Sunday, November 15, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
the voices in my head are such liars
Sanity: What the hell is this?
Concern: It could be. Women DO have different symptoms, sometimes silent ones. Just like this.
Sanity: My color is fine and I’m not dizzy.
Concern: But the arm pain and the tingling. What the fuck is up what that, then?
Sanity: Could be that I slept wrong on it.
Mild Anxiety: It wasn't there after getting out of bed. Why hasn’t it gone away by now? It is possible. The age range, the physical condition.
Sanity: Highly unlikely. I'm not that out of shape. Or that old. Calm down.
Mild Anxiety: BUT it might be and what if? And then? There are reasons it could be. Feel that pounding? It's really fast now. It could be. Isn’t it better to be SURE?
Sanity: It'll pass. Just a little twinge.
High Anxiety: It’s been going on for almost 3 hours now. Isn’t that a little long for it to be a twinge? That tightness. THAT could be a problem. Those deep breaths? What's causing those?
Sanity: That’s Anxiety! CALM DOWN. There is nothing wrong. I’m going for a ride, get some air. I’ll feel better. Get moving, blood flowing.
High Anxiety: Maybe it’s not a good idea to drive. It says driving can be dangerous.There could be an accident. And what if it gets worse? Will there be time to call 911?
Sanity: I should get it checked. Be sure. Anything is possible, considering...I"ll make an appointment with the doctor.
High Anxiety: Is it getting worse? The tingling? Feel it? The pain in the arm. I can feel the pounding. It IS worse now. The flush of heat, oh, that's bad.
PANIC: Gotcha!
Forsaking Sanity: Hi, it’s me. I’m going to the ER, I don’t think I’m having a problem but something feels weird.
Soothing Husband: I’ll meet you there. You’re fine. It’s probably nothing.
Forsaking Sanity: I know it's nothing, I think, but it’s been a while and it hasn’t stopped and Anxiety has called Panic in for a consultation and the verdict seems to be that I am DYING of a heart attack. Right this very minute.
This dialogue? It looped around in my brain for three hours last Thursday. The sane part of my brain lost all semblance of control and let Concern, Anxiety and Panic rule the day as it took about 5 hours in the ER to confirm that no, in fact, I was not actually dying. Not even close.
Seems I pulled muscles in my shoulder and my rotator cuff is one very angry puppy, which still hurts like a Bitch, with sharp teeth. The Heart? Is just fine, thank you very much. Now I have the test results to shove in the face of Anxiety and Panic when they start lying to me, the fuckers. Not to mention some damn good muscle relaxants for good measure. There can be better living through chemistry.
I think I stepped off the path of rational sometime ago. If any of you see the trail markers, send me coordinates, ‘kay? Thanks.
Concern: It could be. Women DO have different symptoms, sometimes silent ones. Just like this.
Sanity: My color is fine and I’m not dizzy.
Concern: But the arm pain and the tingling. What the fuck is up what that, then?
Sanity: Could be that I slept wrong on it.
Mild Anxiety: It wasn't there after getting out of bed. Why hasn’t it gone away by now? It is possible. The age range, the physical condition.
Sanity: Highly unlikely. I'm not that out of shape. Or that old. Calm down.
Mild Anxiety: BUT it might be and what if? And then? There are reasons it could be. Feel that pounding? It's really fast now. It could be. Isn’t it better to be SURE?
Sanity: It'll pass. Just a little twinge.
High Anxiety: It’s been going on for almost 3 hours now. Isn’t that a little long for it to be a twinge? That tightness. THAT could be a problem. Those deep breaths? What's causing those?
Sanity: That’s Anxiety! CALM DOWN. There is nothing wrong. I’m going for a ride, get some air. I’ll feel better. Get moving, blood flowing.
High Anxiety: Maybe it’s not a good idea to drive. It says driving can be dangerous.There could be an accident. And what if it gets worse? Will there be time to call 911?
Sanity: I should get it checked. Be sure. Anything is possible, considering...I"ll make an appointment with the doctor.
High Anxiety: Is it getting worse? The tingling? Feel it? The pain in the arm. I can feel the pounding. It IS worse now. The flush of heat, oh, that's bad.
PANIC: Gotcha!
Forsaking Sanity: Hi, it’s me. I’m going to the ER, I don’t think I’m having a problem but something feels weird.
Soothing Husband: I’ll meet you there. You’re fine. It’s probably nothing.
