A Purrrfect Life/Lives

I feel like I have to write this about the previous blog. I think I need to do this because Mike read it and said the "S" word. "It's sad, all that you went through." I heard his words and immediately felt disappointed. "What if that is all people get from it?" I asked knowing in my heart my intention got disconnected somehow. " I don't want people to think I am sad." Mike responded with, "There are a lot of sad things in the blog, Kel. I know what you went through."
Yeah, he does know what I went through. I walked through hell and made it to the other side. I was beaten physically and emotionally until I nearly disappeared, but that is not what I focus on these days or for a long time for that matter. When I write about my past it is in order to show how far down I was and how far I have come. This is the debate I have in my head all the time. Do I write the absolute truth or dilute it in order for others to feel more comfortable. My want, my need to write doesn't mean everyone should see every word I put in writing, right now. That is why there are editors for books. But my gut says to tell the truth, the way things really were, the attitudes I held at the time, the way things unfolded that got me to a place of happy.
I had kidney problems as a kid, hence the whole bed wetting scenario I paint pretty regularly. I was told as a small child that if things didn't get better I was facing dialysis and possible transplant. I took medication, had multiple surgeries and gave up on ever feeling "normal". The worst case scenario never happened.
I am still here.
I was hit by a car when I was 19 picking up a cat that was nearly dead on the side of the road. The road was unlit and the car was a black car that hit me while I was bending over with a towel trying to pry this crushed cat off the road so it wouldn't be hit again. I had seen the lights in it's eyes, still blinking as cars drove over it. I had a towel in my car's trunk, so I stopped, using the towel bent over to pick it up when WHAM! A car hit my left hip and sent me soaring air born, about 5 feet into a fence. I dropped the cat, who crawled away from me, I think believing it was better off dying alone than hanging around the unlucky likes of me. I could have been killed. I could have been maimed. A thousand different things could have happened that would have made my current life impossible.
I am still here.
I had a full arrest at 28. I lost almost every ounce of blood in my body. My body had shut down long enough for me to learn that death isn't to be feared. I was hooked up to machines I could barely pronounce. It took two years of my life to earn back my spot in the human race. I struggled and still do today with the blow back of not having a brain that worked the same as it did. I would walk away from that experience forever changed by it. But without it I would not have fully lived the life I had so generously been given back.
I am still here.
I fell asleep at the wheel at a stop light because I worked 6 days a week and cared for my four young children, with only 3 hours of sleep a day for years. I lost consciousness in a busy intersection where I still can't believe I and my 4 young kids weren't killed. I jolted awake, seeing the other cars pass me by wondering how long I had been out. There was no one to watch them then. I had to be awake, alert responsible. it was my purpose, in many ways my sole purpose to do that. By the grace of God went we as I drove away from the scene of my parental crime knowing that a second different would have ended my family, due to a tragedy of mine, not being able to stay awake beyond the normal human condition. We went home. I cried and prayed that the next day I would be able to stay awake. Failure was not an option. I continued to believe in my heart and soul that one day we would be able to get off that hamster wheel and have love, and a designated driver if need be.
I am still here.
I got diagnosed, quite by accident with an ovarian tumor the size of a loaf of bread. It weighed 3 1/2 pounds. Had they not found it when they did I would not be here and my children would have been orphans. It was a series of amazing events that saved my life. I would have ignored the constant pain, the constant symptoms thinking I was the last one to be taken care of. I would have died of a rupture, cancer or gangrene. All things were in motion to kill me. Things were taking place in my body that I actively pushed aside in order to not think or have to pay for with my health or the precious little money we had to take care of each other. But it was found. I was saved. My dreams did come true.
I am still here.
There have been so many times in my life when I have been spared. My mom says I am like a cat with my many lives. I suppose I am, since I have been lucky enough to land on my feet. I have been blessed. I believe in God and have for a very long time without all the drama of going through my life, but if I hadn't believed back then I certainly would believe now. My life has been nothing short of a divine intervention keeping me here, alive and happy, hopeful and learning. If I hadn't lived the life I had been given, then I would be different. I said different, not necessarily better. I believe I have been given opportunities rather than tragedies. Without the individual events that have shaped and formed who I am, I am not sure I would be so certain of love, gratitude, forgiveness. And I am sure. I am certain how important each life is that connects to other lives. I see the the threads of my life stringing one to another creating the picture of a woman who knows love when she sees it, feels it deeply in her soul, shows emotion without embarrassment now. I see my life as if I am an observer, not feeling the pain of my past, but grateful for the chances, the opportunities to live so fully, so completely that I can feel the joy of my life to my very bones.
I am still here. I am still learning, screwing things up, begging for forgiveness, loving those in my life, dreaming of a future I cannot fathom, but willingly give to God to do as He pleases.
So if the blogs ever make you feel sad, stop! Do not feel the pain, feel the wonder, the awe of a life transformed. Know that I am recalling history, not drowning in pain or my own tears. I am uplifted by my life. I do have regrets, but none that I would seek changed by. I am who I am because of the life I have led. When I recall the sadness, cry if you feel it, but smile as you finish reading, knowing how it all ended happily ever after.

