Please let the first day of change stick this time-

There is a day of contemplation- of finding the twists and turns and being so very angry at the people that lead you the wrong way while telling you they love you. Then you become ashamed that you listened to them instead of yourself. You trusted them instead of your inner voice screaming. You notice how it paralyzes you completely. The frustrations of friends and family feed the shame. You tune them out to get it together. You know in your brain that what they think doesn't matter when they only know a small potion of the story. But you heart knows it does. It's been more nearly half your life since you have been your own soul- potions here and there along the way, but not completely- not in 25 years- more than half your life- because of those wrong turns taken by people who believed they were doing the right thing comparing you, goading you, admitting they lead you purposely wrongly then wondering why you felt helpless and hopeless. You have a day like that and you start cleaning out your dresser. You throw out the threadbare and stained and too small shirts that have always been there. You finally throw them out. You don't have to keep them, just because they have always been there. You get rid of the shirts you should keep because they are good shirts and will keep you warm- doesn't matter if you hate the style. You get rid of those. You start folding what's left and it's surprising when you find a shirt you absolutely loved, you feel sexy in and it actually looks good on you. How could you have forgotten you favorite shirt, crammed and wadded under the ones long overdue to be throw out, gotten rid of, given back, just gone? Look at all that room for your favorite shirt- that makes you feel like you- that you now remember-

Time to Grow up

I have to turn down another job offer because of cash flow. I am not amused. I'm pissed as hell. I hate being a grown up and having to think so much of the bottom line. I am encouraged to keep looking- to find the job when I feel productive and satisfied. I did. And I have to turn it down because it is half the hourly rate , AND half the hours. I'm the money and I have these boys to make sure have a better life than I did. I have to make sure they learn to push themselves- to take advantage of every ounce of education they can squeeze out of every brain they find. I have to make sure they don't grow up like me and one day decide "Today I will grow old because I can no longer dream or hope for something better for myself". I was never taught these things. I did not have anyone to believe in me, to talk to, to guide me. And now that I am lost, I will have to be their guide. It's too late for me. I will stay at my current employ. I will grow old and humorless, but by God they will not be like me. Patrick said he wanted to be like me when he was about 4 years old. He said I was strong- like a mermaid. When he was older he said if he were a hero, he would be a child of Athena. I have no idea who he is talking about. I had to give up being that person. Today, I am no hero. Today, I got old and grew up. No more dreams for me, just for them.

Body Talk

I suited up in my rapier armor for the first time in a very long time. It took a great deal of effort. A full time desk job has taken a huge toll on my body. I fit in want ever exercise I can, when I can. Sometimes. We had started P90-X, stuck with it for 3 straight weeks and I was starting to feel and see results, not only in how I looked, but in how powerful and in control of my own body I felt. It was easy to stop and hard to start again for one simple reason.
I hate all exercise videos. Using one is an unequal compromise. Videos (and gyms, for that matter) can't help me. Self image is the same as faith- the intent determines the outcome. It taints or tints it.
When I put in a video, there is no real goal to me. The movements feel purposeless. I focus on feel the burn and pain. I feel compared and unsuccessful. At the end of it, I have gone no where. My scenery hasn't changed. My body is tainted with the feeling that I have wasted my time. I can not perceive that I have actually done anything. And my efforts at fitness are only marginally successful.
When I ride my bike, I focus on reaching and pushing- make it to the top despite the burn and the pain. I have a tangible goal to focus on. When I climb up a boulder, or a waterfall, when I hit the target 10 times in a row, when I set out and I get there, achievement tints my self image. The body that follows shows that. I had always maintained that a muscles made from baling hay were far more sexy than the ones from a gym. The goal tints them. Makes them shine.
I am not a body builder. I know for some the reps and quantity are the goal. It plain old isn't so with me.
Climb every mountain
Swim every sea
I have conflict because my full time job means precious little time with family and even less to do things like mow the lawn. It is hard to walk away from my moments with them. There has got to be a way for a mom to find balance. And be forgiven for doing so.

I took the boys shopping for Arin's birthday tonight. I had one of those "we have to go home NOW" moments which is usually caused by just being at Walmart. I thought nothing of it and we headed home. I was getting ready to turn on our street, when I noticed a light blue car with its hazards on. Usually when I see that and are not in a position for helping a break down, I think "Sucks. Hope someone can help" but this time I slowed down. The train was coming near and the noise startled a huge and still young red tail hawk that was obviously wounded on the bike trail along Atlanta Road. I said "He's trying to help and we are too", pulled into the parking lot on the corner. I pulled out my phone and called Arin. Here's where we are. Here's what's going on. Call Hugh now and find out the best way to handle this. The hawk freaked out trying desperately to fly across the road. Traffic slammed on it's breaks and let it pass. The first young man and I planned. He called animal control. I told them I had Hugh on alert. Arin drove down with his CERT kit. Patch and I approached slow and low to discourage her going back into the street. More people stopped. Locals came from the doors. She scooted away from us into a vacant lot. Much better a vacant lot than so close to the busy road. First man went to get a plastic kennel at his house. An older couple gave us a fleece packing blanket for better protection than the old towels that we had, and all the phone numbers for Chattahoochee Nature center and the Dep't of Natural Resources. Another young couple stopped- she works with non raptor exotics. Patrick became nervous when he saw the beak and talons close up and opted out of the rescue. The boys walked to Jackie's house, I made a myriad of phone calls to find aid and rehab, while Arin and 7 strangers who never got around to introducing themselves waited for the bird to relax enough to tighten the ring, drape her, then corral her. I gave my cards to folks so we could give reports on this strange bonding of people we might not ever see again. We were able to take our momentary guest to the Cobb Emergency Veterinary Clinic on Cobb Parkway. They already had another hawk from earlier. I hope she can be returned to the wild. All of us strangers are from the same general area. We are all used to seeing the hawks fly above our homes. We do not know each other, but in her way, that bird knows us all. I'll miss her until she is better.

