My Grandfather's Hands...

I carry many snippets of early memories in my childhood, but age three was when I began to remember full events...and without a doubt, what I remember is that I was my grandfather's shadow and partner in crime.  You see...after I was born my mother dropped me on my grandparent's doorstep...my grandfather became my guardian...on that day began our love affair...We were inseparable...everyone knew that he adored me and I him.  He was this huge man with graying red hair...big white teeth...booming laugh and he looked like Chef Boyardee...literally...I never missed my mother and she was never there...so I'm guessing the feeling was mutual.  As far as I was concerned, my grandmother was mom...and my grandfather was my hero.

My most vivid memory is of the day that I followed along his immense person to the rabbit hutches to feed what would eventually become dinner...down the road.  With one massive hand, he gently held me back and with the other he reached into the cage to feed the half wild beings.  One jumped at him and bit the back of his hand.  As he jerked his hand back, mumbling fierce words behind clenched teeth, I saw the rich, ruby liquid well up on the back of his hand.....and, I began to cry...sobbing cries...reaching up with chubby toddler hands..."hurt, Grandpa, hurt."

He reached down with his other warm hand and brushed my hair out of my eyes and caught my tears with his thumb.  "Would you feel better, if you had a hurt too?"  I nodded and he bent over and dripped his blood onto the back of my hand.  "Now your hand is just like mine...let's go see Grandma and have her fix our hurts and our hands."  We walked back to the house, hand in hand...as I carefully watched his hurt and he watched mine. Grandma washed both of our hands and gently placed a band-aid on both of our hurts.  He drank his cup of coffee, with a drop of milk and I drank my cup of milk with a drop of coffee..because "I was a big girl now, with my first big hurt."...our mirrored hands wrapped around the porcelain mugs....

The other night I was cleaning house...emotionally...and throwing out things that were painful and I came across the box that holds everything about my grandfather...the music he wrote...the recipes he used for cooking...his schematic drawings for the house he never built, but wanted to...the Pennsylvania Dutch stencils he used to decorate my grandmother's cabinets....the clippings of things he wanted in life...a drawing of a Spanish Galleon with great sails that he had dreamily drawn on scratch paper...and his prayer book.  His hands created so many things...held so many things...they were the early shapers of my life and the pathway to great dreams never realized....

My mother thought he was a fool and a buffoon...a jack of all trades and master of none...yet, he is the one who first taught me unconditional, fierce, unending love.  The day he passed...he said his prayers and his hands gently slipped the bookmark into his prayer book...April 24th..my birthday...and he closed his eyes.  And...even as I held his old prayer book the other night...it wasn't his face I remembered...but his hands...the great hands of a great man who no one knows and few remember...

He would be so proud of what I am doing with my hands...I am leaving my mark...I am dreaming...I am creating...I am loving...I am so much like him....I am my grandfather's hands....

Wah...Wah...Wah....

When I was a kid, I could never understand why the adults in the Peanuts cartoons made the "wah, wah, wah" sound, while the kids were able to be understood.  I found it annoying and confusing.  Now...I'm in my 40's and I see that the cartoon was actually quite realistic.  It's not that what adults say is senseless...it's that we have all adjusted our emotional hearing aids...and "wah, wah, wah" is mostly what we hear...until the person says a buzz word that we're listening for....which what we react to....considering that Schultz was an adult, when he wrote Peanuts...it all makes a lot of sense.  I still find it annoying and confusing...

After months of trying to get back out there, when I became suddenly single...I found myself asking...constantly....what didn't they understand?...what did I say?...why are they acting weird?...Then it occurred to me this morning, as adults we are issued an emotional hearing aid and we adjust it according to our current issues or needs....For example, you might feel anything...let's say...lonely...so, you adjust your EHA (emotional hearing aid...I'm trying to avoid typing that over and over) to allow a certain amount of static/interference and then you call someone up....They say, "I miss having time available to do things.  What are you doing?  This weekend I'd like to see a movie...I love action films.  Do you?"  Thanks to your trusty EHA, you hear, "I miss...wah, wah, wah....you.  This...wah, wah, wah...weekend...crackle, crackle...I love...static, static...you."  Oh thank God....that was exactly what you needed to hear.

I'm not saying that I'm not guilty of this....oh buddy...I am...but, so is everyone else out there.  If you dance around an issue, the other person assumes that all that crackle and static is a dying battery.  If you are succinct and terse in your responses, the other person responds in shock, "How could you be so blunt and unfeeling?"... EHA...

Sometimes...your EHA will actually reassemble the letters used in the words...in the sentences....as if what the other person is saying is an emotional anagram...That's how you can be talking on a date and say "I have two xylophones at home" and the other person will respond "I want to have sex with you too..." Then they take your look of confusion as blatant, overwhelming lust....

Shoot...I know that I use my EHA at work...sometimes it's what gets me through the day.  Sometimes I just turn my EHA off and stare blankly...waiting to see if the other person is aware that I am hearing nothing.  And...I am positive that my EHA has driven my intimate relationships....for better and for worse....I have heard that a person loves me when they probably said "I love the socks you are wearing" and I heard "I love you!!"...I don't know about you...but my EHA adds exclamation points when I'm particularly excited about what I've decided to hear...

This just solidifies my belief that I need to put my EHA in the shop...get some new batteries and take a course in body language....I can't continue in the land of my own delusions...it's tough enough dealing with everyone else's.  I just want to be able to have a clear conversation and leave the confusion at home ....what I really feel is wah...wah...wah...wah...wah...great...wah...wah ...with...wah...wah...you....

No Means No....

I took a self-defense course a long time ago and the first night all we did was practice yelling "no."  We yelled it at each other...we yelled it at the ceiling...we yelled it at the front of the room....and we yelled it at our imagined attacker.  By the end of twelve weeks, I could yell "no," while completing elaborate maneuvers to extricate myself from an attack.  I had yelled "no" so much that my voice started sounding like Demi Moore's.  In fact, to this day, God help the person that attacks me...one of us will go to the morgue...and it won't be me...Basically, if there's a concrete attack of any kind, on my person, I become the Bruce Lee of white women....

But then, concrete attacks have never been an issue for me....it's the abstract, subtle ones...that leave me whispering "no?"  Where was the course that would teach me to say "no" to the things that aren't concrete?...like..."No, honey, I don't want to move to NE Colorado...I think it's a bad idea for our marriage."...or..."No, why don't you drive two hours to my house, instead of my driving to yours twice a week." What about...."No...I don't want to go out with you again, because we have nothing in common."

But, even saying "no" to those things...though difficult for me...is not as difficult as saying "no" to myself.  "No...you do not need that person, because they clearly don't need you."  "No...that person is bad for you...if they cared they would not punish you."  "No....don't be so willing to go to great lengths for him, when he has offered you nothing...except his curiosity."

Oh, there is a logical reason for this...cycle of abuse...childhood victim...never knowing where, why or how  bad things would happen, so everything is questioned...including one's own sanity and the validity of the belief that what happened is wrong....didn't I suddenly sound like a counselor?  Amazing....This is how I dazzle myself with brilliant rationalizations and rhetoric that conveniently distract me from how I victimize myself...day in and day out...I say "no" and then I say "I really didn't mean no..."

Quite frankly...I don't need anyone to treat me badly...as I actually do an excellent job on my own.  The older I get the less that someone has to do to treat me poorly...I carry around a "treat me poorly" package that I give out when it comes to starting new relationships...any kind....and it is a miracle and a blessing when someone enters my life who slides the package back across the table and says "no...thanks."

So...I've put myself in a time out...emotionally...I've sent myself to the bathroom to sit on the edge of the tub and "think about it".....for 365 days....For 365 days, I won't be dating...I can be friends...have conversations...chat...text...email...even meet up for a meal or coffee...but nothing else...until I learn this lesson...until I get it through my thick skull to trust my first instinct...to believe in myself...to ask for what I want...to know what I deserve and except no less...to stop accepting crumbs, when I'm hungry...and to stop negotiating after the final answer has been given...

After all...enough is enough...if I don't cut this out, I will turn this blog around and send me to my room...I already gave myself the answer 'till I was blue in the face....no means no.....

Rapunzel...Let Down Your Long Hair...

It's amazing to me that as soon as you start saying "it" out loud...anything...it becomes real...you feel unburdened and things start to connect.  You know what I mean..."every time (this) happens, I do (this)..." and I've been taking everything very slowly...very slowly...because, I don't trust that my decisions are all positive and coming from a good place.  So...when I thought I might cut my hair off...stylish but short...I didn't....

I was in sixth grade, when I was voted onto the safety patrol.  I had never been voted on to anything, and suddenly...I was wearing a uniform with white gloves and a bright orange harness with a badge.  I was in ecstasy...Every Thursday night, I washed and pressed my uniform...blue pants, white shirt, white gloves....and I polished my shoes and badge.  For hours I practiced making sharp turns left and right, or standing at attention, in front of the mirror...and, on Friday morning I leaped out of bed, scrubbed my face, slicked my long hair into a high ponytail and put on my Tutti Frutti lip gloss.  No one was prouder than I....