I Have Changed My Status To "in a relationship with Kellie-it's complicated"

I have decided I want a relationship with me. I will be honest here, I haven't actively wanted to be a part of my own social circle for a long time. I find myself to be droll, most days. I live simply, but sometimes that requires me to be simple, not a compliment in my house. I am an intelligence snob. I find myself drifting from conversations about someone's kids or dogs or jobs, if what they say doesn't tell me who they are. It's a little like discussing weather. If I want to know the weather I have Google, The Weather Channel or hey, better yet I will just look outside. Being a bed wetting, band geek did nothing for me either. I knew my own stories and found most of them to be boring, or embarrassing, rather than funny or interesting. I had spent most of my twenties trying to forget my past, thinking of it as irrelevant and more than a little pathetic. When I turned twenty eight, I had a child, my youngest, where I had a full arrest including no blood pressure, no pulse, no respiration. I was gone, Man, really gone. For two and half minutes I ceased to exist. When I awoke I found that my memory had taken a hike. I got exactly what I asked for. No more embarrassment due to bad young behavior , no remembering how I got through high school, junior high or elementary school. I remembered who I was, who I was married to, who my kids were and my immediate family. I didn't know how to read and write, how to drive or why I would even want to. I knew who my immediate friends were, but lost the ability to recall anyone else. After years of wanting to be anybody but me, I got exactly what I asked for. I was that way for months. Actually, since I have decided to be more honest than politically correct, I was that way for years. For about two years, I had no idea of who I was prior to that moment in time. I could literally start over and be anybody I wanted to be. The question then became, "Who do I want to be?" versus "Who was I?".
Everybody I have seen who has had a near death experience watched the bright light. I had no bright light. My experience was totally different from anything I had ever heard about before. Mine was about not being afraid of the dark anymore. I had been afraid of all things dark and scary. Where I had once loved horror movies, once I was married and had kids they terrified me. I no longer found any fun in dark corners, dark bars, dark theaters, dark anything. I am night blind and have been since I was a kid and figured out I didn't know what was going on because I couldn't see. Once when my friends and I were in a cemetery playing tag at night, I bumped into a statue and excused myself. My friends were bowled over laughing about how I talk to statues. I ran into trees, tripped over rocks, fell into gutters, and generally hurt myself weekly from trying to navigate the night. That is how I had pictured my childhood, me bumbling around, bumping into things, always doing the wrong things in order to feel a part of my surroundings. With this in mind, it doesn't take Einstein's theory of relativity to see why I was wanting to forget my relativity to anyone while I was a child.
Once I had conquered my biggest fear of the dark due to my extraordinary experience, I wanted to find out more about what I could become rather than who I had been. Whatever had happened to me in the past was just that. But here I was in my late twenties getting a clean slate. I had hoped that if I stayed away from those who knew me when I was young, I wouldn't get caught up in who they thought I was, and who they were certain I had become. By deleting my past I was certain I would be able to be anything I wanted without paying the price of changing anyone's perception.
The downside to this was all I was giving up too. It meant I had to give up going and catching up with old friends, going home to see anyone but Mom and Dad, and letting go completely of who I had become as I traveled through, learning the lessons. I had to stop trying to exercise my brain to get it to recall anyone from the time when I was someone very different. Not everyone accepts change, especially big change when you are going through it. Thus began my time of staying away from the childhood of someone I could no longer relate to.