Forsaking Sanity: I know it's nothing, I think, but it’s been a while and it hasn’t stopped and Anxiety has called Panic in for a consultation and the verdict seems to be that I am DYING of a heart attack. Right this very minute.
This dialogue? It looped around in my brain for three hours last Thursday. The sane part of my brain lost all semblance of control and let Concern, Anxiety and Panic rule the day as it took about 5 hours in the ER to confirm that no, in fact, I was not actually dying. Not even close.
Seems I pulled muscles in my shoulder and my rotator cuff is one very angry puppy, which still hurts like a Bitch, with sharp teeth. The Heart? Is just fine, thank you very much. Now I have the test results to shove in the face of Anxiety and Panic when they start lying to me, the fuckers. Not to mention some damn good muscle relaxants for good measure. There can be better living through chemistry.
I think I stepped off the path of rational sometime ago. If any of you see the trail markers, send me coordinates, ‘kay? Thanks.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
the deep of night
My eyes drift open, slowly, a vague mist of dream swirls in my mind, slumber clinging, like silky webs. Darkness surrounds me, light from the street lamp barely shimmers through the window. It is the deep early hours of the morning, filled with that dense night-time silence, a slumbering house. Quiet and mysterious. Rain gently patters outside, soft snoring rises to my ears from the dog curled next to the bed. We are in a cocoon, nestled safely inside, buffeted by darkness.
I feel the weight of his arm across my waist, the warmth of his body tucked in close against my back, our feet entangled. Soft breath, the breath of sleep, skims my ear in a gentle caress. This is wonder, the finding of him so near, so connected, the unconscious reaching for each other deep in our dreams. A sense of security, of love, of belonging, soothes my spirit, my soul. I shift my legs closer, extending contact, feeling his skin against mine. As my shoulders relax into his chest, his arm tightens over me. He is deep asleep, dreaming. Our body heat envelops us, warmth enfolding us in a shared exchange of intimacy.
At peace, my eyes drift closed once more and sleep reclaims me.
I feel the weight of his arm across my waist, the warmth of his body tucked in close against my back, our feet entangled. Soft breath, the breath of sleep, skims my ear in a gentle caress. This is wonder, the finding of him so near, so connected, the unconscious reaching for each other deep in our dreams. A sense of security, of love, of belonging, soothes my spirit, my soul. I shift my legs closer, extending contact, feeling his skin against mine. As my shoulders relax into his chest, his arm tightens over me. He is deep asleep, dreaming. Our body heat envelops us, warmth enfolding us in a shared exchange of intimacy.
At peace, my eyes drift closed once more and sleep reclaims me.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
what I learned
Dad passed away in 2006 yet the clutch at my heart, as I think of him, often feels as if it were yesterday. There is a physical punch to the chest, my throat tightens and my eyes sting with tears unshed when I see his picture, remember the days we spent together, the simple missing him from my life. It seems that I only truly began to know the depth of the man who raised me, who loved me, and who disciplined me, after my mother’s death. As if she had been a buffer between us, taking center stage, which of course she had, preventing Dad and I from really knowing each other. That seems harsh, and condemning, but it closer to the truth than not.
I learned more about my father’s relationship with his parents, from his perspective, rather than my mother’s second hand view of it. How being the only child put expectations on him that he didn’t want. That his parent’s were emotionally absent and unaffectionate. That his father tried to bribe him into the family business and then turned his back for a time when my father, in his own willful youth, enlisted in the Navy, lying about his age and getting his mother to sign her approval. That there was adultery and fighting between his parents and his desire to leave that behind was a compelling impetus to join the navy and escape the chaos. That his mother drank copiously while their family owned a liquor distribution company and bar, and after, only stopping after his father died from a heart attack.
I learned that my parent’s were supposed to meet on a blind date and when, for reasons I forget, that date did not happen, my father tracked her down to apologize for not being there. And he proposed marriage two weeks later. She said yes, but not until he was discharged, planning their wedding while he was out at sea. They would have been married 52 years when my mother died.
I learned my father wanted nothing more than to make my mother happy. That filling as many of her wishes truly brought him happiness, and despite some of the events that made my head spin in confusion and irritation, he would have done them over again, gladly and without remorse, if it meant he could have had more time with her.
I learned that a huge part of him died when she did and that no matter how hard he struggled in his fight against the cancer that presented itself while she was dying, his heart was broken and his soul was just waiting to find her again.
