I'm happier than...

I'm happier than I have ever been, and so...why do I feel like I could cry any minute? Why couldn't the happiness have come around years and years ago? Why did it take so long to find this happiness? Will the happiness last? Will it last long enough? Will it grow old with me? What would I change though? I wouldn't change, because I have wonderful daughters and a husband and family and friends and moments and memories.

ima...gin...ation

Originally written on November 4, 2011 and updated on January 9, 2012

Gin was my Mother's last remaining sibling. She passed away in the middle of the night on Sunday, January 8, 2012.

When I was little, my family spent summer days at Joslin Lake with my Barth cousins. On one of those afternoons, as I was sitting in the shallow water making mud pies, I was also watching my older cousins and siblings as they were standing on their heads farther in the lake. I didn't know that you couldn't breathe underwater, but I sure tried to stand on my head in the lake that day. In my yellow, ruffled, polka-dot bikini, I floundered and flopped around and most likely swallowed a minnow along with some yummy lake water. Uncle Bob snatched me out of the water and took me into the cottage, where my Mother and Aunt dried me off and tried to calm me. Aunt Gin asked me what I saw under the water, and I stuttered, "N-n-n-nothing" to which she replied, "Why...I bet you saw an Octopus under there. Did you see an Octopus?" I thought about it, nodded my head, said yes, and giggled.  Within minutes, we had turned that Octopus into a purple one.

That was the beginning of my imaGINation...
and my lifelong repartee with Aunt Virginia. Every time I walked toward her, my goal was to make her laugh.

I could not make her laugh the morning of November 4, 2011, but I had hoped that my constant commenting eased whatever physical or emotional pain she was in. 

During my final visit with Gin on Friday, January 6, 2012, I sat next to her for about 15 minutes and calmly babbled about this and that. I believe that she could hear me and understand me, because when I told her that I left Skip in the car, like a dog, she reacted by softly laughing, but it was that laugh of hers that said, "Oh, Mary!" 

There was a hospice worker in the room with us, and she was rubbing scented oil on Gin's feet to calm her while some medication worked its magic. So, I told the Octopus in Joslin Lake story to them both and then told my Aunt...my Godmother...that I would remember that story always...I will remember her always. 

a bare light bulb

Today...Heaven is a one-room apartment over a downtown greasy spoon, with just a table and a chair, and a bare light bulb swinging from the ceiling.

RIP Ike.

I met Ike in 1987 when I was a silly college girl, and I loved him. I like to think of Ike as a strong, smart, stoic man with a fine sense of humor. He said over and over that how I describe Heaven above would be his ideal place to stay.

Memories of summer mornings at the bakery with donuts and coffee and afternoons at the Siena ballpark fill my head. We had great conversations, just the two of us, about all sorts of things. And of course, in the last 10 or so years, he read what he could about autism and shared interesting bits with me. I appreciated that interest.

And of course, I will never forget when Grandpa Ike and Grandma Ruth came to Chelsea for a visit several years ago. Hannah and Grandpa Ike went to town to pick up sandwiches from ZouZous. While they were out and about, my wonderful friend Constance called me to say that she was in town and just saw Hannah with an older man that she didn't recognize and was Hannah supposed to be in town with this man. I assured her that Hannah was with her Grandpa. Grandpa Ike loved that my friend had called and that I had people all over watching out for my girls! Ike talked about that call every time he came for a visit since then, and he always chuckled about it!

Grandpa Ike passed away last night a little before 8 p.m. Hannah and I were lucky enough to make it to Mishawaka on Friday evening to talk with Ike for about an hour or so before the morphine, etc., began to help ease his pain and help him ease away. How honored I feel that we could be there with him and hear his quick wit and gentlemanly manners one more time on this earth. His sons, grandchildren, and even a great-grandchild came to his side. Those who could make it were blessed to feel his love, moved to distract him from his failing body, and lucky to hear him say that he was ready and at peace. (I think that Ike also appreciated anyone who helped family get to him on Friday.)

He said some very nice things about me to me. He didn't have to do that...that he did is a testament to the man that he was.

He thanked me. (I have no words to describe the feelings.)

Life is short. Make time for and peace with your family and friends. I did my best to foster a good relationship with Ike and Ruth, but I do have the regret that perhaps I could have done better. Losing someone is always such a revelation...like a bare light bulb.

