Ouch!

A couple of disturbing things happened today. 1) I got a package in the mail. A small, pretty package addressed to "The __________ Family" as a "special gift". Inside were some samples of various types of Kotex products. 2) I received an email from my sister-in-law about Christmas. It's only October 22! Don't rush me...

...And Nana received a newsy letter from OS. This in itself, would cause a bare ripple across my healing psyche, but it's never "in itself" is it? The ripples travel outward, growing larger and consuming more and more of the calm. I ended up ripping the scab off "The Estrangement" part of my heart.

It's funny (or it would be in vastly "other" circumstances) what infuriates me. I refuse to credit any motives to OS's letter other than a desire to keep in touch with Nana. However, it was through the blatant manipulations of D.I.L.ly that Nana is so involved that she finally called a halt. Months ago, Nana left a message on OS's voice mail that she no longer wanted contact with D.I.Lly and therefore with OS, if D.I.L.ly needed to be present. Nana did not consult me before she did this, she did not ask for my opinion or advice. But, she did it in my name. And, while I understand why she did it that way, and while on most days I'm benign about it, today, I was furious.

I have gone to pains, not to provoke anyone into a confrontational relationship. I have only spoken to family to defend myself and others who happen on the periphery of this awful conflict. And yet today, because of a letter, I have to sooth the feelings of my mother at the expense of my own. I have to defend innocent members of the family against her accusations of "fanning the flame". I have to consider where the next "shoe will drop" and on whom. I have to anticipate a dreadful holiday season, a time that is traditionally stressful for reasons other than "The Estrangement". And I just wanted someone to acknowledge ME. I'm OS's mother for God's sake! I don't always want to be the strong, rational one!

This is only the second time in this almost two years of emotional trauma that I have been angry. The other time was last Halloween when OS, D.I.Lly and their dog dressed up as black sheep for the annual "Pet Parade". I was busting an emotional gut trying to facilitate some sort of peace and reconciliation and they saw themselves as the outcasts? I told you "it's funny" what I "choose" to be livid about.

Anyway, I spoke (vented) to Daughter and Tall One and received sympathy and council. But, I was still feeling very, very unsettled. So, I emailed A. I didn't say much and I wasn't coherent, but the ramble in writing soothed me quickly. And this is today's conclusion:

It's good that the scab is periodically pulled off. There's a lot of rotten, putrid stuff building up. And if it gets released, before it ruptures, that saves a trip to the emergency room and massive doses of antibiotics. I really am better now. And even better for recording it here.

If anyone cares, I'm drinking less and for all the right reasons.

Viva La Sisterhood!

After Tall One read my last post, he came upstairs and told me, "I read your menopause post". I was a little irritated. Ok, I was a lot irritated...if he read what I wrote (and read between the lines) he should know not to speak to me...anyway, I told him, in no uncertain terms, that it was not a "menopause" post. It's all about the cycle, the common travail of the feminine mystic, the sisterhood, blah, blah, blah...

Guess what, it just may be a menopause post. I got my period...mid-cycle. Up to this point, there have been indications that, menstrual-wise, I was approaching the beginning of the end. The cycle isn't always 28 days, consistently. I am bleeding more or less, for longer or shorter periods of time. I missed a whole month recently, and my tubes have been tied since PhD was born, so I KNEW I wasn't pregnant (and I'm early '50's, another really good indicator of mere hormonal fluctuation). I've been having more definite symptoms mid way through the month as documented (again blah, blah, blah). But, I was hoping, really hoping, that everything would just fade away, or better yet, STOP. And, then I could be really smug about "going through the change" au naturel. Sort of like the superiority of experiencing natural childbirth. I could commiserate with my afflicted sisters, nodding sympathetically, and offering sage advice gleaned from the medical websites and Oprah show, secure in my own superior aging processes. No hormone replacement therapy for me, thank you, no hysterectomy, no antidepressants, no problems.

Well, let me tell you about the debilitating lethargy. No seriously. There are days when I struggle to get out of bed. And days when I can't wait to lie down for my THREE HOUR nap!!! I'm cranky. Irritable. And so very, very tired. I can't think, literally...or figuratively, for that matter. I can't think. If you've never experienced this, just let me say right now, you have no idea. I read about the foggy, fuzzy-headedness that some women experience. They fear dementia, tumors, or stroke. They are not exaggerating. It's been so bad that I can't recall names....of immediate family members! I couldn't remember the number of our street address, and I was just out for a walk, thinking idly, not in a pressure situation WHAT-SO-EVER, and we've lived at this address for over TEN YEARS! I don't finish sentences. I either lose track, lack motivation, or can't - for the life of me - express a coherent thought. Don't ask me for directions, don't ask me to explain...anything, and don't - for the love of God - ask me for an opinion. I'm hanging for days by my last nerve.