Of course...in my home war zone...my mom was diligent in her pursuit to cut me down to size and my increasing confidence levels had become quite the irritation of her life.  One day she had me cornered...I can't even remember what I had done...that was always confusing for me...whatever it was...she asked if I had done it...and...in a moment of confusion and fear, I lied..."I didn't do it...no."  She had me....and smiled as she dragged me to the bathroom...in front of the mirror..."We'll see how proud you are now...you're a liar and you don't deserve hair or your safety patrol badge"....and in seconds she cut off my hair...all of it to an inch all over my head...as I stood there staring at myself...The next day she walked me into my class and had me apologize to the entire class for being a liar...tell them that I didn't deserve to have hair and turn my badge over to my teacher...

That was decades ago...but it occurred to me...while I stood in front of the mirror looking at myself....contemplating the short style that I would sport...that she was still cutting my hair off...only my hands had taken over the task....every time I felt that I had failed in life.  Failed marriage...I don't deserve my hair...husband cheats on me...I don't deserve my hair...wasn't at my friends bedside when she died...I don't deserve my hair...loss of people because of failed marriage...I don't deserve my hair...can't get beyond two dates with anyone...I don't deserve my hair...financially having to start over....I don't deserve my hair...being hit on by married men...I don't deserve my hair....sweet baby Jesus....I haven't been able to keep long hair beyond one year....ever...It's like I'm trapped in some tower by an evil mother and I keep cutting of my means of escape...my freedom...my confidence...my long hair...stop it...

It's Saturday...I don't have a date...no particular place to go...but I've thrown out the short hairstyle magazine...I just curled my long hair and pulled it up...on top of my head...letting tendrils fall by the sides of my face...I called and left a message for my hairstylist to do a deep condition treatment and trim after my payday....If my hair is an announcement of what type of person I am...then let it be so....I'm growing...I'm changing...I need to give myself extra attention...spend a little more time on myself...and be patient...everything takes time...

And for God's sake...remove myself from that tall dark tower that I have allowed myself to be locked in...it's time...Rapunzel...Rapunzel...let down your long hair....

Helena's Light

A couple of decades ago, I learned that my youngest sister had given up...she had stopped fighting my mother...she felt alone and lost in despair...and attempted several times to take her own life.  I made my way back to everything that I had escaped from to help her...help her leave.  She wasn't strong enough to leave and her mind wasn't strong enough to stay emotionally and mentally intact.  I am thankful every day that she did not succeed in removing herself from this world; but the girl I knew is quite gone...only a shell  remains.  She is my first true heartbreak.

The last time I spoke with her, I cried silently on the other end of the phone as she chatted lifelessly about what her life was like.  I could see her light had gone out....That night I didn't sleep...instead I wrote this for her....she doesn't know...she's never heard it or read it...I've never shared it publicly.  I guess this is my prayer for her...I hope that someday she knows how much I love her....for you my Helen Elizabeth...

Helena's Light: A Fairy's Tale

Long ago, in a land of gold-
Lived all fairies young and old.
In this land, there was no night-
For from each fairy shone a light.

The special light came from within-
Warm, brilliant bright-never dim.
And of these fairies, I speak of-
There was one fairy filled with love.

So, filled with love, she never saw-
Among the fairies one single flaw.
The brightest light from her soul came-
Fair Helena was her name.

With hair of gold and skin like cream-
She was a vision, to be seen.
Though great in beauty, it was her heart-
That truly set Helena apart.

There too was a fairy, name of Faye-
That watched Helena every day.
She had more light than she could need-
Yet, watched her with increasing greed.

Wanting Helena's light for herself-
To keep in a jar, upon a shelf.
Fairy Faye grew cruel and mean-
And soon her jealous light turned green.

Faye's angry heart filled with hate-
As she hid and watched in wait.
One day, Faye flew through the wood-
She found Helena doing good.

"I see what you do, you silly girl-
You think that you can save the world."
"You are so foolish," the cruel Faye cried-
"When you helped others, I know you lied."

Helena's eyes filled with tears-
Had she been bad for all these years?
Faye smiled sweetly at Helena's face-
Doubt and pain in beauty's place.

Faye's plan had worked...she would succeed-
Just one more thing to feed her greed.
Her eyebrow raised, with teeth clenched tight-
Faye snarled at Helena with all her might.

"You don't deserve that light inside-
Your heart is full of foolish pride."
Helena shook...she felt great fear-
This was too much for her to bear.

As Helena looked towards the skies-
All the light left from her eyes.
It swirled around not going far-
Then flew straight into Faye's glass jar.

"Yes, oh yes!  What a day!
I've taken all her light away!"
And with that cry, Faye took flight-
Leaving Helena in dark of night.

With the jar held in her hand-
Faye thought the light was in her command.
Before she put the jar upon the shelf-
Faye tried to force the light into herself.

It's not as if she did not try-
It would not stay...she knew not why.
And poor Helena alone and weak-
For months and months, she did not speak.

Her confidence left with her light-
She did not have the will to fight.
No more was her skin like cream-
And when she slept, she did not dream.

The other fairies saw with despair-
She'd lost the golden in her hair.
"Fair Helena," the fairies cried-
"We fear the light within you died."

Helena whispered, "Did you not see?
The fairy Faye took my light from me."
How could this happen?  This is not right-
To take another fairy's light.

As they wept, fingers at their lips-
One fairy stepped forward, hands on her hips.
"This did not happen-I don't believe-
Your light 'twas not for Faye to receive.

Helena turned without a sound-
Her lifeless eyes looked toward the ground.
"But-she took it just the same-
And left me here-I am to blame."

"Oh no-the light carried with you-inside-
Cannot in a jar, come to reside."
"It is your own, yours to keep-
It makes you dream, when you do sleep."

"If you believe, you soon will find-
It lives within your soul and mind."
After this, there was a hush-
Not even wind throughout the brush.

Helena, then, did wipe her tears-
And soon a light shone through her fears.
A light that shone so big and bright-
It swallowed up the dark of night.

It shone across the land and sky-
A fire of hope burned in her eye.
Helena stood...her lips apart-
A wondrous song filled her heart.

It was then, that she did sing-
Across the land, the notes did ring.
In the sky, the clouds did break-
And all around, the earth did shake.

The fairies danced in sheer delight-
From the beauty of this sight.
And then from very far away-
Came a frightened cry from fairy Faye.

Helena's light crashed through her door-
And knocked the jar down to the floor.
"Oh no! Oh no! How can this be?
I kept Helena's light for me!"

It was then, Faye understood-
What she had done was far from good.
She'd pushed aside her inner light-
And thought Helena's would make it right.

But, in this, poor Faye was wrong-
An inner light is like a song.
Although the music is pure and sweet-
The notes are not for you to keep.

A light was given to all mankind-
From within your heart, the light does shine.
When it's your choice a light to steal-
You truly lose what yours for real.

Helena's light was much too strong-
For Faye to keep it very long.
And, so it was for sad, sad Faye-
One cruel deed made her light fade away.                            

The Human Connection...

In the late 90's, I was working in a completely different field and had my first experience working with someone who struggled with mental health issues...in a word...Autism.  I encouraged my place of business to hire a person from a non-profit mental health agency and **Michael came to work for us.  His caseworker explained that he was uncomfortable looking people in the eyes, did not like human contact and would most likely not connect with anyone....and it was decided that I would keep my fingers on the pulse of his experience in the workplace.

In keeping with my responsibilities, I came through the back...where he was working three days a week...to make a brief. but focused, stop to check in with him.  I was careful where I stood, made no sudden movements and never forced him to look me in the face...but...being the direct eye contact person that I am...I always looked at the side of his face...as he was always turned to the side, when someone spoke to him.

As time progressed, I would ask him on Wednesday what flavor doughnut he liked, so that it would be included in my Friday "thank you" for the staff.  He liked the cinnamon twist.  Every Friday, I had it placed in the center of the baker's dozen with a small card that said "Michael's...don't touch!".  Within two months, it became a kind, gentle teasing opportunity that the staff took full advantage of..."Michael gets his special doughnut on Friday from Mickie..." until one Wednesday he walked up to me...stood in profile next to me and said, "Friday...Friday...it's my special doughnut day...I like cinnamon twist doughnut."  "Is there any other kind you would like this Friday?"  "No...no...just a cinnamon twist...just a cinnamon twist."  And, so...there it was on Friday...with his card...which I learned he had started saving each week...until he had a stack of cards in his pocket that he carried religiously.

The end of summer was approaching and so was his "internship" with us.  "What are you going to do when you don't work here anymore?" "I don't know," he said in profile. "I want to go to school." "Really?  What kind of school."  "The kind you would go to..."  I had dropped out of college a long time before to....well...work all the time.  But, in my heart, I envied people who had a bachelor's...even though I was making more money than most college grads...and...as if the universe had heard the pure honesty of our conversation...two weeks later, I came across an essay contest to nominate someone for a small college scholarship.  I am a writer at heart and I was moved...so, I nominated Michael....here is what I wrote in my essay summary paragraph:

"I would like to say that I have been a positive force in his life; but, truthfully, he has been the positive force mine.  He has reminded me what it means to love the work you do...to appreciate, even the small daily tasks that we often roll our eyes about and to take pride in everything.  Michael is a shining example of who we all should be...he is never late...he finishes what he starts...he is polite and respectful...he takes pride in his work...he remains poised in the most difficult situations and he appreciates the little things.  In his presence, I am embarrassed at what I take for granted in life, and I only hope that one day I will be able to say that I have achieved what he has achieved.  It is for this reason that I ask that you grant his wish to attend "the kind of school that you would go to...."  He won the scholarship....