I learned that the child they raised held a solid core inside her that I didn’t really know existed until I, and they, needed it the most. That Dad needed me in a way I never knew would be possible helped me view him in a different light, putting our relationship on a tract of understanding and appreciation that might never have occurred. Good can come from the worst, I have learned.
I learned that he had the spirit of an artist, but left his drawing and photography behind as raising a family required what he called a practical job. He funneled his creativity into woodworking and made furniture for his home and family. I still have the album cabinet he made for me when I was 15. We worked on it together in the basement woodshop and he showed me the proper way to sand with the grain, how to shape with a band saw and appreciate different wood types. He taught me power tools are not for men only.
I learned that after he had nearly cut his finger off while working at the table saw he was afraid he would really hurt himself and began to pull away from his beloved woodworking. His hands had begun to shake as he got older and this frightened him almost as much as the accident had.
I learned that he continued to see me as his baby girl, his dreamy bookish girl, his somewhat irresponsible teenager, and it was only after Mom died, that he saw the adult daughter who was stronger then we both knew. He told me this one-day and it made me cry, because I knew our time together was running out.
I learned that he liked order and neatness but hated cleaning.
I learned that he had no understanding of what my job entailed, until I explained it to him in more detail one evening in the hopes that he would see what I did as a real career. He shook his head, baffled at it. And I learned it didn’t really matter what he thought of my job, it mattered what he thought of me, as he told me he was proud of what I had accomplished.
I learned that he was still chauvinistic and didn’t think I should work, but stay home and raise my children. We agreed to disagree on that.
I relearned that he was not perfect and those attributes and flaws living within made him the man that was my father.
I learned he was more open to physical affection than I had known but was uncertain how to give or receive it. Hugs became more regular between us, and I would hold his hand sometimes during his chemo treatments. His hands were large and calloused from years working as a bus mechanic and his woodworking hobby. It broke my heart to see them so bruised, and frail, from chemo needles. We held hands the evening he died and I wish I had held on tighter.
Remembering these things keeps him close as little else does. The sweater I keep in my closet doesn’t smell like him anymore, but it gives me comfort to put it on some days. As days go by little memories vanish as new ones vie for space in my head. My own children and life are etching memories in my mind, crowding out older more elusive ones. And this is how it is supposed to be but I also learned something else, no matter how old a girl gets she still misses her Dad.
I learned more about my father’s relationship with his parents, from his perspective, rather than my mother’s second hand view of it. How being the only child put expectations on him that he didn’t want. That his parent’s were emotionally absent and unaffectionate. That his father tried to bribe him into the family business and then turned his back for a time when my father, in his own willful youth, enlisted in the Navy, lying about his age and getting his mother to sign her approval. That there was adultery and fighting between his parents and his desire to leave that behind was a compelling impetus to join the navy and escape the chaos. That his mother drank copiously while their family owned a liquor distribution company and bar, and after, only stopping after his father died from a heart attack.
I learned that my parent’s were supposed to meet on a blind date and when, for reasons I forget, that date did not happen, my father tracked her down to apologize for not being there. And he proposed marriage two weeks later. She said yes, but not until he was discharged, planning their wedding while he was out at sea. They would have been married 52 years when my mother died.
I learned my father wanted nothing more than to make my mother happy. That filling as many of her wishes truly brought him happiness, and despite some of the events that made my head spin in confusion and irritation, he would have done them over again, gladly and without remorse, if it meant he could have had more time with her.
I learned that a huge part of him died when she did and that no matter how hard he struggled in his fight against the cancer that presented itself while she was dying, his heart was broken and his soul was just waiting to find her again.
I learned that the child they raised held a solid core inside her that I didn’t really know existed until I, and they, needed it the most. That Dad needed me in a way I never knew would be possible helped me view him in a different light, putting our relationship on a tract of understanding and appreciation that might never have occurred. Good can come from the worst, I have learned.
I learned that he had the spirit of an artist, but left his drawing and photography behind as raising a family required what he called a practical job. He funneled his creativity into woodworking and made furniture for his home and family. I still have the album cabinet he made for me when I was 15. We worked on it together in the basement woodshop and he showed me the proper way to sand with the grain, how to shape with a band saw and appreciate different wood types. He taught me power tools are not for men only.
I learned that after he had nearly cut his finger off while working at the table saw he was afraid he would really hurt himself and began to pull away from his beloved woodworking. His hands had begun to shake as he got older and this frightened him almost as much as the accident had.