I did actively choose to be alone rather than be with people who knew me before February 21, 1992. Having to learn how to read and write, drive and do activities of daily living helped me in my cause. When I would see people, I would choose to not try and remember. I did remember, by accident, those whom my mother thought was important, in the beginning. Eventually, many memories came back to me, but not before I had the chance to morph them into innocuous ideas instead of concrete facts.
I wasn't living a lie, I was living a limbo. I didn't refuse to believe my past, I just didn't seek it out anymore. Until I hit the wall and found I had run out of time and path away from it. That is the funny thing about living longer than you had thought you were going to. I had thought when the doctor I might not make it, that I would be gone at 28. I had thought by taking the time to get my "things" together that I would not have to face the future, so why bother figuring things out. But I had lived, I had been given a second chance to be better, do better, think differently, learn more, teach more, live in a way I could be proud of.
It was no accident that my divorce happened two years later. It had been a very rocky relationship and I had been a battered wife, waiting for things to get better. I had waited for years, ever hopeful if the house were clean enough, if the kids were taken care of enough, eventually I would be enough. But the truth was I wasn't enough for either of us. I hadn't initially fought for my own life in the hospital. I wanted to go, be done. I had a bad marriage, no job and felt trapped in a life that I had helped create. When I saw Betty for the first time was when I wanted to live, just for her.
I will confess, that while I was "on my way back" I yelled at my doctor for saving me. Being illiterate, having gaping memory lapses and having incredible difficulty with my short term memory as well, I was less than enthusiastic about being "still here". Eventually, I saw for myself in real terms what being here could mean. I was given the gift of a George Bailey moment of knowing what it would have meant for my children had I not made it.
While I got so much bravery to go out and start my life again, I also got all the pain that comes in waves, too. I got to see just how much damage was caused my husband and me to each other. I got to feel to my very bones what it was to walk out on someone who never in their thought process believed I would have the guts to do it. I watched Danny be reduced to a shaking child as he said, "No one will love you again! You didn't deserve me! I rescued you from that shitty little town. You are nothing. I never really loved you!" And there it was...the verbal vomit of someone who had now been hurt a bad as I had previously. Not having a brain cell in my head that I was able to count on for life experience, since I denied my own past, I took it all in. I became the guilty party. I allowed all the fault driven hate to fall directly on me, knocking me clean to the ground. I wore that iron suit for many years, until I could look at the child me full in the face and say what I should have said long ago,"If you were me, what would you do?" That's why we have those visceral memories, those hurting haunting images of the lessons we learned in the past, so we can draw on them and remember that we won't die of a broken heart.
So I am now in a relationship with myself. I have decided I need the child me to protect the adult me from breaking down, from having to learn all the hard lessons over again. I need the child me who looks at clouds still creating dreamy images in my head while lying on the grass. I still need the little girl who is awestruck by magic tricks, fast music and heart pounding feeling when my husband looks at me in that way that makes me giggle. Yes, she was stupid, ignorant, naive, dorky, a bumbling fool. Yes, everyday she gets up, so much of that is still true. But I need that child to remind me that I am still here. I didn't really start over, I didn't really leave all of who I was behind me, without it I am a hollow shell of person, whether I have improved or not.
I am in a relationship with me, the dorky bed-wetting, verbose, bossy, bumbling fool. So far things are going well, though not without pain. But as it turns out, we have so much in common.