The day after the awards banquet, Michael and his mother came into the workplace.  "Michael has something he would like to say to you."  He walked up to me...arm outstretched..."This angel is yours...you wear on your shirt...it's from me...I picked it out....you helped me go to school...I know it was you...this angel will watch you...make sure you're ok...I won't have your doughnuts anymore...I'm going to school...thank you...can I hug you?"  As I struggled to look him in the eyes...and worried about my personal space that I didn't let anyone into...he stepped forward...and put his arms around me..."This is just for you...no one else...no one else can touch this."  I was shaking to my core....

Michael....I still have that angel in my nightstand...and when I feel really alone I hold it in my hand and thank you out loud for what you gave me...what I have struggled with my entire life...that human connection...

At a Loss for Words...

I'm not sure if it was the day or the fact that I had to explain to multiple people why my last name had changed and answer the question...why did he leave?  I believe it would have been easier if I had been allowed to do an interpretive dance to explain...exactly...why he walked out the door.  Hell if I know...what am I supposed to say?...If I gave a reason...I'd be making it up....

For half the day, I had a client who couldn't stop talking....while my head pounded...and I found myself constantly wondering why I had been contacted by someone this week (a guy)...I responded and I haven't heard from him since. In case you are wondering...my response was "it's great to hear from you"...how dare I?...how could I say something so inappropriate?...I obviously should have kept my mouth shut....

During a fit of silent boredom, I signed on to a free dating site...it was the laundry or a new dating site...I should have chosen laundry.  This morning I had 36 new pictures sent to me...seriously...they all looked like serial killers...seriously...I was speechless.  Half of them were close to twenty years older than me (I'm in my forties..you do the math) and one was...I'm pretty sure...Santa Claus....I don't know where Mrs. Claus was when he was emailing me...but she must have been with a couple of the elves...uh...talking with them.  The prize winner was the guy from Greece who sent me a picture with a gal swimming behind him....I responded....and I'm pretty sure it was her email address...unless his name is Susanna...I didn't even know what to say....but I bet she's saying a lot right now....

Even after I got home from work...I didn't know what to write in my blog tonight.  No one was really talking online and my cats barely had two meows for me.  It's not that I'm depressed or down...I think I'm past that...I'm not even sure that I'm introspective today...I think I just feel wordless...and when I stop talking I have these riddles swirling in my brain...and they're driving me crazy...because I can't answer them....I can't sway anything with my words...it's like I'm talking gibberish and the universe is holding all of my cards....

All of these things are happening around me and I seem to have no say in it....at least for now....I'm thankful to be past the period of damage control...but I would like to have the opportunity to voice requests for my new life.  Maybe...that's where the problem lies...I don't have any answers yet...just band aids...maybe the universe is saving me from requesting idiotic things and sending myself into ruin...maybe my choices...right now...would share an odd parallel with Rainman...maybe I'm an idiot savant...minus the savant part....maybe  just for this moment in time...but...maybe...truthfully...all I can come up with for my list of what I want is to grow my hair long...

Maybe what I'm struggling for right now is direction and that doesn't need talking to happen....maybe I do too much of that on a daily basis for the people I help and I wouldn't listen to my own words anyway....What can I say?  Maybe...just maybe....it's a blessing that I'm at a loss for words....

Holding My Breath Until I'm Blue....

I am fifteen layers of stubborn.  I mean I come from an ancestry of stubborn people...My mother was mentally ill and stubborn...All my friends are stubborn...I'm attracted to stubborn men...My astrological symbols are a combo of Aries and Taurus....a ram and a bull...Hellooo...even my colds hang on way too long and won't go away easily.   And, the icing on the stubborn cake is that I make a living pushing for what my clients need.  This was solidified today...when one of my clients, who struggles with a developmental disability, was asked in an interview what he would do if he was in trouble and needed help, stated firmly, "I'd call Mickie.  She stands up for everybody and no one pushes her around."  Ah...If he only knew....

My grandfather's favorite story of me was when I was two years old and my aunt was trying to help me down steep cement steps...as she reached for me, I waved my chubby arms around and raised my voice, "I can malk...I can malk..."  (I had a bit of speech impediment for a few years)

I made it through my childhood years with my fists clenched and could never get it through my thick skull that contesting the craziness in my mother or standing up for my sisters would invariably result in the beating of the century....there were a lot of beatings during that century.

When I suffered severe head injuries due to standing up for myself...which resulted in struggling to learn...injury induced dyslexia and slowing in processing information....I fought like a tiger even though I didn't know what was going on....and at the age of ten....I fought through the healing process and attempted to do anything and everything that distracted people from knowing that I had a disability...which I didn't know I had.  As a result, at 43 years old...it is barely noticeable...except when I'm under severe stress or very upset.  In fact...when it surfaces....most people think I'm just "off my game."

My stubbornness has served me well over the years....I have accomplished a great many things and I'm proud of the fact that I actually have to verbalize what I have experienced for people to know that my life experiences have been out of the ordinary.  So...with all of that incredible strength of will...you would think that I would only stubbornly pursue things that would bring me happiness....Ah...If only you knew....

The same iron grip that allows me to weather the storms of a relationship...any type of relationship...sabotages my ability to leave a relationship when it's truly over, or let go of someone who doesn't really want me, or who just wants me to be around...just in case....By God...there I am clinging to edge of the rooftop of a one story building...determined not to fall...even though it's just a ten foot drop...with bushes...a trampoline under me and the entire relationship fire department. 

It is only when I weaken from the depression that rolls in due to emotional exhaustion that I let go.  Then...after bouncing on the rebound trampoline a couple of times...I just lay there...unable to move.  It isn't until I have had a long emotional nap that I am recharged and ready to be stubborn again.

So, here's the deal....Einstein said that the true definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results...I think...maybe...that is finally getting through to me...and, not because I have a secret crush on Albert...because I do...I think that a lifetime of crisis and survival has led me to fight for everything...I mean emotionally fist fight....I think I'm an emotional cage fighter...I am Spartacus...but the fall from fighting and the exhaustion from keeping this up is...well...exhausting...

I believe it's time to try something else....instead of holding my breath until I'm blue....

Once Upon a Time...

(This entire fairy tale is written to the music of Castleville on Facebook....settle in and enjoy!)

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young woman, named Mickie (it's a fairy tale...back off) who had many flaws but was still acceptable in the view of society.  She had two regal cats...Sir Stanley and Lady Lacey Mclace...and together they all lived in a small cottage near a forest of two trees...on the plains of a far away kingdom called Sterling.  The kingdom was called Sterling, because every day...at dawn...it sparkled like shining silver.

Each day, Mickie would cheerfully go about her chores...singing sweetly to the birds and woodland creatures who lived in the extremely tiny forest and each night she would dream of the day that she would meet a prince on the kingdom's matchmaking service...matchmaker.com.  So far she had only met two ogres, one troll, a gay man and made a lot of new friends....sometimes in a fairy tale things take longer....

One day, while she was walking between the two trees in the forest she came upon an injured seagull.  "Whatever are you doing in this forest," cried Mickie...as her glistening red hair fell around her shoulders to her waist...because it was so long, healthy and beautiful and...glisteny...(it's a word in this tale).  "I was traveling through Colorado with my friends pelican and egret during the winter and I lost my way.  A mean redneck shot me with his gun and I fell into this tiny forest."  With this, Mickie began singing and her sweet voice filled the two trees with a magical melody.  "If you stop singing and help me, I will grant you a wish...anything you have ever wanted.  I just want to return to my kingdom...Venice Beach, California."  "Certainly...I will help you and so will my two cats," and...although the seagull had misgivings about the cats...she allowed Mickie to help her.

So, Mickie healed the seagull and made a home for it in her bathtub in the cottage.  Her two cats were very helpful...but from a distance.  Finally, the day came that the seagull was completely healed and ready to leave.  "What is your wish fair maiden?  You and your two cats have been so good to me...I must keep my promise and grant your wish..." Mickie had thought for a long time what she would ask for, and...even though she dreamed of a handsome prince...she knew what she must ask for...her greatest wish..."I have only one thing that I truly wish for...right now...because I don't think the timing is right for me to meet a handsome prince...I want to move far away and help children in another kingdom."  And with that the seagull winked, flapped it's wings, pooped on her floor and flew away.

The very next day one of the kingdom's messengers came to her cottage and delivered an tmail (tale mail).  She carefully opened the message and read, "Teach for America would like you to move to the kingdom of Mississippi and teach high school English to unprivileged teenagers...in return we will give you a Master's degree in Education.  We will expect you the beginning of June."  This was better than any date or charming prince.....and luckily she had tmail so that she could keep in touch with all of her friends in the huge kingdom of Colorado.

You see...Mickie's wish really never had anything to do with meeting a prince...it was a dream to do good and explore and to help others.  And...one day...hopefully...there would be a prince who shared her dreams.  In the meantime...her two cats were really excited about this...and so was she.  Not every fairy tale is the same...not every fairy tale includes a marriage and finding the love of your life in the form of one person...sometimes the love of your life is what you want to do with yourself...who you want to be as a person...and...hopefully...really beautiful hair...

And...so it was that Mickie and her cats lived happily ever after...staying in touch with her friends and visiting every year...after a long trip with a U-haul and a lot of humidity and mosquitoes to the South....

The Beginning.....

Vampires In Our Midst...

I'll admit I like a good vampire movie just as much as the next person.  I'm not talking about Twilight...that's what teenage girls wish vampires were like...I'm talking about hardcore vampires... soulless...unpredictable...devoid of feeling.  When I think vampire that's what I'm looking for...but then most of the time I don't have to look to the big screen to get the experience.

