The Unedited Life

You have no idea who I am. (Okay, that’s a little dramatic – you might know some of who I am… that’s probably more accurate). That’s been my choice. Present my best self. My edited self. You have no idea how many versions of these writings there are before the one you get to see. The final edit.

Truth is: my life is messy. Complicated. Emotional. (And usually, I’m the cause of my biggest dramas) I’m growing. I’m changing. I’m evolving everyday. I’ve made you promises, reader, and I’ve faltered. I’ve re-read some of the posts from before and there are some things I said I was gonna do that I did not follow through with then. You were not important enough. I did not make you a priority.

There may be typos in this post. Okay. My thoughts might not travel a straight line this time. Okay.

I have a few dreams, desires, wants that I’ve kept to myself for too long. Honestly, until recently, I’d forgotten how to day dream. I use to be real good at back when I was six, and ten, and fifteen. But sometimes life beats you down – I let it beat me down. I did not have the tools – I had some coping mechanisms – but no real tools, or support, or any idea how to survive the shit I’d been given to deal with. And I got serious and guarded and distant. I built walls. I got practical. And I got loaded, frankly, for years. To escape. To seek relief. To cope. I hid my light from you, and from me.

Well, I was given the gift of sobriety a while ago and I’ve done some work during the past 15 years – a lot of fucking work, on me, in me – and recently, I found that light. I’ve been practicing day dreaming. And I have some great dreams. I’m turning some of these into goals. Things I want to do. For me. For you.

To get those things done I have to continue to do my work – that work on me. I’ve been building my deeper self every day, and it’s been speeding up, this work. I have a better vision of who I want to be today, and tomorrow, and ideally. And one thing in my list of Be This is to be true to my word. Integrity. Do what I say I’m gonna do.

I’m gonna write. I’m gonna post something. Every day. Not sure what that’s gonna look like . Could be crap. Could be earth shattering. Could be fun, too.

My dad told me often growing up, “Today is the first day of the rest of your life.” His challenge was this: how did I plan to step into that day?

Today I plan to go all in. And bring you along. If you want to come.

Day three of a transformation opportunity conference I’m attending here in Phoenix wraps up today. I can’t wait!

Doorknob…as a Higher Power? 

I heard this again yesterday during a meeting, that a doorknob could be ones Higher Power. The person sharing added that while it didn’t make sense to them, it was heard often enough to merit…what?  And I had a brief flash of insight – clarity, if you will. 

A Higher Power means, to me and to most in these rooms, a power greater than me. Now, I don’t know about you, but I – of my own power – have never been able to open a door without the aid of a doorknob. Whether I had to turn one in order to get the door open, or even just to grasp and pull, as some closet doors have those false knobs. 

A doorknob is, in my opinion, a power greater than self. Without one I cannot open a door and pass through. Much like this program – without which I never could have opened the door to recovery and entered. 

Thanks for letting me share. 

It’s been a while – I’ve let school take up most of my time – but I needed distraction and expression, so I visited Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields’s page to see what this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt might be. The 100 words came quickly, flowed effortlessly. I hope you enjoy it, or at least, understand.

Thanks to Roger Bultot for the photo.

copyright Roger Bultot

Visitors

They land quietly, one by one, in a seemingly random pattern. I noticed them shortly after she passed. I was staring out the window into the gray morning, tears etching my face, when they began arriving. I watched them for hours through the dusty glass as the day passed, dark gray skies to lighter grays and back. They never moved, except to make room for another, adjusting their own perches slightly to accommodate the newcomer. As I had no desire to move either, we sat quietly together. When they finally took flight, my sorrow flew with them.

Not That Bad

“Yesterday was plain awful. You can say that again. Yesterday was plain awful, but that’s not now, that’s then.” – lyrics from musical, Annie

Feelings. Sad feelings. They come and they go. Sometimes they show up without any obvious trigger and they linger. Sad feelings bring heaviness to the heart, leaking eyes and gasping sighs.