How to be famous in a week and a half

Want to be famous? Want your tweets, or facebook comments, statuses and website to go viral? Do you find yourself lonely, out of touch with reality, wanting everyone on the series of tubes to follow your every breath? The answer is simple, as is the mindset you will have to have in order to accomplish this rather insignificant, short-lived explosion of infamy. That is what I am talking about, infamy. Dave Chappelle who ran all the way to Africa to get away from the barrage of fame said it best, "You can never be un-famous, you can be infamous, but you can never be un-famous."

All I have to do in order to sell my book is pull my pants down, take drugs, get drunk, video my bad behavior and say some really horrible things followed by weeks of press coverage of "heartfelt" apologies, until my stats go down and the cycle repeats itself. Seems simple enough. I could start by saying incredibly insensitive things about Japan, then go to making fun of Elizabeth Taylor, while simultaneously writing lies about her, as if it were the God's honest truth. I would work my way through politics, saying I had evidence that every member of Congress was born out of wedlock to the same father who is now trying to take over the world. An alien invasion always makes good press.
I will falsely accuse those who I say I love, tell family secrets as if they were recipes and make sure I have at least on arrest, misdemeanors only, because I don't actually want to have to pay for a crime in jail, posting my mug shot for all to see. I will make it my profile picture. After months of just awful, embarrassing behavior including, but not exclusive to the launch of my faux music career on youtube with an over produced, manufactured video and endless autotuner, to cover up the fact I am a no talent hack. I will pen my memoir and sell it through an endless stream of PR people, agents and lawyers.
OR...I could just work at my job. I could write everyday, trying to improve upon my supposed skill set, constantly checking for errors, reading more to improve my vocabulary and here's a crazy notion, try to do the right thing by not using people's tragic ignorance or indiscretions as my personal entertainment. I could focus on the good in people and try to promote art, culture, good deeds, altruism, patience, kindness and decency. Oh, but that takes too long to become famous that way. I would actually have to prove I have some kind of talent, and what if I don't? What if I spend years writing and no one thinks I am any good? What if I work everyday at what I love to do and I still don't have what it takes to pass up Snooki on the New York best sellers list?
There is no such thing as an over night success, unless you are talking about the manufactured and packaged child stars who eventually end up in the criminal system, because their parents pimped them out for fast cash. Even then, these idiots have spent months on the road dressing up their little darlings in inappropriate outfits, dragging them to auditions, making them perform like a trained poodle, until some sleaze bag grabs a hold of them getting them commercial time and a Disney show.
Some poor kid threw out a video, mind you she is only 13 years old and the infamy started rolling in. The remarks I saw on twitter were despicable, hateful and damaging. I suppose for her parents it's all good if the cash rolls in. They can say they did it to raise money for college. They can excuse their bad behavior as parents letting everyone know she asked for it, she wanted this. They don't have to have any foresight in this. They don't have to protect her in any way if as a child she requested them to pay for the atrocious video that has put her on the map. Those that destroy her can claim it is the price of fame. She is a public figure now, isn't she?
Here's one of the few things I am certain of, no kid understands the price of fame. Hell, most adults don't get it until it's too late. The idea that being infamous is the same as being recognized for real talent is ludicrous. Famous people with all their money, can be hostages of the very thing they thought they were seeking. I may never be recognized as a "famous" author. Most people who write, paint, or produce don't become a household name, at least not until they are dead, and that is a price I am not willing to pay just yet. The few, the very few who are alive and well adjusted who are famous are a minute percentage. Just because a few "lucky" people make it out alive after being discovered on the interweb, doesn't make it the best idea to pursue.
You, too, can be famous in a very short period time if you are willing to lose your conscience, your mind and your privacy. But be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.

Gaman

I was looking at my blog stats, when I noticed I had been visited several times by Japan. What I found interesting, riveting even, is that it was since the earthquake. I could not believe that with everything they have going on, anyone from there would be remotely interested in my little dog and pony show. Here I am talking about the simple life of our family, not saying anything of real importance. I wish I had something profound to say about the world events. I sit and try to wrap my brain around what is happening to the middle east, Japan, and even here in the states with certain Governors, unable to articulate anything of real value. I am completely dependent on the news and others thought processes in order to unravel my raw emotions.

"Gaman" in Japanese loosely means to hold in one's emotions and show quiet strength, to endure with dignity and fortitude. It is, in effect, the job of getting on with it. The first time I ever even heard the word was from George Takei, during an interview about his feelings of grief about the Japanese disaster. For those of you who have not been outside in the last 40 years, George played Mr. Sulu on the original Star trek. He spoke about being Japanese/American, and first learning he word himself when his family was put in an internment camp here in the states during World War II. He spoke of how his mother would say "Gaman" to him as a child as they were imprisoned, for no other reason then their heritage. In Japanese culture as it was explained to me, Gaman is to show inner strength and resolve in the face of great adversity. It is ingrained in their culture, their very lifestyle. It is a deep and resounding part of who they are. The Japanese people are showing/practicing Gaman, everyday now while they wait to see the fate of so many of their people, their homes, their country.