Vampires are alluring...seductive...they dazzle and glamour their victims and often look more beautiful than their living counterparts.  They are beyond intelligent...they are cunning...they are sexy...they are quite talented...they reach out to their victims by offering what they need...desire.  It is then and only then that they drain their victims of their life...their hopes...their dreams and all that is precious to them.  When they are done...satisfied...they leave behind the empty...lifeless shell of a human being...and move on to the next.  It is true that eventually these predators will meet an untimely end....but, not before taking many prisoners.

So, how does one recognize these night-walkers?  They certainly don't carry a card or wear a sign.  If you were to shake their hand, you would probably know that something was up...but...often...before it dawns on you...the damage is done...their bite has been inflicted upon you...and good luck getting away.

My guess is that they often look like a "friend" or a "colleague" or a "long lost love" or a"girlfriend" or a potential "boyfriend" or a potential "spouse"...sometimes they resemble...oddly enough...a "family member."  Sometimes these vampires become the victim of someone stronger...another competing vampire....or, on a really good day...they lose their power to someone who is seasoned and experienced in "blowing their covers" and are stopped in their tracks by someone who knows how to ward off those beings of death and destruction.

Unfortunately, there are those individuals who go to extremes to protect themselves from vampires and are always driving a stake into everyone's heart to protect themselves.  They often hide in the dark...avoid any intimate contact with others who are actually safe...because, in their eyes, everyone is a vampire.  These fearing individuals are sometimes more dangerous than the true vampires.  They strike without provocation and leave a wake of dead bodies at every turn.  They are extremely apologetic...once they gather their senses....but, are likely to panic again and offer death blows to the next person who surprises them.  Sadly...they often meet their demise by the very hands that they are trying to avoid...a vampire.  They were so bent on protecting themselves from predators that when a true predator materializes...they don't recognize it for what it is....it looks so different from those they have destroyed before that they believe that...maybe...this being is safe...only to die looking into the eyes of what they feared most....

So...how does one truly protect themselves from having their life cut short by the predatory vampires and the  individuals who respond only with fear?  How do you enjoy life...but also make wise decisions in taking in a stranger?  I'm certainly no expert about these things...but here is what I do know...

You should be able to eat anything you want without the individual curling their lip in disgust....so if it's garlic or onions or chocolate cake...if it bothers them so much that they bare their teeth...that's a sign.  A good person isn't afraid to see their reflection in the mirror...if they walk past a mirror and can't see themselves in it...that's a sign.  A real person doesn't hide in the shadows...skulk in the dark and avoid others...if they do...that's a sign.  A true person doesn't try to dazzle everyone...rising above and drawing all eyes to theirs...there is little glamour and more reality...if they need to be the very center of your undivided attention...that's a sign.  A caring individual doesn't try to make you forget what just happened...so that they will be safe...they deal with what happened and honor what your perception is...if someone makes you feel foggy...that's a sign.  And last but not least...all good things look the same by the light of day as they do in the dark of night...when the sign rises they should still be standing beside you...if they vaporize...well...that's a sign.

I can only hope that my advice is helpful....and if you recognize...through this admonition...that you know someone who is a vampire...don't be too hard on yourself.  You are only human...trusting...and it doesn't mean you can't get away safely.  Just keep in mind to use caution...not fear.  Use common sense...not old wive's tales.  If it feels like a vampire...it probably is...just be careful of who you let in...and remember...if you invite someone in...you are partially responsible...but you don't have to pay with your life...just command them to leave.   They'll blow right out the door....vampires are usually cowards at their core.

Living doesn't have to mean that you fear every movement....it means being aware...no matter what you do...that they are out there...there are vampires in our midst....

Cat Whisperers.....

For years, I have apologized for having cats...there is always someone that hates them...cats...someone that thinks they are disgusting or stupid or that I'm a "crazy cat lady."  Truthfully, I been a bit of a "cat whisperer", most of my life.  Every time I have been struggling through a challenging part of my life, a cat or kitten has arrived at my life's doorstep.

The first time a cat arrived, I was ten and the abuse in my household had reached a pinnacle of pain...and I decided that it would be better to die than live through this.  I didn't know what suicide was, but children do understand what escape means.  I had decided one night, as I lay on my cot, that I was going to figure out how to die.  The next morning a black and white stood on my doorstep...covered in blood bloated ticks.

I had seen my mom remove a tick from my sister with a match and tweezers...and, so, I copied what I had seen.  This cat laid on the couch as I burned it's fur and pinched it with tweezers...sweat on my upper lip...rubbing my eyes...one...two...twenty...each tick dropped in a bowl...blood everywhere...and it whispered a purr and closed its eyes.  With each tick, I thought less of myself and more about "saving" this animal.  When I was done, it stood up and walked to the door.  The next day it was on the front step again....new ticks in tow.  Each week was filled with daily visits...and each day I saved it's life by removing the parasitic entities that were draining it's life away.  As I made it through this first dark period in my life, the cat came less and less...until one day she came to door one last time...no ticks...rubbed against my chubby 10 year old legs and slipped away.

As the years past, I have struggled with extreme loneliness....abandoned by my self esteem, and...at my darkest moment...a cat would arrive...miraculously...and would need me to save it.  I would care for it lovingly and whisper that all would be okay...that I was here and would take care of everything.

The last cat came to me as a kitten....during a very difficult time... and arrived the night my ex told me that he wasn't ready for children.  Our marriage was already dust and I asked him what I was supposed to do while he was deciding if he would ever want children.  My Lacey...a tiny hint of the grown cat she would become...raced from a tuft of tall grass and proceeded to follow us for two miles...as we walked...trying to piece together what was left of a dead relationship.  Over the months that followed, she made me forget that my heart was already broken...and was my greatest comfort when my best friend died that Christmas and he walked out for my birthday that followed.

I have a lifetime of stories of felines that I saved, and as I lay on the couch today...Stan and Lacey curled up next to me...pressed against my body...purring quietly...I thought to myself how simply they love me.  I can be anything I want to be...I can be in my pajamas at four in the afternoon...no makeup....chocolate in the corner of my mouth....rubber bands on my braces...unshaven legs....and none of that is of any importance to them...They accept me...They only want to be with me...to love me...and let me love them.  They do what they want and so do I....and it's okay...

They know when they don't like someone and are unapologetic for walking away....They know when someone has a good heart and they unabashedly love on them for oozing kindness...They judge carefully who they will let into their lives...yet, will drop and roll in the dirt...relishing the pleasure of living, at a moments notice.  And, when I cry...they hover and lick my face...they aren't uncomfortable or embarrassed...they know it's okay to cry...it's not the end of the world and it will pass...Then we three fall asleep together as their purring fills the room like tender loving whispers ...a tiny, warm community of support...

I'd like to say that they have all...all those cats...needed me more than I needed them...but that would be a lie...and anyone who has really experienced the love of another animal sees the truth in this...I'm fragile and flawed compared to their self-reliance...empathy...unapologetic intuition and their ability to live life...just live it...not plan it and appreciate every moment for what it is and then let it go, when it's over...

I would like to believe that I draw these animals to me...to care for them...to love them...to save them...but, that's a lie too...they care for me...they love me more than I'm capable of loving...and...they've saved me...my whole life...they are the cat whisperers....

What You're Really Worth....

I waited all evening on a Saturday in 1990 for my date to arrive.  As the hands on the clock moved forward, my self-esteem slunk into the dark corner of my living room.  At an hour past his proposed arrival time, I decided to redeem my disappearing self worth and drive to his house to demand an explanation.

As I drove the ten miles, to give him a piece of my mind, I imagined him pleading for mercy, all the while explaining that he was intimidated by my steamy sexuality.  At the age of twenty, I was feeling pretty ballsy.  And, by the time I was knocking on his door, my scenario had reached a crescendo that culminated with his falling into my arms...crying and begging for my forgiveness.

It was his mother who answered the door.  She sighed and placed her hand on my shoulder, "I'm so..so sorry."  I thought he had died...as my eyes filled with tears, he stepped around the corner, "I'll handle this mom."  "I'm so relieved, I thought something had happened,"  I stammered...truly relieved that he was okay.  "Listen," he said, placing his hands on my shoulders, quite similarly to the way his mother had, "...I like you...you're pretty and all...but....(awkward silence) my friend told me you can't have kids...and ...well...I want kids, so it's not worth my time to date you.  I mean if you can't have children, as a woman, what are you really worth?"  I realized, at that moment, he hadn't died, but I did....

Someone had taken..quite literally...my ability to have children, and I have been apologizing for it ever since.  It has been the greatest humiliation, burden and loss of my life.  The violent act that stole my gift barely phased me, compared to having to explain....in every relationship...within two serious dates, that I would never be able to have their children.

 Every time some woman asked if I liked children, because she had noted that I hadn't bothered to have them...or mother of a man I dated silently stared at me as I struggled to give over my great secret...or when I undressed for the first time in front of my significant other and unveiled the vicious scar that remains...I have died slowly...acknowledging that my value was less than a meth using, pregnant prostitute.

The truth is that I want children very much....and will likely adopt at some point over the next few years.  The other truth is that it is no one's business what happened to me or why I don't have children, unless I choose to share it.  And, the last truth is that another person should want to be with me because of the wonderful, loving person that I am and not my ability to pro-create...I think we all know someone who should never been offered the opportunity to bring a child into the world...only to spend every waking moment trying to destroy that precious life.  And, maybe there is one more truth...