I learned that he continued to see me as his baby girl, his dreamy bookish girl, his somewhat irresponsible teenager, and it was only after Mom died, that he saw the adult daughter who was stronger then we both knew. He told me this one-day and it made me cry, because I knew our time together was running out.
I learned that he liked order and neatness but hated cleaning.
I learned that he had no understanding of what my job entailed, until I explained it to him in more detail one evening in the hopes that he would see what I did as a real career. He shook his head, baffled at it. And I learned it didn’t really matter what he thought of my job, it mattered what he thought of me, as he told me he was proud of what I had accomplished.
I learned that he was still chauvinistic and didn’t think I should work, but stay home and raise my children. We agreed to disagree on that.
I relearned that he was not perfect and those attributes and flaws living within made him the man that was my father.
I learned he was more open to physical affection than I had known but was uncertain how to give or receive it. Hugs became more regular between us, and I would hold his hand sometimes during his chemo treatments. His hands were large and calloused from years working as a bus mechanic and his woodworking hobby. It broke my heart to see them so bruised, and frail, from chemo needles. We held hands the evening he died and I wish I had held on tighter.
Remembering these things keeps him close as little else does. The sweater I keep in my closet doesn’t smell like him anymore, but it gives me comfort to put it on some days. As days go by little memories vanish as new ones vie for space in my head. My own children and life are etching memories in my mind, crowding out older more elusive ones. And this is how it is supposed to be but I also learned something else, no matter how old a girl gets she still misses her Dad.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
where did they go
The muse that sometimes assists my brain in crafting sentences seems to have taken a short vacation. I suppose having to constantly fight with my poor grammer can be a pain in the ass and even muses need a break now and again, but Holy Hell the words, they have packed up their bags and flitted after that fickle bitch, on their way to some place like Bora Bora to soak up some sun and rum, leaving me an incoherent wretch.
Until they return, please accept this offering of Ferns! and Flowers! Because ferns are soft and pretty and make me feel good.
Maybe the muse will take pity on me and bring my words back without a hangover, feeling perky and refreshed, ready to spew forth all sorts of wonderful sentences.
Until they return, please accept this offering of Ferns! and Flowers! Because ferns are soft and pretty and make me feel good.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sammy the Seagull refused to be objectified by the intrusive tourists disturbing his afternoon siesta.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Oh Romeo! Where for art thou?
A sunny Sunday morning, after a rainy gloomy Saturday, may not be the best time to convince a 14 year old boy to sit down and read Act 1 of Romeo & Juliet. Before it's been officially assigned as the next reading project.
The Drama! The Groaning! The Moaning!
The pissy face of teenage rebellion staring at me from the sofa.
But I am nothing if not a creative Mom. I resort to the typical standby that works for Mothers across land and sea.
Bribery.
Fresh baked chocolate chip cookies and an hour of Xbox.
C'mon, you all know you do it.
The Drama! The Groaning! The Moaning!
The pissy face of teenage rebellion staring at me from the sofa.
But I am nothing if not a creative Mom. I resort to the typical standby that works for Mothers across land and sea.
Bribery.
Fresh baked chocolate chip cookies and an hour of Xbox.
C'mon, you all know you do it.
Friday, October 23, 2009
hugging the curve
You nice people that come here and read my nonsense might remember I was elected to the local Board of Education this past April. (a fact that still amazes & humbles me every time I do something Board of Educationy. Like read an agenda.) Which I don't write much about because Holy Monkeyballs! the rules! the guidelines! ethics policies! sunshine laws! and you can't be seen outside looking at other board members on the 3rd Tuesday of the month during a full moon or one might be accused of colluding or conducting illegal board business in a public setting.
You get the idea.
Plus, and what is probably more a gagger, some folks in town might read this blog, and that means anything I write here can, and probably would, come back to take big, meaty bites out of my ass. Not that my ass can't afford some chunks taken out of it, but that is a completely different issue. Once that involves exercise and sweat, two words I dislike on a parallel with liverwurst or prison.
It's an interesting process, this being a Board Member, and not for the faint of heart. The Learning Curve? Is not so much a curve as a gargantuan mountain peak. There is still so much to absorb, six months in. So far, I've been learning, absorbing (the brain is soggy), asking questions I know drive people batty, reading, getting a feel for the people involved, the school administrators, the central office folks, the other board members. Not too mention the community folks that attend the meetings. For me this is necessary. These folks, each and everyone, have everything to do with any results, good or bad, the board as a whole exhibits.