The closest thing I have in my history that even remotely relates to Gaman is when my children walked slowly, quietly, with great resolve behind their father's casket. The day they buried their beloved father they stood still for hours, not making a sound, not moving around, not being children at all, but tiny adults in children's clothing. As a family we showed it when we had to go back to doing what was necessary each day, me making it quite clear that losing their father was not a reason for any bad behavior. It was the harsh, but mostly effective way I could put it. Here is the exact quote, "You will not use your father's death as an excuse to fail. You will live as an example of what was best about him. I am not expecting this, I am demanding it." My tiny tots stared at me, tears in their eyes, thinking that I must have buried my heart along with their father. The truth is, I knew if I became the mother who allowed self pity, self destruction would follow. They were expected to be strong, because there was no other choice. We couldn't all lay down and die because Danny did. Failure was not optional.

I sit typing on my computer thinking about the Japanese families who have fathers, husbands working at the nuclear plant, feverishly trying to keep the radiation from destroying the country they love. They are facing a death sentence. The families that said their good-byes know they may not see each other again. Even the smallest of children of these brave workers are expected to practice Gaman. My heart goes out to the Japanese people. The catastrophic nature of the earthquake, then tsunami, then nuclear near melt down is somewhat too much to bear even watching from a distance, so I can't even begin to say I can imagine how they feel or know what they are facing.

I normally pray on my knees. I am Catholic so the aerobic program is something I am used to, but today I laid face down on the floor, with my arms forward, completely open to my God. It is the position the nuns take when they take their final vows, their marriage to Christ, their sacrifice of mind, body and soul to the church. I did this as a way to become more open, more accepting, more able to practice Gaman as I watch the world unravel. There is no moral to this story. There are no answers here, amongst the simple lines of text. The only thing I can offer is a prayer for all those suffering and the attempt to practice Gaman. I wish you peace, and the quiet knowing that this too shall pass.

The Cinderella Complex

I have the Cinderella complex, but it's not what you may think. In my version, Cinderella did the heavy lifting, the grunt work that even the average every day servants didn't want to do. She was the one who cleaned out the fireplace, extreme manual labor, making little ones out of big ones. She was the household backbone who got the big things done in order for the maidens to do the lighter fluff stuff.
I don't believe she waited for her prince to come, I believe, in my version, the prince recognized she was a leader of men and married her to help run the kingdom.
It's not the popular Disney version, but I think it's more realistic than the fairy tale version.
Mike and I spent the weekend doing the heavy lifting in the yard. We put in a patio, installed an in-ground fountain and did general clean up of the yard. Raking, scrubbing, digging around beds, creating our silk purse from the sow's ear we were left with in our new home. When it comes to house work, that is what I have in mind. If it's tearing out drywall, re-tiling a bathroom, or putting in a new floor, I am in. If it is about vacuuming, dusting or doing dishes, then I am about to moan and groan for hours about not wanting to do it. I would much rather grab the tool belt than the dust pan. I like hard, heavy labor. I like sweating profusely rather than spritzing gently while doing more female stereotyped chores.
I am the worst housewife ever! I hate all the mundane activities of the accepted female trades. I hate shopping, sweeping, cleaning in general and bed-making in particular. All the little touches that make a house a home are not my thing. I do things because I have some warped feelings of obligation, but I feel no satisfaction from any of it. If the floor needs to be cleaned, I will clean it, begrudgingly, but I will do it when and only when I absolutely have to. I would much rather be the one who goes off to work, toiling in the hot sun, or in a corporate boardroom. Since I feel no gratification in housework, I feel no respect for it, either. I admire women who do it day in and day out, wondering how they manage not to end up sitting in a hot tub, razor blade in hand. I have no patience for it, as I push the sweeper around the floor the millionth time that week. Bitterly, I rinse the dishes to put in the dishwasher, again as I have done every day for the last 20+ years. I wonder to myself why I do it when they are only going back in the cupboard for some oaf to pull them out and get them dirty again in the next ten minutes.
I had always wanted to stay home with my kids when they were growing up, or so I had thought. I still feel so much guilt about not being around more when they were little, and needed me the most. What I had never had the desire for was to clean my own house. Build it, yes, but clean it? YUK!
Some women get so upset when you call them a housewife, because according to them they are not married to their house. But aren't we? Even in the smallest measure, aren't we married to our house if everything that happens in it, to it and around it is something we are accountable for? I often call myself the "Fishwife". (Insert bad female joke here). I say that because it is derogatory and no one in the world wants to be called the old Fishwife. That is exactly how I feel about the daily housework.
I freely admit, that when it comes to family positions, I am more male than female. I am more aggressive than submissive. Mike is the easy going one, going along for the ride, keeping the peace, doing what I ask. He is no push over and in every aspect, all man, but if we had traditional roles assigned, I would be the overbearing, dominant one.
Michael, bless his heart worked like a dog this weekend. He puts so much effort into everything he does. He is a control freak like his wife and asks for little help. He will while away entire days working alone, doing more than anyone person ever should without a single complaint. Not me, I will do the work, but everyone in the house and in a three mile radius will know all about how disgusted I am by it.
In the end, it all gets done in our house, the working, the loving, and eventually the playing.
So, much like Cinderella herself, I am in charge of our kingdom. I run the castle and all it's contents, even if I hate holding the broom. My handsome prince will come today, change into his work clothes and help out with whatever there is to do. He will sweep me into his arms after the day is done and tell me that he loves me, still, even though I am the worst housewife ever.