No one will ever give you all that you deserve....if you don't what you're really worth...

Damaged Goods.....

Last night, I sat with a 37 year old man, a client of mine, and explained to him that he was developmentally disabled and that he had probably been that way since birth, because his mother was actively using drugs when she was pregnant with him.  His eyes filled with tears, as I careful shared this information...head in hands, he whispered, "That's why I'm damaged."  It was clear he had heard that before.

Not that long ago, I was working with a group of incarcerated men, in a state prison, who were dealing with, among other things, surviving childhood sexual abuse and severe trauma.  During one of the sessions, a young man burst into tears and cried out, "What am I supposed to do?  Who will ever love me?  I'm damaged goods."  Who called him that first?

Another time, I was in a restaurant with the man who would one day be my ex husband and my aunt leaned across the table, while grasping my hand and said  to him, "Take care of Mickie.  She's very special.  She's been damaged.  It's a miracle she survived."  The humiliation was immense and my body burned, as my self worth fled the room...as my aunt verbally gave him the license to think little of me and expect even less.  I'm in my forties, moderately successful, intelligent, a college graduate and, if you could get one of my family to speak to you about me, they would tell you straight up "she's damaged goods."

I wonder who came up this terminology.  Was it a man or woman standing by a broken keg of ale or crate of pigeons on a dock, in the 1400's, trying to sell it, and the potential buyer said, "Thou canst sell that to me.  I will not purchase, whilst it is damaged goods."  And, right at that moment, a man hobbled by on a wooden leg...the leg fell off...he fell over and the potential buyer cried, "Thy damaged goods are the same as that man."  So, from that moment on, throughout the ages, if something falls apart for a person, visible or invisible, if they lose something of emotional value or if something is taken from them, they...forever...become property....with no soul....that no one should want...

For years, I have grieved over being "damaged goods", and, now after several obliterated relationships, I'm wondering why I am "damaged goods" and they are not.  I'm wondering why, if our bodies have the amazing power regeneration...and life is the ultimate do-over, that the human race decided to use permanent magic marker to X out the value of a person's soul, for something that was probably beyond their control.

What is the definition of "damaged goods?"  I've hear it applied to people....a lot....How is the honor of labeling someone with that title doled out?  And, how much of that title has to do with the person labeled, or does it just make the labeler feel immensely superior and better about themselves?

My aunt is cruel to people...she makes people cry...literally.  Individuals run from her presence; yet, she labels me damaged.  Yes, I have experienced horrible things....things that make others not know what to say; but, I don't do those things to others.  My issues don't look any different than friends who come from "perfect" families.  When I feel lonely and down...I eat a pint of ice cream just like any other woman and comfort food like a man.  In fact, I have a tough time convincing the average person that I'm anything but just like everybody else....

My baggage is the same size and shaped as everyone I pass...every day....and that baggage, at some point, ends up on a conveyor belt...just like everybody else...sometimes it gets sent to another city...or someone picks through it...just like everyone else.  Yes, there a few pieces that are currently duct taped...but then there's such a variety of tape available...and it's just temporary...all will eventually be fixed...just like everyone else...

I prefer to see myself as dented right now...after all, it really is my choice, not anyone else's, to see myself that way or to go through life as damaged goods....

Don't Tell Me What to Say....

In honor of all the people I know who speak their mind through blogging, produce, write and direct work that is shared on the internet and for the ability, at this time, to play Farmville anytime and anyway I want, I will withhold my scheduled blog for tomorrow.  Please take the time to speak out to Congress and maintain the freedom we now have with the internet.

My topic will wait one day...I voted...I don't want my blog censored...I already do that on my own...I keep everyone's name out of it ;)...Don't tell me what to say...

Confession...by Calvin Klein

There are many aspects of my life and the place that I find myself in, due to last year's events, that I can logically categorize.  My childhood was not my fault....my adult life...well...there is little that I am blameless for in the my evolutionary path.  I have always been able to reason through situations...to analyze my accountability in my life events.  Except one...I think I've trying to garner enough courage to admit that there is one thing in my adult life that I can't reason....I don't talk about it...I don't talk about him.

The things that I am most protective of...that mean the most...or that I don't have an explanation for...I don't talk about.  And, he is my deepest secret...I don't know why.  Of all the things about myself that I share...there are three things that I don't talk about....two of them have been shared with anyone close to me...and he is the one thing that only two people have ever heard me actually talk about...in my entire life.

When I was in my teens, people knew how I felt, but I never verbalized my feelings.  As I got older, as he weaved in and out of my life....I told no one.  If I was hurt, because of his choices, I never said a word...no one knew I cried over him.  And, then I would tuck my feelings for him away in my closet, in a small, neat package.  When he would surface again, I would unwrap the package and there would be those feelings...fresh... untouched...filled with immense hope.

As my relationships came and went...some in a storm...some only an evaporating moment...he sat in the back of my mind...in the shadows.  Someone would say something and his name would reach my lips and I would quickly swallow it.  I have pictures of him...they sit between the pages of a book...locked in my hope chest...literally and figuratively.

He will never be mine...and I don't know why that hurts so much...or why...after all these years...after all the times that I "thought" I had let him go...he still sits there in my mind and my heart...taking up so much space...so much of me.  Even now...after we tried again...I tried again...I can't see the forest for the trees, in what feels like a miserable failure on my part...I don't know how much was me...how much was him.

I am a fool...a fool for my hope...a fool for my inability to let go...a fool for dreaming of him...a fool for being a fool....I am embarrassed for myself...that I have loved someone since I was 16 years old and I've never moved on...just gotten older.  I'm 43 and, in his presence, I feel like I can breathe deeply, and I am helpless in my adoration.  He touches the deepest part of me....affects me to the core of my being, and then he is gone....breaking me in a way that no else ever has done.

We are both fabulously flawed and equally amazing....together and separately.  And...I am facing...now...that he will most likely never move beyond the role he's played in my life for 25 years....and, I may always love him this way...God help me...I am lost in the scent of his fear and mine....

This is my confession...by Calvin Klein

I Was So Busy Laughing that I Forgot to Cry...

I came home this evening quite sure of what I would be writing about....another soul searching post about another part of myself that I've never truthfully talked about.  Truthfully....I didn't have it in me.  I was avoiding talking about the subject that I had planned.  I watched a movie instead.

 I just randomly chose a movie that I felt would be mindless and offer escape.  In fact, I was preparing to just sit there and zone out.  Once again, my planned moment went out the window...the movie was funny....and, I was laughing.  I was laughing hard...loud...holding my stomach...cats running around the house (that's what they do when I laugh really loud)...because I was laughing so hard.  It felt good....REALLY good.

I realized that what I miss about losing people that I care about is laughing with them...something ridiculous or funny that makes us both laugh....Or, using my ability to make someone laugh to make them laugh...seeing their nose wrinkle up and all of their teeth flashing because they are laughing.  One time I made my ex laugh so hard he fell down.  One time he made me laugh so hard I drooled on myself.  My friend who passed away...we used to say things sideways to each and try to keep from laughing, while others were around.  She used to toss her head back and swing her hair and laugh with her whole face.  And, someone else who I lost this year would do things that made me laugh at the moment and hours later, when I was driving I'd start laughing again...I'd have to pull over, so I wouldn't drive off the road.

I love to laugh, but it is the most deeply pleasurable, when you can share it with someone else.  I want to have someone in my life again that I can lose myself with while laughing.  I want to fall over, holding my sides....I want to do stupid, dorky things and act like I'm twelve and have them capture it on their phone and periodically send it to me, so I can laugh again and again.  I want to not take my life so seriously.  I'm tired of feeling tired and old...used up...alone...and tossed aside.  I think I've felt like that most of my life....and, I like living...really taking a bite out of life...chewing it up and swallowing...and wiping my mouth on the inside of my collar, while  grinning from ear to ear.

So, tonight I did it by myself....with my cats Stan and Lacey McLace.....I laughed and they ran around.  I jumped up and down and they took flying leaps across the couch.  I spun around and Stan grabbed my leg...Lacey ran up her very tall scratching post and hung from the top.  I rolled on the floor and they jumped on top of me.  I was without another person, but I wasn't alone and I wasn't lonely....

....And....I was so busy laughing that I forgot to cry....

Two...my Sisters....

I have two sisters, who never made it out of war of my childhood...they are POWs in my mother's camp.  At one point, in my life, it was a bitter and terrifying choice...join or leave.  I chose to live or at least try to live; so I left.  My two sisters joined.  There is very little that I actively pray for, not being a very religious person, but I do pray for them.  I don't who is listening...but, if I can't be there for them...I pray that someone is....

Over  a decade ago, I saw them for the last time.  My middle sister had lost her ethereal beauty and her mouth was twisted from bitterness...angry because I had left and angry because she had stayed.  And, my youngest sister, broken and withdrawn, looked twelve, at the age of 30.

Among the many ironies that have existed in my life, the greatest was that I had envied my sisters for their strength, when we were young.  I had always felt that all I had to offer was my physical strength, and, so, I stood between them and the horrors that lived with us.  I knew that I would survive....my anger alone would keep me alive and they represented all that was good and pure...I believed that I would be neither of those things, on the other side of the battle.  I believed that I didn't matter, but they did, and my purpose in living was to protect them.  So, I did.