So I tell someone that I am feeling that way and I don’t know why. And knowing why doesn’t change the feeling. And telling alters the feeling a little, but not much. I tell so they know what’s different about me right then. I tell so I feel less lonely in those feelings. 

I woke up today and that sadness is gone. I allowed myself to feel sad and I told someone I could trust with my heart, who also allowed me to be sad. Today my feelings are different. And this too shall pass. 

Where the Heck have I been?

This will be a quickie – because life is happening. Or rather, life has gotten away from me? That might be more accurate.

It’s been over 30 days since I posted. I’ve missed recipe posts, Educating Kathy posts, and my favorite – the weekly 100 word blog photo prompt posts. What happened?

There was an exam. Then there was a second exam. And some stuff that needed to be addressed. And the photo prompts weren’t prompting anything. A spring break, followed by a vehicle broken. A friend’s child passed away. SO – a bunch of little things and a lack of inspiration, and here we are.

Friday… again. Moving forward.

This week was the first week after Spring Break. My first real Spring Break since… high school? And I did it – I spent 7 days NOT doing school work (oh, except for reading up on bees for a research paper). I gardened, and relaxed. And when it came time to pick up studying, I couldn’t. No motivation. And I did something contrary.  I asked some fellow students how they re-start. One replied, “Haven’t yet.” and another replied, “I set a goal, to read x many pages by a certain time.” I did that. I set a goal, to read 10 pages. And I did it.  I set another goal – 45 minutes to write notes from Biology. And I mostly did that. It was like getting on a bicycle at the bottom of a hill, and pedaling – slowly at first as the muscles screamed ‘really? a hill?!’, and then with more momentum, until I got to the top. Back on track.

Sunday a friend lost a child. An adult child. A son. I’ve lost a loved one, a mother. I have two sons. My heart broke for my friend, for the loss, for the empty space left in the heart. For the walk down a path on which no one can accompany her and her husband. Not really. People always have the best intentions, to offer support, love, and food. But ultimately, the healing is done inside, eventually, over time. The event reminded me of how grateful I am today, for the family I have, for the friends who mean well, who love me as is. And for my ability today to think of others.

Last night my nephew called, to thank me and my husband for a birthday acknowledgement. It was so nice to hear from him. He followed our call with a text and a link to a song – something I’d said reminded him of the song. Just a little reaching out and my whole attitude was lifted. Smiles. Lots of smiles.

Today is a new day, full of possibilities. Today I continue to move forward.

Memories of My Friend

Furry body curled up under the flannel sheet, resting against my skin, a small, purring furnace. Kaleidoscope of colors; oranges and tans and browns and blacks, a tapestry of chaos reminiscent of a well-made, beautifully browned meatloaf. Paws tucked under a substantial form.

She made stretching an Olympic event, shot for the gold – legs stressed to maximum reach, belly exposed, back arched, accompanied by a gaping yawn. The dismount was obligatory eye blinking, a sign of satisfaction. Nailed it.

Indifference, the impression I got. Sitting sphinxlike, a half-lidded gaze accompanied by the appearance of detachment, as if she could take me or leave me. A behavior betrayed only by her unspoken and obvious desire to always be in my personal space. Taking my seat if temporarily vacated. Laying across open textbooks. Keeping my overcoat warm with her body. Curling up against my thigh and gazing up, as if I were in her way.

Droplets of water falling from a dark sky brought concern and distress. Likewise, dry, windy Santa Anas brought stress of a different kind: the electric crackle on every bit of fur.

Sitting patiently on the cool, hardwood floor before the portal to Outside, gazing through the mesh screen, surveying her realm from her post, taking note of sudden movements in the beyond. A glance over her shoulder, a brief meow, her request for release. Later, a scratch could be heard on the wooden frame of the screen door, and a meowing bark if one wasn’t quick enough.

Feline jungle predator, she crept through the tall, overgrown grasses and various plants, day or night, stalked prey, investigated new scents and disturbances. Hisses and growls were reserved for those of her kind who dared venture into her territory. And upon her return, shared all she encountered during her travels through her vast kingdom, in a constant chatter of murmurs and chirps and meows. Never ventured past the boundaries; curious, but never too curious.