Edivacation - Travelling to Learn

I was thinking back to Mike and my trip to New Mexico. I loved it there, so scenic, so magical in all the colors that show themselves in the twilight. The picture is one I took of a sunset. We visited the Georgia O'Keeffe museum, while we were there. Her work is stunning, so smooth, colors fading one into another without any sign of transition. She was brazen, taking on the art world as a woman, doing what she wanted without thought of repercussion from the established art scene, made up primarily of men. I am always so awe stricken by strong women who don't give a rat's ass what others think about their lifestyle, work or decisions. I remember standing in front of photographs of her thinking I would give anything to be that independent, that certain about any of the decisions I have made.
As I was daydreaming about what courage it must have taken to be a woman in the 1920's living as an artist, traveling to where her heart took her, I was so aware of the shift in my life that I have been feeling. In the museum there were photographs her husband took of her, some in the nude. Women could not even vote back then. We, as women, had no rights. We were expected to marry, have babies and keep our houses clean. Miss O'Keeffe, married a divorced man, studied art, lived in and for nature, without being caught in the web of self imposed expectation, or convention. She was an individual, rather than a sexual stereotype. I wondered where she got the strength to do what she wanted, when she wanted, without the fear of social backlash. My daughter paints. Armed with one degree in art history, she is gearing up for her second degree in French and then on for her masters degree and possibly her doctorate. My child doesn't think of marriage, or children right now, even though so many friends of hers are getting married, having babies, starting families. We were out talking one night when she said wistfully, "Maybe one day I will do all that. I would like to think I will have a family in the future, but right now I can't see it." "Hmmm..." is my only response. I understand why she wants to wait. We as women still do so much heavy lifting when it comes to babies. There are lots of good fathers out in the world, but not many men who would put their careers on hold to stay at home with the kids. Whoever marries Christine will have his hands full. She is wicked smart, strong willed and emotionally accessible. Whoever wins her hand will have won the marriage lottery, but he will have to know how to allow her to fly.
Christine's artwork has always reminded me of Georgia O'Keeffe. The incredible depth of color, smooth lines and ability to see the tiniest shift in hue. I see other similarities as well. I see the inner strength, the fortitude of a power deep in her soul that pushes her to independence. I see where my child doesn't give a rat's ass about convention, either. She can be bold, brash, unsettling in her remarks. I try and let people who think she is still the shy child to buckle up if they want her opinion. She will tell you in an instant exactly what she thinks and walk away without giving it a second thought. Everyone we know says she is like me. I think sometimes that is because her father is no longer around to remind them how much like him she is, and she definitely is. I see him in her eyes, her nose, her hands. I see him in the way she lays in wait for someone to say something insulting to her, referencing her intelligence, just long enough for her to coil back and then strike. They never fully recover. As a snake with paralyzing venom, they sit shaking, unable to move. The family if around to bear witness, will slowly back out of the room shaking our heads. "Poor sap never saw it coming", we mumble so as not disturb the angry artist.
Christine in many has come right through me. I did not have the guts she has. I was more passive about things I probably shouldn't have been. I have let opportunities pass me by in order to keep the peace. It took me much longer to stand on my feet and feel as comfortable in my own skin. She is the best of her father and I. I wish so often he were around to witness how strong, how smart, and just how beautiful she is. Something in me tells me that he can see it all, far above where we are now. But I still wish he were here in flesh and blood to stand next to me awe struck by the woman that came from the baby we had.
For years I gave my strength to her, in order for her to grow and become an independent person. Lately, she has allowed me to borrow some of hers as I shift into my new role of not caring for children. When things get too difficult, too overwhelming she makes me laugh. Self deprecating, she uses herself as the punchline of her humor.
I have seen many of the places Georgia O'Keeffe traveled in order to be inspired, including Palo Duro Canyon, here in Texas. I have walked much the same path as Christine during her lifetime. The trail is out there if I choose to follow in the foot steps of the great women I have studied, including the one who lives with me. Maybe it's time for me to find my bravery , much like Piglet, who always felt like a "very small animal" and strike out on my own journey to discover something wonderful. If I do and somehow get stuck, I have Chrisitne's number on speed dial.