Years after I left, I came back for them and I left again...alone...again.  They will not speak with me, and it is quite probable that I will go to my grave never seeing or hearing from them.  If that were to change...if they were to call for me...I would don my armor and charge in to bring them to safety.  I know that will never happen, but I will wait regardless.

I wrote for this poem...a long time ago....for us...for them...two...my sisters....

No One

Far away, they said, a war was fought

In a damp, dark jungle..where

No one slept-

It crawled through our boxed vision

And festered in my fresh mind

No one knew-

A long-toothed beast, yawned open jaws

And lured me to tumble into a sloping dungeon

No one entered-

White house, swamp filled, steaming

Rot, served stewed pain over plump rice

No one swallowed-

Two bedroom prison for beaten captives

One for the old and the innocent, one for the dying young

No one watched-

An amber vision, honey-haired sister 

Silenced by fate, voiceless to what

No one spoke-

Of blistering sand, boxed in decaying wood

A deserted desert where

No one lived-

Except tiny bronzed soldiers, scattered in wait

Pinching our prayers and stabbing with poisoned words

No one heard-

Save, the glorious angel with sworded hand

Crowned curls of citron and emerald eyes

No one challenged-

Her beckoning, pearled hand 

Across the road of roar, far, from the jungle of rage

No one left. 

--My sisters, if you can hear me, I am still here and I always will be....I am strong....I will wait.

Dear Mom....

Dear Mom....

I know you are thinking that I am going to say horrible things to you....I know you are afraid that I am going to remind you of all the painful things that happened between us; but, this letter isn't about that...all of that happened long ago...in a warped world that we existed in...together.

You see....I want you to know that I see you....I always did.  Sometimes, I walk by a mirror and I see your face.  Tiny smile lines...your lips...your eyes...I am your legacy...your doppelganger.  I look just like you....if you had been happy.  I have your hands, your unmistakable, booming, raucous laugh and I cry when something touches me....deep in my heart.   It must have been difficult to watch me grow up looking like you....hating yourself.

I remember the good...I remember you singing to me and how it made me drift off to sleep, my head pressed against your knee, as you sat on the edge of my bed. During those moments, I think you loved me.  Or, when you taught me to knead bread or make cookies....your hands cupped around mine.  Or, when I would catch you humming softly to yourself, alone....you looked so peaceful....Or, when you would let me sneak crystallized honey with my little fingers and you would pretend that you didn't notice the tiny tracks I left behind...when I made you laugh....

Do you know how talented you were?...so gifted...brilliant writer...outside the box thinker...beautiful voice...creative beyond belief....an entire Christmas tree filled with your crafts...all made by your hands...popcorn strung by you....no money and the most beautiful tree....

Do you know that you gave me your amazing gifts?  Do you know that I think about you? Do you know how old I am? Do you know the things that I have failed...the people....myself?  Do you know that I know the things that were beyond your control? Do you know that I know you were terrified...all the time? Do you know that I know you felt invisible, because I have felt that too...many times?

I thank you for your manic, impulsive moments that led to running through sprinklers on other people's lawns or pancakes in the middle of the night or sitting on piles of laundry telling jokes that didn't make sense.  I'm sorry that we had so few of those moments, and though you couldn't help those crazy, wonderful slices of time, I replicate them, keeping those memories alive for us...you and me.

You always told me, during the pain, all you ever wanted was for me to be free....free to do whatever I wanted...to be who I wanted to be....I am, Mommy, I am....I'm so sorry that means I am without you.  I did what you wanted to do....and it hurts me that you couldn't.  And, I forgive you...I think I did a long time ago.  I want you to know that all I ever wanted...was for you to be free too...

I love you...I choose to love only those wonderful things about you that came together to make me who I am...and, I grieve for those parts of you that caused us both pain....I hope that some part of you is happy...that maybe the great divide between us gives you room to breath...to spread your wings...because I have spread mine....and I'm flying....

Your daughter,

Michelle...your belle

Fight or Flight....

When I was eleven, my mom decided to spend the summer in bed eating Snickers and reading romance novels.    We lived in a trailer that had snakes under it and my two sisters were very little girls with a mother who had taken flight for the bedroom....and took a total of three months off from...well...being a mother.

The first week of summer break, I saw a flyer for a community swim team and swim lessons.  I stood in front of the flyer for a long time....deciding.  Two summers before I had almost drowned in a friend's pool and I had become terrified of water.  As the hot Florida sun beat down on my head, I argued with myself that if I got in the water again something "bad" might happen, and then again, if I knew how to swim, I would never drown.

My next dilemma was where I would find the $12 to pay the fee to join the community pool.  We had no money...mac & cheese was our main dish, along with all the staple goods that were left on our doorstep by local churches and the Salvation Army.  I took the flyer with me.

The next day I made breakfast for my sisters, as I had on many occasion, and contemplated what I could do to accrue a  massive pile of cash ($12).  As I spooned food into their dishes, I looked out the window and saw a boy pushing a mower past our overgrown lawn.  I decided that if I could do the laundry, clean house and take care of my sisters, I could mow a lawn.  My mother called for breakfast.

I walked up and down the street, knocking on doors, asking every neighbor in the trailer park if they had a lawn mower for sale, until someone said yes.  "If you give me your lawn mower, I will mow your lawn for free all summer," I negotiated.  Deal....."It doesn't work well."   "That's ok...If you help me fix it, I'll clean your house."  Deal.....Home to make lunch for my sisters.

As I walked to the store  to sell all the pop bottles, I had dug out of trash cans, to purchase more Snickers for mom....pulling my dinged up wagon....the clinking glass offered a tinkling, rhythmic soundtrack to the visions I had of myself moving gracefully through crystal clear water, while people cheered and waved at me.

Next, it would be negotiating to pay the pool fees in three weeks, after I had mowed enough lawns, at $3 a piece.  Then I had my choice of swim lessons, which would have me able to doggie paddle by the end of summer or I could join the swim team.  I chose.  "Yes, my mother signed it. She said this was what she wanted me to do." I said meeting his gaze steadfast, hoping he wouldn't see my lie...."But, you can't swim."  "I will soon."  And, so I did.  Clinging to the pool side wall, I swam laps up and down the pool twice a day, crying the whole time...water mixing with water.  Three weeks later I wasn't holding the wall, and I had enough time between two a day practices to race home take care of my sisters and the woman in the bedroom, clean house and mow a lawn.

At the end of Summer, I was the slowest swimmer in all four strokes backstroke, breaststroke, freestyle and  dolphin underwater....I was brown with a sunburned nose, slender, hair blonded by sun and chlorine, mowing ten lawns a week and preparing for sixth grade.  My swim coach put his hand on my shoulder, shaking his head, scratching his beard, "I didn't think you could do it...you drowned every day up and down the pool."  I beamed, unable to answer....I had a crush on him...I still like facial hair.

That walk home I felt ten feet tall......beautiful...fierce...and unafraid.  Even as I stepped over the snake on the steps to our trailer, in my second hand bathing suit and carried in the bag of food that had been left for us, I knew that I was unstoppable.  As I made lunch for the last time that Summer, I could feel that I had done something very important.  I won an important battle.  I was a victor.

You see...sometimes it is quiet...sometimes it looks poor...sometimes you are last...sometimes you feel like you are drowning...sometimes you are crying....but at the end, as others run away, the fight wasn't for anyone else and the greatest victories are the ones that only you see...

Morose Code...

I read something the other day that said if you feel confused in a relationship the other person doesn't love you, because when they love you, you always know where you stand.  I started thinking about when things work in a relationship....anyone can ask you, at any time, how things are going for you two and, between the grinning like you have mental issues, flushing of your cheeks and tripping over things, you barely have to say a word.  When things go bad, or they are bad, you can't say enough and they usually sound like explanations.  "Oh, they've been working so hard..."  "We're both so busy...."   "It's tough right now, but we're doing fine."  There's information there, but it's not really a straightforward answer to what you were asked.  When negative changes happen in a relationship, you can be sure that everything has turned to code.

"Ill be home late" turns into "I am working so hard for you."  "Where would you like to eat...no not there..." morphs into "I'm always thinking about what you would like to do."  "The reason I didn't get your messages is because my phone wasn't working..." becomes "That's crazy that he knew I sent him several messages...I didn't say a word about sending messages....we must have a psychic connection."

Sometimes, your relationships start with code.  No matter when it begins, you pull out your secret relationship decoder ring, put it on and get to work.  But...then...it's your secret decoder ring not theirs.  It has the answers you want to hear and not what is actually being said.  Even the fact that you are in a relationship comes to you as coded information.  A mere breathing in and out, on their part, becomes breathless anticipation of the moment you will touch their sleeve or hold their hand.  The fact that they keep their fingers extended in your grasp only means that they want their full palm to touch yours.

You become so adept at figuring out answers to their codes that it's a huge surprise, when your perfect match does or says something that is so straightforward that your secret decoder ring, with an expansion pack, doesn't work. So, you bang the ring on the table...so hard that the other person starts to cringe...obviously, because the noise is so loud, not because you aren't getting the hint.

As they walk out the door, you tell them that you've almost got the ring working, if they would just wait a minute.  When they say that things aren't working, you shout back to them that they lied to you about caring and you would never lie....But...you have...every day.  You lied to yourself.  All the information was there...it always was....your half full cup is the same half empty cup they originally offered you.  In your aggressive pursuit, you never noticed their passive resistance.  None of the negatives ever turned around just because you forced your positive magnet in their face.  The reason you felt that you were doing all work is because you were....all of it...both sides.  They didn't have to do anything but watch...then walk away.