Understanding the educational system, from state guidance to local implementation, requires a huge amount of reading and data gathering - I LOVE geeky data models & charts & analysis, Oh MY! they make me tingle, seriously. I'm a geek at heart. Making informed decisions is just as important to me as, one hopes, the other board members who have been at this for a while.
I also have no desire to grandstand or make my presence on the board about me. Because it is not. Okay, maybe it is, just a teensy bit, say this much [ blogger won't let me keep this space empty ].
I wanted to do something positive, give something good of myself. Feel productive.
There are some big projects coming up that are going to test my skills, my patience, my knowledge. Budget preparation, referendum research, balancing priorities and desires, etc.
There will be decisions I make, positions I take, that will not be popular or understood by some. There will be questions I ask, outside of the public forum, and answers to those questions will direct my actions. The public meetings that are held are a brief piece of the whole, so many things are analyzed and debated in committee meetings, executive sessions, that I find it redundant and wasteful to reiterate questions asked and answered earlier. Should I ask these questions again, just so the public can hear them?
Look, me and the microphone? We have a contentious relationship. It stares at me from the table, taunting me to awkwardly shove my mouth toward it and word vomit over the damn thing. I can hear it some meetings, sibilantly whispering "say something. ssssaaaaay something. you know you ssshould. quesssstion themmmm. sssay it, precioussss". It is very distracting, the bastard.
But if I have my answer already, is it necessary to bring it out before the public, if it does not impact the discussion? I don't know the answer to this yet. Somehow that feels like making a point just so people will notice what I'm doing. That is not who I am.
I only want to be noticed here, thank you very much. Because the Internet is so loving and attentive.
I think I had a point when I started this but it devolved into something waaaay less organized or time worthy.
How are your brains today, Internet friends?
You get the idea.
Plus, and what is probably more a gagger, some folks in town might read this blog, and that means anything I write here can, and probably would, come back to take big, meaty bites out of my ass. Not that my ass can't afford some chunks taken out of it, but that is a completely different issue. Once that involves exercise and sweat, two words I dislike on a parallel with liverwurst or prison.
It's an interesting process, this being a Board Member, and not for the faint of heart. The Learning Curve? Is not so much a curve as a gargantuan mountain peak. There is still so much to absorb, six months in. So far, I've been learning, absorbing (the brain is soggy), asking questions I know drive people batty, reading, getting a feel for the people involved, the school administrators, the central office folks, the other board members. Not too mention the community folks that attend the meetings. For me this is necessary. These folks, each and everyone, have everything to do with any results, good or bad, the board as a whole exhibits.
Understanding the educational system, from state guidance to local implementation, requires a huge amount of reading and data gathering - I LOVE geeky data models & charts & analysis, Oh MY! they make me tingle, seriously. I'm a geek at heart. Making informed decisions is just as important to me as, one hopes, the other board members who have been at this for a while.
I also have no desire to grandstand or make my presence on the board about me. Because it is not. Okay, maybe it is, just a teensy bit, say this much [ blogger won't let me keep this space empty ].
I wanted to do something positive, give something good of myself. Feel productive.
There are some big projects coming up that are going to test my skills, my patience, my knowledge. Budget preparation, referendum research, balancing priorities and desires, etc.
There will be decisions I make, positions I take, that will not be popular or understood by some. There will be questions I ask, outside of the public forum, and answers to those questions will direct my actions. The public meetings that are held are a brief piece of the whole, so many things are analyzed and debated in committee meetings, executive sessions, that I find it redundant and wasteful to reiterate questions asked and answered earlier. Should I ask these questions again, just so the public can hear them?
Look, me and the microphone? We have a contentious relationship. It stares at me from the table, taunting me to awkwardly shove my mouth toward it and word vomit over the damn thing. I can hear it some meetings, sibilantly whispering "say something. ssssaaaaay something. you know you ssshould. quesssstion themmmm. sssay it, precioussss". It is very distracting, the bastard.
But if I have my answer already, is it necessary to bring it out before the public, if it does not impact the discussion? I don't know the answer to this yet. Somehow that feels like making a point just so people will notice what I'm doing. That is not who I am.
I only want to be noticed here, thank you very much. Because the Internet is so loving and attentive.
I think I had a point when I started this but it devolved into something waaaay less organized or time worthy.
How are your brains today, Internet friends?
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