoid community, unable to be vulnerable and just plain sad. I’ve lived both ways. Finding out that it was my choice was astonishing. Changing the pattern has proved to be one of the harder things I have ever attempted. But the rewards are worth every ounce of effort I have inside of m...

The fight caught me by surprise. My youngest and I get along very well. We communicate and recreate and, in general, enjoy each others company. She's low maintenance and sweet. When I discovered, that at 19, she got a tattoo, the range of emotions I felt stunned me. Instead of stepping back and trying to understand those emotions, I lashed out and said things I should not have. Taking something personal that had nothing to do with me. NOT IN MY HULA HOOP.  But it did not feel that way.. I was just plain old HURT. Hurt that she didn't tell me, that she didn't give me the chance to react well, that she shared the experience with someone else, that she chose to tattoo our old address, the home that I loved but had to leave, on her body when it holds so much pain for me, sad that she marked her body forever, etc etc etc. And it made me fear (my old friend) that I didn't know her nearly as well as I thought, at my lack of control. What else is she hiding from me? ...

When being grateful outweighs the pain, you know you will recover. You know you can love and laugh and live a life with purpose. The weight of anger and pain and, dare I say, hatred is considerable, so burdensome. At times, the need to feel justified, validated by onlookers, perhaps even pitied (guilty as charged) can keep you in that horrible place.  But life moves forward. If you are wise or if you have someone around that helps you open your eyes or if you can somehow see how much damage it does to your heart and to the ones that love you, you can try to drag yourself up. Some people forgive so easy. I am not that person. But I've got a God that wants so much more for me than anger and spite. He has begun the softening of my rough edges and pointed out those areas that need work. Some that I knew of but held onto like an treasured family heirloom and some I simply was not conscious of. Our families of origin helped form the people we are; good, bad or otherwise. I li...