With all of that positive energy that you are so willing to put into everything you do, you would think that you would attract wonderful relationships.  But, then maybe you are attracted to the negative....

Maybe you like everything in morose code....

The Benefit of my Self-Doubt...

 Changing your life is like cleaning out the closet....it's packed...you don't want to deal with it.   You keep the door closed...walk fast through the room, looking the other way.  Deep down you fear that if you look at it, you will feel guilty....shamed into cleaning it up and out.  You'll come up with all sorts of projects to avoid getting your hands dirty.

While you are avoiding digging in to a major commitment, the cats are making nests in the back of the closet, leaving their hair all over...snagging your blouses.  Fifteen spiders move in and leave fly carcasses everywhere.  Half of your clothes become Glamour Don'ts, while you hedge responsibility.  Moths eat through your old coats...maybe a mouse sets up residence.....poops all over your old games...chews through that scrapbook from your childhood.....time yellows your pictures...each turn of the clock hands, you give over this project that has your name all over it.  Other things...beings...benefit thanks to your passive resistance against the inevitable.

On the surface, you feel as if your resistance is the control factor...you won't touch it...you are in control.  Meanwhile, while your head is purposefully turned away, a multitude of life's happenings are occurring, without one thought about why you are not taking charge and "cleaning house."  The fifteen spiders don't sit on the fly carcasses and hold a meeting about how they should really organize your slacks.  The resident mouse isn't choosing which of the "games" should be trashed.   The cats aren't sweeping up this "hairy" situation you are in...and time waits for no one.

This "life" that is happening, while you hide your eyes, procrastinate and avoid, is living, because you've stopped.  Your paralysis in the face of challenge has made room for others to thrive.  Those living, while you stand stock still, aren't being mean....the fact that they don't care has nothing to do with you...they aren't thinking about you at all.  They are attending to their business.

If you suddenly decided to take action...bring in the trash bags...dust off what belongs to you....toss away the things you don't need...take ownership, again, of your treasures....everything would keep living, but they would move out of your way...they'd let you handle your business....One of the spiders might give you the finger....the cats might complain...and the mouse might rent another spot in town...but then all of this belonged to you in the beginning...when it was new, and you used it every day.  There was a time when no one dared lay claim to your "closeted" things, because you "owned" them...they were are part you...everyday.

Then, slowly, day by day, you  tucked away what you cared about....you ignored them..."forgot" they were there.  Someone made fun of that coat....someone didn't like the way you played that game, because they didn't win...no one was interested in seeing or hearing about your childhood, so you tucked that scrapbook away.  Soon the closet was so full that you can almost see the closed door pulse like your own heartbeat.  Because everything about you is in there and you are turning your head, because you can't bear to look.  Better to avoid than face everything about yourself that you have forgotten or left unused.

In truth, if you leave it, someone else will pick it up. Your trash is their treasure.  After all, if you toss something aside, you are just giving someone else the benefit of your self-doubt....

Epiphany...

I called my friend to complain this morning....I've acquired some amazing skills in this area and I was hoping to refine said skills over the phone.  I began with the obligatory, heavy sigh...weighted voice and the over dramatized pauses...I was gearing up for one of my finest performances.  But, something was different today....

I had awakened...refreshed...what?...and in a fairly good mood.  Prepared for work efficiently and made it to my desk on time...something is wrong here....So, I decided calling my friend to revitalize my funk of several weeks/months/2011.  Because she is a wonderful friend, she answered the phone.  Because she really cares about me, she asked how I was doing...understanding fully that she was opening herself up to the same story she's already heard a million and one times.  "Sigh, sigh....me, me, me....blah, blah...I, I, I...me, me....enough about me. Let's talk about you.  What do you think of me?"  You know, the usual.

She stayed in there with me, and then it happened....like curtains opening on sunny morning to smeared, cracked glass...there it was...an epiphany.  As I tried to blather about my new favorite funk, I started to make sense...I told her how I have always feared and secretly known that parts of myself were broken, or at least scarred, but the not broken parts of myself are very intuitive.  What I refuse to see in myself, I see quite clearly in others and I am drawn to it.  Like the Sixth Sense, I see broken people...and I innately love them.  I feel at home.  I don't feel better than them...I feel at home, not so different or odd or weird.

So, the man that I have loved for 25 years...since I was 16...what if the love at first sight was, in fact, broken at first sight?  What if we were soul mates of broken-ness?  How would I know that he was the yang to my yin of emotional damage?  How would he know?  What if every one of the emotionally distant men that I have been in relationships with were actually the equivalent of an opposing magnetic force meeting my emotional longing? What if what I love most about that man is that I don't feel so damaged with him and he doesn't feel so damaged with me....we were and have always been kindred broken spirits?  We've just never been able to work out the enabling part....we'd have to be around each other for longer than 24 hours...

This broken-ness has creeped into even my most successful endeavors.  I left a highly lucrative career to work with broken individuals for average pay and I'm really good at what I do.  I mean, I'm kick ass...Over seven years, I have created positions for myself, built programs and created a name and reputation for myself.  I even spoke nationally, in 2011, about unconditional positive regard and working with the offender population...broken people.  Supreme Court Justices, correctional professionals and social workers from all over the United States sat in a room and listened, responded to my questions, laughed and clapped to my ideologies and thoughts about working with broken people.

Don't get me wrong...the world needs people who do what I do, and I understand the world I have chosen to serve.   But, I have always refused to admit openly and honestly, to myself, that I get what my clients are feeling, because I feel the same.  I've never seen myself as better than my clients, but I have worried that I am a fraud.  I'm helping them and, if they knew how dinged and dented I am inside, they'd give me the finger and walk out.

I'm not sure what this means for my future....I'm still struggling with the grieving process of so many losses that 2011 offered me...but, somehow, the answers seem to be rising to the surface this morning, like cream to the top.  I wonder if I keep churning away at this, things might just turn out to be just like butta'.

When the words won't come...

I can always tell when it's a day that I'm struggling the most with controlling my feelings...trying to change them on my own....these are the days that I don't know what to write.  I'm pushing any feelings down, choking to death on my humiliations.  Today is one of those days...

It's days like today that all sorts of things come up to the surface and remind me of all the things I have run from in my life....all the things that really hurt, but I would never admit.  All the things that I want to say and I don't trust myself to say it out loud.  I am the queen of putting my feelings in a box or up on a shelf, giving the benefit of doubt and rationalizing the situation, until it's so distorted that I don't even know the truth anymore.   Then I turn around and take huge risks, huge flying leaps....risking it all for the chance that this is "it."

My name has become synonymous with risk taking.  I was speaking with someone today and I told them that I had decided to not date anyone or develop any relationships other than friendships, for 2012.  She said to me, "But, what if that perfect person is there right now, waiting for you and you pass them by because you aren't dating for a year.  You never pass up opportunities..."   I felt like Frankenstein's monster...what have I created, and am I letting everyone down?  Will this whole year turn into a greater humiliation, as I try to work through all  that I have experienced in 2011?

I do really know what all my group participants went through now, as they were working on themselves.  I remember the ups and downs of almost every person I worked with, and how I became accustomed to the fluctuation of moods as we went through the curriculum.  The nights when one or more of the participants would be silent and have very little to say.  The times when they were so open and raw that they just couldn't put it into words.

When I worked with other facilitators I would explain how this was going to happen and I never imagined that I would go through the same thing.  I actually wish that I was working on all of this with a group.  That's what I am missing right now.  I am spending a lot of time with myself...alone, and the rest of my time is with clients, helping them work through their problems.  

I have all of these things that I want to say....and, I can't today....either because there is no one to say it to or because it would be falling on deaf ears....or....the words just won't come...

Patience....I hear she's a great gal....

The funny thing about change is that it comes in it's own time...not when you decide.  I have trouble with this....ironically, many people have told me that I have a lot of patience.  I believe the term they were searching for is endurance...not patience.

As I hit, what I consider a new low for myself....I found myself crying during a Miley Cyrus movie...I realized that my achey breakey heart has never been allowed the opportunity to heal from anything.  I have always rushed headlong into the next diversion;  that way I wouldn't have to actively feel any pain.  I am truly the master of keeping up appearances and pushing negative aside.  I talk a good game...everything happens for a reason....good things come to those who wait...it's always darkest before the dawn...I sound like I am full of ...uh...patience; when, in reality, I've had my fill of patience...or, pseudo patience.

As I lay on the couch, in my crusty pajamas, with the cats purring on top of me, pleased that I hadn't moved for  six straight hours, and Miley hee-hawed through her performance (I'm sorry...she is a bit horsed-mouthed and she'll probably never read this blog), and I wiped my salty tears as she pretended to cry, I had the strongest urge to get up and do anything that would make it appear that I wasn't feeling low.  I barely had the patience to give myself license to feel the hurt.

Now, don't misunderstand, I'm not purposely wallowing in self-pity.  I'm just trying to stand still and be quiet and allow myself to move through all of this without buying things to fill the emptiness or going out on dates with anyone and everyone.  But, truthfully, when you make the conscious decision to stay still, allowing change to come to you...it's not as easy as you would think, especially for someone who is a bit of a rainmaker.