But, Friday morning I woke up to a song. Happy, happy me. No bleeding, no bloating, no belligerency! I cleaned the house, rearranged the furniture and canned some salsa. I always do the wash, even when I'm feeling particularly miserable, either physically or emotionally. Laundry is something I can handle during the "bad" times, but I did a few loads today, just because I felt so darn good!

I keep track of these ups and downs. I'm hoping I won't have to, too much longer. Then all I'll have to worry about is osteoporosis, facial hair, and vaginal dryness. Be careful what you wish for, eh?

Hormonal Imbalances Not Karma.

I am extremely unmotivated....and very, very tired. I am doing nothing....for days. Baby and Larger One come over and I keep them alive and supplied with "pink milk" and " 'mallows". When they nap - I nap. I can barely get up the curiosity to check my email. I've been reading even more than usual. I think I know the problem. Mid-cycle hormones gone wild.

When I start eating ice-cream at 10am and icing my bread with butter...When the bread is just an excuse to eat the butter, and I lick the knife and think, "damn, that's good"...When I wake up feeling vaguely troubled, like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, but the first one hasn't yet, progressing through the day to a dull sadness...Not unlike a dull headache...You're not always conscience of it, but it's always there, taking the sharp edge off of feeling well, or feeling happy. ..I'm restless, agitated, unsettled, but, I nap for three hours in the afternoon anyway...Then, I know there's something seriously unbalanced transpiring. This has NOTHING to do with circumstances. This is purely organic.

And the next day, more of the same only less. I'm ambiguously blase. I don't care in a snarly way, but I'm too numb to verbalize. Probably, if I would do anything I wanted, I would order a large pizza, have it delivered, and spend the day on the sofa eating and reading. I would not have contact with any other human, I would not turn on the TV or listen to music. I might play computer games. I'd probably kick the cat. But, I'm not going to do any of that. That would truly make things worse. Then I'd have to add regret to the long and growing list of negative character traits I seem to be exhibiting at an escalating pace. I'm grumpy, lethargic, petty, ungrateful, negative, guilty, remorseless, antagonistic, needy, dishonest, tactless... You get the point. Now, excuse me while I go eat worms.

Anyway, what I am going to do is what I need to do...no heroics. Dude will be here soon with the boys. They will need dirt piles, and special treats. I have massive amounts of tomatoes to peel and chop. I won't be so ambitious as to actually make or can salsa, but at least the main ingredient will be prepared when I begin to recover my manic equilibrium. I think we will consider pizza for dinner, though.

I wonder about this whole hormonal fiasco we deal with as women. It's these hormones that regulate our sex drive and procreative processes. We need to ovulate, copulate, and either menstruate or gestate, to keep the human race a viable planetary force. How does feeling various shades of crappy, three out of four weeks a month help this along? If there is a supreme maker, or just natural selective species-improving evolution, I'm wondering if he/it couldn't develop a better system? Especially in this enlightened age of feminism?

I'm just glad that I don't have to radically subvert my womanly inconveniences, in order to appear more equally qualified. I'm glad I don't have to suck it up in the board room, deal with cramps and flooding during basic training. It's usually enough just to make it out of bed in the morning, not snap at Tall One, refrain from eating ALL the chocolate in the house, and manage something, anything, productive.

And I know that this is temporary, that it's not fatal, and if I just "keep it together" it'll pass without catastrophic, lasting consequences. My period is still two weeks away...And that's when it really hits the fan...

Resolved....

I've been mulling over a post about personal consequences and responsibility, or perhaps about the newly energized political climate (that would certainly fall under "Bogus"), but I think I'll just write about me.

This is the situation in a nutshell. My daughter and I have come up with this fictitious example in order to explain the estrangement of my son (O.S.) and his wife (D.I.L.ly) from the rest of the family without getting into complicated personal details.

If D.I.L.ly were to witness me saving a child from certain death by pushing him off of the railroad tracks and out of the way of a speeding locomotive, D.I.L.ly would proceed to tell everyone that I abuse small children. She has seen me shove them hard enough to fall down. She would call me on this, and never give me the chance to explain. There would be the constant, "You pushed that child, didn't you, I saw you, you pushed them!" "Yes, but...". "You did, you admit it, you pushed them. And they have scraps on their hands and knees. And you never apologized!" "You're right, but there was a train..." "Can't you just admit what you've done!"........