A loving scratch under the chin was encouraged – eyes closed, throat vibrating, acknowledging contentment. I’ll miss that. Never again will I feel her soft, warm breath on the palm of my hand.

No more unrequested predawn wake-up calls, a paw tapping my forehead, nose or ear. Those wide open yellow-green orbs, the size of saucers, inches from my half-opened, sleepy blue ones, a startling sight at any hour, are closed for eternity.

Over are the not so subtle requests for caresses, and the occasional, and obvious, full body flop on the footpath, as graceful as that first lump of clay thrown on a potter’s wheel.

Gone are the late night sounds of water lapped, or the crunch of hard, dry morsels of nourishment. I’ve lost my food critic, always under foot while meals were prepared, begging inspection and a verbal request for a taste test. It will be easier to enjoy a well cooked meal without my friend staring intently at fish or fowl, leaning in for a sniff, a paw on my arm to remind me of her presence, expectant sounds emitting from her throat. Or will it?

Memories linger in every corner of our home, in every shadow. My heart aches for her companionship, her personality, her friendship. The diseases of old age took her from me, suddenly and too soon. My heart will have to get along without her now.

Au Revior, Papa

Skin like parchment, and cool. Eyes pale, color faded.  Looking so frail laying in his bed, covers tucked under his chin. 95 years, and not enough years for me.

“Tell Mama I’ll tend the garden tomorrow,” he says, his voice quiet, weak. Mama died years ago. I stroke his forehead gently. He smiles. A tear forms in the corner of his eye, wells up, rolls slowly down his cheek. “I love you, dear.” His eyelids slowly drop. The sun does not shine. Birds are silent.

The waves come in and wash the castle away. He is gone.

29 January 2016

Crossing the Velvet Rope

The spinet was beautiful, all polished wood and ivory keys. Sitting on display for all to see, secure, untouchable behind the velvet rope. Should I? I looked left and right, then back at the stool with its yellow, crushed velvet fabric.  Just one tickling of the ivories and I’d return to my place as an admirer. Still no witnesses as I lifted one leg over the ropes. I wobbled. I felt a wave of guilt. My foot returned to the floor, to this side of the velvet rope and an admirer I remain.

Friday Fictioneers: January 22, 2016

Taken For Granted

It was Saturday, December 4, 2015 and I was at home getting things done.  I’d run to the store to pick up some vegetables for a salad and when I got home, I planned to do some laundry, wash the dishes and make a salad. I’d spent most of the morning on the computer, and we had a holiday party to attend later that evening.

At 12:20 p.m. I turned on the washing machine… and nothing happened. Well, there was a small motor sound, but no water. I turned it off and turned it back on. Still nothing. I was baffled, and a little distressed.  I needed a washing machine. I thought, “Good thing my last roommate still has MY washer.  Looks like this one is done.” I sent a message to my husband, telling him that the washing machine appeared to be broken.

I headed into the house to do the dishes. Turned on the faucet. Heard air in the pipes. No water came out. None.

No water.  NO WATER?!

Over the course of a few hours I realized how much I depend on that clear, clean liquid that comes out of every faucet and spigot on our property. I couldn’t rinse the vegetables for the pot luck dish I was taking to the party. I couldn’t wash the clothes I planned to wear. I couldn’t take a shower so I’d smell nice for the party. I couldn’t wash my hands if I decided to work in the garden to pass the time. I couldn’t wash the dishes piled up in the sink.

The water was only off for about four hours, but it was a long four hours.

I’ve been pretty responsible for a couple of years now about not running water if I’m not using it, even turning it off while I am brushing my teeth, but I admit that I still leave it running a lot more than is necessary.

I hear folks talking about the drought, the water shortage, and I don’t think much of it.  But — WHAT IF — one day I woke up and there was no running water? What then?

Today I am much more aware of my water use, and I am grateful for that faucet of running water.

Photo: Logan River, Utah – July 3, 2013