A Glimmer of Hope

I am usually a very hopeful person. Lately, I have struggled to keep my hope alive. The last few months have been extremely difficult for me, while I watch the in fighting in my own house, the tragedies unfold around the world, and the blame game thrown at so many of the people in my own country. My personal problems are intangible, except that my father is sick and in the hospital 1200 miles away, while my mom is alone dealing with it. That is very tangible to me. It is visceral and audible as my heart pounds in my head, from worry, fear of what I cannot even offer help.
I have been feeling desperate, more than a little broken about what I cannot control, what I cannot change. I hang on with whatever is at my finger tips, this small key board, my racing brain, my breaking heart. My hope is in me, though smaller than it was, I continue to hold on to my belief that if I hang on just a little longer something wonderful can happen, though the odds certainly aren't there to verify it's existence. For me it has never been about what does happen, but rather what can happen. If not for those moments of pure joy just thinking about what miracle could show itself in any given moment, I wonder if I would simply disappear. I watch for the the tiniest shifts in the atmosphere to show me I am on the right track, that my God given ability to try and see the bright side is still alive.
I am all about the simplest of pleasures. A smile from a stranger, the laugh of a child seeing something for the very first time, the moment I see someone I love. All these things show themselves to me as signs that there is still good, still wonder, still awe to be felt in this world I live in. Everyday, there are those who find me simple, as in insipid. Their cynicism is what seems to guide them in their beliefs. They say, write or tell things that knock my breath away just long enough to remind me that not everybody is nice, as if I needed that reminder at my age. I have seen things so wrong they haunt me still. Working with the elderly I had seen unbearable cruelty, often times by the very families they sacrificed to raise. I have seen unkind, thoughtlessness. I have never needed reminders of those.
Moving to Houston, after having lived in my home state of Ohio for so many years, took real courage. We are not all equal around this country. I was made aware of people who moved to Ohio from here who also were not immediately, if ever accepted. I have lost the careers I counted on. I cannot support my family, though I had done it all my adult life. The sacrifice for me had been harsh and often times so humbling it has brought me to my knees. So I need my hope. I need my signs that things can be so much better than they are now.
The first thing I noticed the summer we moved here was there were no lightning bugs. No fire flies roamed the yard, lighting up guiding the moon beams to cross my face. No tiny insects flew around my eye line and head, swirling in the night sky, reminding me of the romance of a cool evening breeze. I had naively thought Texas had no such bugs. Maybe it was the humidity, the giant prehistoric looking cockroaches, the predators unseen in the darkness, I was not even aware of. Whatever the reason, we had no little delights lighting up our sanctuary.
A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting out back at our new house, just enjoying the cool air, listening to the coyotes, I now hear in the distance. So many new sights, smells to take in here as if I had moved hundreds of miles away from our last house, when in reality we moved only a couple of miles. No longer did we have a bayou behind us, but now we had woods, great towering pine trees, with flowering vines hanging as banners in the moonlight. I saw a simple flash of light, the tiniest shooting star twinkle within the branches of the trees. First one and then another, dashing lights weaving my dream state through the woods. I couldn't wait to tell Mike, who at the time was fitfully sleeping in our room just steps away.
Tonight, while sitting under the evening sky, I saw my little miracles, the flashing lights of my childhood. There were so many tonight, it looked as if they were Christmas lights twinkling just outside our fenced boundary. I couldn't help but smile. It was a sign, tailor made for me. This is how my God speaks to me in hushed tones and small reminders that my hope, though slightly battered lives on in me, and Him. I had prayed for a glimmer of hope this morning. I knew tonight, all was asked and answered.