I have "caused" her to seek personal counseling, couple's counseling, family counseling, mediation, and finally, to move 500 miles away. Every member of our family has been affected. My daughter and her husband have been cursed at and threatened. My grandsons, intimidated. My husband accused. My mother distressed. My relatives and in-laws confused and manipulated. All this, in the cause of stopping me from "turning the family against her" and curing my "severe psychological problems".

I've never been angry. All I've ever wanted to do was support my son and his wife in any way that they would deem acceptable. They could write the book, call the shots. I had no master plan or fore drawn conclusion of how we would interact. I am flexible and accommodating. I am accepting to a fault (that is not to say that I don't have strong opinions, but I know when, where and to whom to articulate them). But I, and other family members were being abused. For us, and for O.S. and D.I.L.ly, this was unacceptable. So now there can be no contact. They have alienated their best and purest support and approval. And, I am sad beyond words for them.

I have thought through each and every possible contingency, for and against. I have imagined and played multitudes of scenarios, joyous and devastating. I have read, meditated, and talked ad nauseam. I can find no regret in my heart for the actions I have taken. There is huge regret for the circumstances and consequences.

Which brings me to the point of this recap. For over a year now, since things began to get really "tense" between O.S., D.I.L.ly and the rest of the family (ie: me), I've been handling my pain, confusion, and utter ineffectual efforts at understanding and reconciliation by self-medicating. I'm by no means an alcoholic (isn't denial one of the symptoms), but I have been really looking forward to that glass of wine with dinner (while preparing dinner) and then another, and sometimes a third. I'd go to bed lethargically sedated, and most often have no trouble falling and staying asleep. There are virtually no consequences. Maybe a little heartburn, a few pounds, and new friends at the liquor store.

But, now I'm tired of the every evening "fuzzy logic". So, two nights ago, I just didn't drink, and last night either. I like the more clearheaded version of me, but I also had a huge problem falling asleep. And with that problem, comes the pain that's been more or less successfully ignored.

This is going to hurt forever, isn't it? Not even in my posts, will I dwell where my mind tends to wander. At least not yet. Not until I'm pretty sure I've made it past the self-medicating stage and am firmly anchored in the much more self-delusionally acceptable social-drinker arena...and, when I have lost the five alcohol related pounds. What a sad, tragic state of affairs.

I want to see my son. I want to comfort my ill and delusional daughter-in-law. This will not happen, and so I've been substituting a bottle of Red Cat, or a huge glass of Dubonnet. But, it isn't a good trade. And, I'm ready to feel unimpeded...

And, I'm a little afraid it's going to get worse, and I better be strong and able to think clearly.

Song.

Yes, I'm still here. But, I haven't been idle. I've been working on an essay, and I think it's finished, finally. I will send it in to the contest after the weekend.

I have a new friend, Song. That's what I'm calling her. Her life sings. She's not a particularly compelling person, although I would imagine, as an acquaintance, anyone would like her. When I first met her, not quite two years ago, I did. At first impression, she's spectacularly ordinary. But, something struck me. A feeling that I should get to know her better. I procrastinated. In the meantime, a year later, her husband died. Suddenly, unexpectedly, at a truly terrible, tragic time.

This is what I've come to know about the circumstances. S.H. (Song's Husband) was getting ready to retire at the end of the month, just after his 55th birthday. He had put in his time at the factory. He was going to become a personal trainer. It would fit in nicely with Song's massage therapy business. They would work together. They had sold their home, Song has some chronic health problems, under control, that made the daily living and maintenance difficult. And they could better use their time and effort for other pursuits. They bought a condo. S.H. was looking forward to his very active role on the association's Board of Directors. He was going to take care of a large portion of the grounds keeping. He missed his yard and garden. He and Song were married, I believe, twelve years.

S.H. has three children from his first marriage, all in their mid-twenties. On the day of his death, S.H. received a phone call at 2:30 in the morning, from his ex-wife. His son had been arrested, on a felony charge. Song and S.H. stayed up talking. Song was concerned, repeatedly asking her husband if he was alright. He felt some pressure in his chest, but after the emotional blow he had just received, who wouldn't? He was tired. He needed to sleep. Song was wide awake. Anger will do that to you. She left S.H. sleeping and prowled the condo, finally dosing on the sofa. She woke around 9am. S.H. wasn't up. This wasn't unusual when he was working second shift. At 10am, Song found him dead in their bed.