The Miley-cry was my breaking point, though.  I chipped myself off the couch, shook off five pounds of cat hair, colored my hair, showered and shaved...my legs, not my face.  Although, laying still for six hours brought me close to growing a beard.  I couldn't pretend that I had enough patience to allow this to go on any longer.  I was already at the bottom of the Cyrus well and patience wasn't throwing down a rope.

I decided that I would take the next important step in change.  Starting tomorrow, I will start researching the things that I am interested in...the things that I have always wanted to do, but never given myself the freedom to do.  It's time to make a list of what I would do, if I could do anything...what would that look like?....how would it open itself to me?...what risks would I be willing to take?...

I'm not worried about this part...this is what I feel most comfortable doing.  As for patience, as I wait for my requests to happen, I'll deal with her...she's not Miley Cyrus, but I hear she's a great gal...

I Should and I Shouldn't.....

I think we all can agree that doing the Should and Shouldn't thing really isn't fair to yourself...it's also a passive way of monitoring yourself with no commitment.  Fact is...it doesn't matter....we all do this....we say it out loud..."I shouldn't have this cookie."  "I should work out today."  I don't know anyone who doesn't Should and Shouldn't.  I spent all day doing this today...."I should change out of my pajamas."  "I should get my ass off the couch."  "I shouldn't play Diablo 2."  I still laid on the couch, in my pj's, playing Diablo...I shouldn't be telling you this....

So, I decided that I should make a list of all the things that I Should or Shouldn't do, but that I never commit to...this should be embarrassing....

I Should.....

• get out of bed at a decent time on Saturday and Sunday.
• vacuum every day (I have two cats...geez, the fur gets everywhere).
• exercise one hour every day.
• get up an hour early each morning to exercise for one hour every day.
• make a list of projects that I need to do.
• actually start doing the things I listed on my project list.
• sign up for voice lessons again (I sing, but use my voice very little these days, except in karaoke bars).
• sign up for Fencing lessons again (I Fence, but haven't practiced since 1998...Fencing has nothing to do with building a fence...just saying).
• do Bikram yoga a couple times a month (I used to do it two times a week).
• do yoga several times a week (I used to do it every day).
• read more (I used to read all the time).
• drink only one margarita, instead of two or three or four.
• get myself a karaoke machine.

I Shouldn't.....

• be so sarcastic.
• be so stressed about my life.
• be so hard on myself.
• think about the guys who are emotionally unavailable.
• try to figure out what I did wrong that made the emotionally unavailable men push me away.
• date emotionally unavailable men.
• let emotionally unavailable men kiss me, especially when they give "movie kisses" and don't know how to use their tongue (that was a weird experience and I had to wash my face afterwards).
• have sex with them either.
• online game...(yeah, that's going to happen).
• watch YouTube at work (I missed Glee on Tuesday).
•  blame myself for my divorce.
• drink things that stain my rubber bands on my "hot" braces.
• drink four margaritas.
• drink four margaritas in a karaoke bar.
• sing "Big Spender" at that karaoke bar, after four margaritas and smack my own ass during the song.
• dance on a chair at that karaoke bar to "Baby's Got Back" (I'm probably on YouTube.)
• wear platform heels, in the Atlanta airport, that make me fall flat on my face, in front of a bunch of people. 
• carry a torch for someone for 25 years (he's not in my life and never will be...what the hell have I been doing).
• believe in magical romance (what the hell...again).
• believe in love at first sight.
• eat so many sweets, when I have moments of clarity about the realities of love.
• be so quick to put myself down.
• assume that if someone doesn't like me or want me or respond to me that there is something wrong with me.
• "should" all over myself...period.

Dear Universe, I'm putting it out there....

I am a huge believer in putting out, into the universe what you really want...I mean saying it out loud....write it down...because as soon as you do, you bring that idea or desire to life.  You give birth to it.  I also believe that you have to be very careful what you ask for....because you just might get it.  It's sort of like finding a Genie in a bottle and being offered three wishes...if you don't carefully pose your questions, your wish might...well...not come out exactly as you imagined....like if I said, "I never want to have to brush my teeth again."  Then, all my teeth fall out.  I got what I asked for....just not the way I was hoping.

We all have this amazing energy and everything is energy, of one form or another.  If we send out intense energy/ requests, we have a solid chance of receiving what we ask for...So, I want things to change....I'm going to put it out there...in the universe...but, very carefully...

Dear Universe,

I want things to change!  Now, let me clarify....I really can't afford to be more broke than I am currently.  I don't want my cats to run away or start using my couch instead of the cat box.  Please don't get me fired or have my ex try to get me back...or, some of my dates from Match.com....I don't want them either...especially, that one guy...you know who...or the stalker...or the other stalker....I did mention that I don't want my ex back...right?  Please don't make my hair fall out...I'm pretty happy with it now and I'm ok with the few grays I have...I'll cover those myself.

I would like my braces to come off, but not fall off...or break...or my teeth fall out....

I want to lose ten more pounds, but not by getting the flu or salmonella or food poisoning...or a tape worm.

I want to exercise more...but... not from running from those two stalkers or chasing a burglar or running to throw up (you know, the losing ten pounds thing) or squatting to pick up my teeth.

I want to publish my writing...so far, only my friends are reading what I write...and, none of them are publishers...but, maybe that person who read once in Malaysia will read again and they are a publisher....maybe, that's why those two guys were stalking me...they were publishers...crap...if so, they can come over..but, not stare in my window or blow up my cell with texts...oh God...I think I'm confusing the Universe...

Okay...Okay....I want to make out with a really hot guy...that thinks I'm hot...but, not like I have a fever from salmonella or the flu...and, neither of us are on fire..I'm mean we can be on fire for each other, but not in flames...wow...I'm really feeling tense....

I want to set out on a great journey...a really amazing adventure...that makes me forget all the things I'm dealing with now...Wait! Wait!....not because my car broke down, after I was fired from job and my teeth fell out from salmonella and being on fire...You know, I don't mean I want to walk 40 miles to the next town....toothless, scorched and throwing up...unless those stalkers look really hot and they want to publish my writings and make out with me....with my teeth in my mouth...still stuck in my gums...correctly....

Oh my God....this is stressing me out....OK....scratch all of that, Universe...please...humbly I ask...I want to change into my jammies, I want to eat my soup and I want to go to bed and start fresh tomorrow....not because I want to lose everything I have...oh....crap....I'm in a deep hole with you, Universe....

How about I just roll the dice and see what happens.....

Only one question today....

This is going to be short, because my day was long...very long.  But, I am committed to posting each day....

All day long, as I acted as if I was completely together, as I joked or made phone calls and as I drove for four hours this evening, I had one question that kept running through my head...even as I tried to push the thought to the back of my mind, and I turned the music up so loud that the car shook....I couldn't stop asking....

How long is my heart going to hurt?

How will I know?

I'm going to honor the path that the Getting Ahead curriculum led all the graduates down.  We'd dig deep, then step back and look at it.  Then we'd dig a bit more...then step back again.  So, I'm going to do the same throughout 2012 and this blog...for both our sanity.  Actually, this approach suits me...I don't mind getting my hands dirty, but I try not to roll around in the muck....and I'm in it right now....but, for the right reasons...because my life needs to change.  But, how will I know?  You know...how will I know that the changes are right or that I'm headed in the right direction?

I wish this was the easy part...like...ummm...knowing that you need to change your sheets...I like to keep an eye on the pillowcases....smeared makeup is usually a solid clue that I need to get serious about my sheets.  I know that something doesn't smell right, if my cat comes over and attempts to bury it with invisible cat litter.  I know my eyeglass lens need to be cleaned, when I can see my fingerprints instead of the TV screen.  I mean, these are major clues.  But, I've got to be honest....my track record tells me that I know when the bread is bad...but not the relationship.  God, it would be great if the person got really moldy and started to smell...get out now...it's not like you can trim the mold off a person without a prison sentence, anyway.

I guess I'll know, maybe, because it will be like that saying "when one door closes...then a window opens"....I'm just concerned that I will bloody myself on the brick wall between the closing door and the open window, all the while saying, "ow...that didn't hurt", before I crawl over the window pane.  That's the way that I have always done things.  I'm not making light of yesterday's post, but it does make sense that I make a lot of my decisions based on the level of pain involved.  Something tells me that it's not supposed to work that way.  Every moment of my life is not ideal right now, but the only pain that I have been feeling this past year has definitely been self-inflicted....I have no one to blame but myself.

I do think my radar is a bit whacked though....I'm truly concerned that I need to reconfigure how I decide what relationships and paths are good for me....I need to look at why I always feel that I should defend, explain and apologize everything about myself....you know, your list only gets longer the older you are....Oh, that line that shows up with online dating "must not have baggage"....what BS....everybody is dragging around a Samsonite...at least one.  So, if I know this, logically, why would I need to apologize?  As long as I don't trip the person with the luggage or smack them in the head with it...with the right person, we could have suitcase end tables.  I have friends that have Bedazzled theirs...you know, made the most of it...made it more attractive...

Maybe, that's it...if the other person or path I am taking appropriately matches my newly Bedazzled "suitcase" and they are sitting directly on the other side of that open window, I don't need to bang my head on that brick wall or pulled at the closed door knob.  How will I know that we are Bedazzeled the same, though?

It's times like this that I'm really glad that I have my two cats. I better take them on this journey.   While I struggle to answer this question, if the situation starts to smell bad, they will cover it up with invisible litter.

I may not know, but they sure do.