The boys got to stay up late tonight and go with us to the vet clinic. It's a unique opportunity and they go to see it through to the end of our ability. Arin told them to remember all those people who stopped to lend a hand. They saw there was need and took time out of their days to help when they didn't have to for the betterment of something other than themselves. That's the kind of thing heroes do.

You know what? We're that kind of people too.

3 am again, no 4 am rant

The middle of the night is the only time I feel like I have myself to myself. It is also the worst time to write, or sew and expect to be able to go to work the next day. Well crap.
Sometimes I come home for lunch just to be alone for 15 minutes. Even if the family all backs off and know Mom's in time out, their enerigies are there. My darling love is wondering and reaching out to me with his heart- it is not the same as just being alone to recharge, to find restful peace before starting it all at full bore again. I keep telling myself, because others keep telling me- there is always tomorrow, or next week- and it fills me with rage.
Later is the kind of thinking that has it all ending up being too late in the end. I've spent too much time waiting. I have full faith in all of you to be able to figure it out. Leave me to me. I don't want to go out. I want to stay here, alone. And when I come out in 3 or 4 or 8 or 12 hours, it will have helped and I won't resent being needed, or the being the only one who knows what to do. As much. The thing with moms needed to take time for themselves is something we know in a full "no Shit" capacity. It's everyone else who needs to respect that fact, and give it to us. I don't feel that this need is respected by anyone. Otherwise, they would not tell me to just do it tomorrow, or next week. And if I had that feeling about making dinner......? It's starting to sound like a reasonable idea to pack up the sewing room and let the boys have it for play room. I'm not using it and they could. And it makes me sad that I feel like my need to have my own kind of recreation feels so disrespected that it does sound like such a reasonable idea. I packed it all into the attic before when the boys were all in diapers. It cracked my heart a little each day to see what was such a part of me having to be ignored. It was less painful to put it all out of sight and forget how it felt to feel peaceful creation. There was a bit of release when I did that- like when I mowed over the gardens, or decided to stop clearing the work benches- a relief that I didn't have to be sad about it anymore because it was gone. And I stare at the TV doing nothing and feeling like I don't know anything anymore. Worse part is, I can see the same broken heart behind the eyes of the boys about the things they used to love. No time or soul to play baseball with Patrick, teach Richard to sew, play music, rock climb, draw, paint, build- I don't even know what they like anymore. I don't know any of us anymore it seems. It makes me very sad that this is the only kind of writing I can come up with because of the emotional, mental, and spiritual log jam feels iced over with no signs of spring in sight. Even more so that I have to rant and demand to get respected time alone. That feels dirty- not at all helpful or healing. I don't remember the last time I relaxed- that I was not in full speed ahead mode. I some how think if I get what needs to get done, then I will have time for myself to enjoy the things that being me peace- as long as no one else needs something from me, even if it is just love. I'm tapped out and it's hard work to scrape the inside of that barrel. Me, what I do, my time, does not feel important enough in others minds. I want to run away from home. Or change the locks, albeit temporarily. So this is Purgatory-
There's always next week, I'm told.

Back to bed. Being so worn out will not help my defeated feeling. It only makes it worse. I had a life goal to be a force of change for myself, and not a complainer. That goal is out the window tonight. I do feel better though. Thanks for listening.

Long Distance Kin

I just shot awake to find an email that my Uncle Mel did not survive the mysterious e-coli infection that cropped up last week. It went to his blood. He had polio, so anything going near his spine or brain is ever worse. Mary was by his side as much as possible. She had gone home to rest, during that time, he died.
Mary is a former nun, Mel a former priest. I don't know why either of them chose differently. They never talked about it, and I never asked. Somehow, I knew it was not because of each other though. He continued to minister on the White Apache' reservation where the called him White Man who Brings Bread. He and Mary had free passage on the res and were frequent attendees to the more private rituals.

Mel had a firm kindness about him. He was handicapped and taught college classes to handicapped individuals. If there was anyone who could actually see only a person's soul core, it was Mel. If there was ever a man who knew how to make sure a handicap was the least inconvenient possible, him also. He had an off road scooter and took the kids on a hike when we visited for the family reunion. He was good through and through.