All that day, in addition to dealing with the police, coroner, funeral home, family, and friends, Song fielded phone calls from the Ex. dealing with the dilemma of her incarcerated son, exacerbated by the news of his father's death. He was now on suicide watch. Song had to make the phone calls notifying S.H.'s two daughters, both with young children of their own.

Within the first few days following S.H.'s death, Song was informed that financial considerations would be substantially less than anticipated. S.H.'s insurance coverage was cancelled and negated by a "pre-existing" situation that was reported "untruthfully". S.H. had previously gone to the emergency room for chest pain, but was never admitted because test results showed no problems. When filling out the insurance application, he had checked the box marked "none" , under the heading, "Previous Hospitalizations". His retirement pension, only a few weeks away, was replaced by a small lump sum "courtesy".

And then the really hard part begins.....

Song had to continue living.

In the year since S.H.'s death, Song has given up her massage therapy business. Her heart isn't in it. She has sold the condo and moved into a mobile home, she needs the security and stability that a small bank account provides. She has worked at low-stress, part-time jobs to fill in financial gaps and too much time. She's recently started a new, full time position with responsibility reflecting her capabilities and experience, and potential for the future.

This is to be expected. But what makes Song's life sing? It's not the crushing grief that morphed into anger. It's that, through it, she's reached out for help. She hasn't nursed her pain, wallowing in sorrow and self pity, demanding a savior. She's dressed her wounds, seeking out company, council and therapy. The new "flesh" of future contentment, joy and peace is evident around the gaping holes of despair, confusion and defeat. She was flayed by unfairness. Losing not only her husband's life, but their life together; their plans, her security, the future. But, in accepting the inevitability of uncertainty and by giving up the illusion of control, she's covering the raw places with tough, lasting resolve. She's getting stronger.

We can never calculate the cost of her effort. She will never be free of the scars. But, someday she'll embrace them, knowing, believing how much more capable, effective and affirming they have made her. She will see the beauty in her survival. And her song will become a symphony.

So Sorry, Not Gifted...

There's been something that I've been thinking about for a few days. And I think I've come to a conclusion.

I'm not gifted.

I'm not surprised by this....just a little disappointed.

I'm not an artist. I am "crafty". This isn't impressive. I can sew, bake, and cook. But, this is only because I can follow instructions and I don't mind prep work. I actually like prep work. I enjoy laying out the patterns, cutting precisely, assembly the ingredients and measuring correctly, I like to chop up vegetables, stir till a sauce thickens, and fill individual serving dishes with exactly the same amount of vanilla pudding. I prefer projects that are precise and not free form. I enjoy cross-stitch more than crewel work. I agonize over the uniformity of my knitting or crochet stitches. I like my cookies the same size and my cupcakes to look virtually identically iced. This also makes me obsessive. Well, perhaps "obsessive" is too strong a term. Picky, ...fussy,... anal.

I do not "scrap book". Too free-form. I do not cut my pictures into fun shapes or add bows, ribbons, or bits of cloth. I assemble photos in an organized way that chronicles a specific time period or particular subject. I save little mementos that I intersperse with the pictures, like ticket stubs or receipts or menus. Flat, appropriate memorabilia, so as not to disrupt the way the album closes or lays flat on the desk or stands precisely on a shelf.

I have not tried quilting. When I do, I bet I will pick a pattern with precision cut geometric shapes fitting together in repetitive designs and possibly machine stitched. I don't like the idea of using a sewing machine for quilting, and my hand hemming is arguably the best and most exact that you'll find anywhere, so I can only hope I'll be just fine.

I am adventurous with color, but only on things that can be easily changed. I prefer neutral walls.

I am not an athlete. My most important attribute when it comes to physical activity is that I am stubborn. Really, really stubborn. Pigheaded. If I set out to do something, or, God forbid, someone tells me I can't or shouldn't, I will complete the task or die trying. I have no natural ability. I don't run, I waddle. I have short legs. But, if I set out to run three miles, I will complete those three miles if I am sick, injured, and irregardless of the weather. I had lightening strike not 25 feet from me on a run a few years ago. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. You could smell the ozone. I waited it out on someone's porch and finished my course. I attend a kickboxing class once a week. I love it. I'm older than anyone by 10 years. I attended covered in poison ivy rash. No one would partner me. But I wouldn't leave. It's what I do on Wednesday nights. I have run races with blisters bleeding into my sneakers. But, I'm not competitive. I only enter races where they won't shoot you if you're last, because I have come in last. And I've entered races since then.

Which leads me to the next little item. I am not a genius. Probably not even close. I don't know what my I.Q. is, but I'd bet I won't be pleasantly surprised. I read voraciously. But, mostly novels. I try poetry, but it hasn't been pretty. I will read the occasional non-fiction selection (I enjoyed "John Adams" by David McCullough, but who didn't?). But mostly, I just read for enjoyment. I read the paper everyday - the comics, the advice columns, and the letters to the editor. I know how to, and I can, balance a check-book. I will not quit till it agrees with the statement. I then close the check-book and couldn't tell you what the balance is to save my life! I multiply on my fingers, for God's sake! Sudoku makes me physically ill! I do enjoy watching Indy films. That's either a big plus, or proves my point.

And I'm afraid I may not be a novelist. What if I'm just a "journalist"? And not a good one?

And there's something else I need to confess. Daughter is pregnant with her third child. This is wonderful news. And even though this baby is no larger that a shirt button, I love it with every fiber of my being. I can't wait till March, when she's due. But, I wonder if I'm up to it. I have limits and that scares me. I HAVE LIMITS! I know this from experience. It's a lie from the pit of hell that we can do and have time for everything we want to do. Sometimes, I'm so tired. I don't want to be too tired for those babies. I don't want to be too tired for my daughter. And I want to have something left over for Tall One. You wouldn't believe how patient and supportive that man has been for the last thirty years. And there are so many others that I treasure, that I don't want to let down. Not for them. They love me, they would understand. But for me, ME. Life flys by. And, I'm not gifted....and I think I might need to be....

The Fun House Mirror

My dreams were indicative of my waking emotional state. Settling for instant gratification...Contemplating shoplifting birthday party favors for my grown nephews...Sandra Bullock at the grocery check-out, opening and explaining all my purchases...Spending too much money. In the light of day, there may be rational explanations for my restless dreaming. Too much to drink, too much to eat and watching the end of "Marie Antoinette", visually beautiful, but disturbing and depressing, just before going to sleep. On Sandra Bullock, I'm completely stunned.

I woke up in a foul mood, full of self-loathing and self-doubt. This doesn't happen often, but it's terribly troubling today. I wonder who I've offended, who I've put off. Am I really so self absorbed and selfish that I can't see beyond my own wants and desires? I don't believe that I see myself correctly. Do any of us? We see through the filter of others, our own perceptions and prejudices, and the veil of fantasy with which we surround ourselves. It's how most of us survive.

Daughter called to tell me a "gym story". In her late teens, Daughter was a competitive body builder. She's still very physically active and works at the gym a few hours a week. One of the ladies that she's known from her body building days, a former competitor herself, was in for her workout. Daughter and Former Competitor were talking about kids and summer activities and Former Competitor told Daughter that her children go to the pool everyday with their father. Former Competitor doesn't go. She won't wear a bathing suit. This is a fit, firm, low body fat, workout fanatic, with an impressive boob job. She would look amazing in a bathing suit. And, yet, she chooses not to spend pool time with her husband and children. I don't think that she's making this decision for positive life affirming reasons, like not making the rest of us look awful, or not enticing men-not-her-husband to lust. I have a strong feeling that how she sees herself, physically, is extremely distorted in an unflattering way. This is an all too frequent phenomenon. I don't believe it's any different with our character or personality. We're looking in a fun house mirror.

So what's true for me? How do I gauge my own obnoxiousness? Am I compassionate or perceptive, intelligent, wise? Or am I just a major fuck up, gaily moving through the world causing offense and damaged feelings? Could I be doing ill, thinking that I'm ok? I know that I'm not perfect. There are things that I'm aware of and working on changing right now. I don't set out to purposely hurt people. I try hard not to judge. I smile. I'm competent in the day-to-day minutia of life. I can use a computer, cell phone, and program a DVR. I love.

Some days that's not enough. But, so far, I'm not afraid enough of negative consequences not to act. As insecure as this day began, I've talked to Daughter and Dude, walked with Tall One, briefly related to business clients in a professional and friendly manner. I've tried to brighten Nana's day during our phone conversations. I cleaned, did laundry, and took out the trash. I showered, brushed my teeth, made the bed, watched TV, and ate ice cream. This is not a chronological list. Nor is it complete. But in all I've done or tried to be, I've to the best of my ability behaved honorably. I haven't lied for personal gain. I haven't cheated. I haven't yelled obscenities at small children or kicked puppies. I don't hate.

Perhaps the fun house mirror is the best we can hope. Some days we can laugh hysterically at the clownish distortions, other days we howl at the grotesque image leering back at us. Most days, thank God, I don't even have time to look.