The Last Family Reunion

July 5, 2008, edited July 4, 2010

My mom, the boys, Arin, and I had spent the morning at the Georgia Aquarium. The dash board lights lit up on the way home at the corner of Windy Hill and 41. The car was coaxed into a gas station parking lot. Tired boys and Grandma piled out into the shade while Arin popped the hood. I stared at the engine hoping it would tell me where it hurt and how to fix it. Arin called his boss to get the afternoon off, our mechanic, then AAA. This added too much to an already burdensome weekend. I was hosting the first family reunion since my father died. He was the central key of everything I felt as family. Without him, I honestly didn’t know if we had anything to hold us together. I had prayed for weeks for Dad to let us know he was with us at the reunion- if it was any way possible, please show me you hear me. Now, here I was, broken down and 37 brothers, and sisters, and cousins, and friends arriving at my front door any minute. Calls and messages for help to those siblings went unanswered, even as they drove past us. I asked Dad how to fix this. There was nothing about this easy enough for me to take care of on my own. I remembered when I got my first car. Dad hurried around the garage and handed me a bundle of random, mismatched tools. He said to always keep it with me. Even if I didn’t know how to use them, someone would always stop to help me. There are no tools in this car. I paced around as the afternoon traffic began to back up ridiculously in all directions. An accident had lanes blocked in 3 of 4 directions, cars as far as I could see in every direction. Dad, help me figure out how to get us home when no one is answering.

After a few minutes, I watched a small car cut a perfect arc through the parking lot and come to an abrupt stop in the space next to us. With speed and efficiency, a young man in fatigues got out and looked under the hood. He found nothing helpful either. He looked at the group of us and without hesitation, offered us a ride. I knew it would be ok. Arin stayed with the car, waiting for the tow truck. The rest of us climbed into the small car. The accident cleared, and the traffic backup evaporated when we pulled out. I thanked him repeatedly. He said he had a wife and kids and he would hope someone would help them if they were stranded, so it only made sense he should do the same. He was a Marine. So was my Dad for a short time. The young man began to tell me about his day. Hours earlier, he had started running late. A lost set of keys, misplaced equipment, a broke down car of his own - one inconvenience after another kept putting him further and further behind schedule until the accident on 41 infuriated him into the U-turn- the perfect arc that landed him next to us. The only reason he was right there at that time was because of his awful day. Even he saw the coincidence. He had to take care of what he felt was the reason for it.

It was hard to speak, but when we got home and I invited him and his family for our Fourth of July cookout later. He graciously declined and disappeared. I forgot his name. The enormity of the moment was too strong. I thought about my weeks of prayers to my Dad and the one sided conversation I had with him half an hour ago. I thought about the stumbling coincidences of a young soldier's day that forced his course to us in a time of need.

From the Halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli, a Marine ends up exactly where he needs to be.

Thanks for following orders.

Thanks for answering prayers.

Family time

With one exception, I am not close to those I was born to. My life and choices have been very different than my brothers and sisters, parents. I have been described, at best, as weird, at worst as dangerous. I try to force myself into a closer relationship that doesn't make me feel like myself. Since I've been in Georgia, I have had less and less communication over state lines. I came to be more of my own in that time- of what struggle and motherhood had be become. I was told I don't act like myself when my friends are around. I need to be more like myself. Truth is, I am not myself when my family is around. Our connection is on a cellular level, not a soul one. I feel the absence of what was not there. I am told I am somehow to blame. I think to much on that idea because it makes little sense to me. I'm trying to put logic to something too intangible for it. I need to understand that it is what it is. I need to understand that my siblings don't know that either.

The family reunion is next week. I have attended every one since The Big ToDo in 1992. Mom believes it has run it's course. She and every one of the 6 kids have hosted, along with the both aunts from the Watts side. She feels we have finished and there should be no more. The Watts' need not come together after this year. Her sentiments bother me very much. What bothers me more is I'm not sad about not going. My indifference is unsettling. I have no affinity with my blood kin, save my brother Kevin. The thing that binds us most is being outcasts of our nest. He has had much the same kind of life. He feels the same lacking. We spent hours trying to make sense of it or put it down. We were unsuccessful.
With Dad gone, I have little to draw me back.

I struggling to know if it's ok for me to choose to be orphaned.

Even trade

At the last family reunion, my sister ripped me up one side and down the other about deeply emotional things and was very harmful. I have not healed yet from it. She told me I had ruined my relationship with Dad. I had not kept my promises, and stopped being honest with him and refused to communicate. He had died 2 years earlier, so there is no repair. More importantly, there is no forgiveness.
A thought popped in my head less than a minute ago.
If these things about my Dad are true, then I am fucking pissed that he didn't have the balls to come to me about it. I called. I wrote letters. Not once did he lament a loss to me. The fact that I did not visit physically does not at all mean we did not communicate.
If these things are not true, then I am fucking pissed at my sister for being a liar about me and my Dad.
Either way, I have lost a member of my blood. I have gained myself by realizing it.
My truth is the truth. Don't try to describe the ocean if you've never seen it.
There is a Jimmy Buffet line for everything.