House chapter

It's funny how that house was my house for 8 years, but it seems so in the past to me now.

When I walked through yesterday, I could see my girls running, playing, dancing. I could see birthday parties and Christmas trees.

I am grateful for it...I stood there on my own, but with support from family and friends.

When I walk through my new home, I already remember my daughters here. I can see parties and Christmas trees to come.

I am grateful...to stand next to Skip.

Gratitude Journal

I'm reading a book that suggests a gratitude journal. So, I'm thinking about spending a little bit of time on that and a little less web-surfing. Of course, this gratitude journal is strictly selfish. The gist is that if you give gratitude that you will in turn feel better about yourself. So, to start things off as honestly as possible, I give gratitude for me! Because I am absolutely awesome.

Uncle Harold...It was time.

Uncle Harold passed away sometime before 5 a.m. (It was time.) When my Mother called to tell me, I knew what the early morning call was. Fr. Bill was there last night to provide Last Rites. I am glad that he was able to make it on Ash Wednesday.

I stopped to visit Uncle Harold yesterday for just about 5 minutes or so. It seemed like a long time. It was strange that his chair in the living room was empty. He couldn't get out of bed yesterday. For a lifetime gentleman farmer not to get out of bed in the morning, you know something is different. I met two Hospice workers and his caregiver, and my Mom and my Aunt were there.

I didn't have much time. (It was time.)

In his home hospital bed, Uncle Harold was curled on his right side facing the wall...to the north. My Mom started to tell me that Fr. Bill would be coming and something that the Hospice ladies had said. Uncle Harold "said" something. It was audibly something between a mumble and a grunt, but I knew it had to have been something witty. He had humor to the end. I said to him, "Oh, it's all right," and he quieted. He could hear us; I know it.

When the Hospice workers were getting ready to go, my Mom left the room to see them out.

I had some things to say, but I could not say it all. I have always been cheerful and entertaining with Uncle Harold. I did not want him to hear the tears in my voice. I leaned over Uncle Harold and whispered, "I love you, Uncle Harold, I love you." His change in breathing and physical reaction told me that he heard. I said that I couldn't stay, that Soph was in the Jeep waiting to go to music, and I started for the door. Then I turned around, touched his shoulder, and said, "We will meet again." He relaxed.

You see, for years, when I left a visit, I would say, "See you later!" and he would retort, "Are you sure?"

Uncle Harold is 96 years old. Or is that was now? (It was time.)

He was 52 years old when I was born. I am 44. He lived a whole lifetime before I knew him, and then he lived another.

I remember...

...him throwing me up into the air and catching me.
...standing over the heat register at the Farm.
...swerving toward me in his truck when I was walking down the road.
...driving the tractor while I sat on the wheel fender.
...standing in my Mom's living room doorway every night around 6 p.m. for a visit.
...him jumping out of the red International truck to pick up rocks while I "drove" it.
...ushering for years with my Dad at church.
...living next door for as long as I can remember.
...his calm, his wit, his laughter.

He was a good, gentle, sweet man.

I might seem like a good niece. I would once in a while stop and visit him in the morning before I would go to work. But in reality, I was stopping for me. He was so funny, so calm, had such a sweet demeanor. He would, without trying or even knowing, give me a better attitude, a happier start to my day when perhaps I was feeling overwhelmed or angry about something in my life.

What else I wanted to say, but could not: I have fond memories of you, and I will remember you, and I will miss you. But...

(It was time.)

Mother

A family poem copied and shared here to tell my cousin Patty how much I love her!

Amid anxiety, pain and fear,
She gave us life that we hold dear,
She watched us open baby eyes
And crooned us restful lullabies.
Our moods and smiles she understood
And saw us pass from babyhood
Into the realm of budding years
With mingled joy and pride and tears.

She taught us little words and talk
And coached us as we learned to walk,
She kissed our little bumps and aches
And eased our hearts of fancied breaks,
Our way she smoothed with doting care,
As climbed upward life's great stair
And gazed in awe at all the world,
As, lo its wonder were unfurled.

Then, as in years we older grew,
Her guiding hand was present, too,
And when our urge arrived to mate
And build a home beyond her gate,
She sat alone with memories
Of romping tots and pleasantries.
And then, content--her life complete
She journeyed on, her God to meet.

by: Henry James Mullen

This poem was presented with the compliments of the author, on the occasion of his 90th Birthday on July 20, 1969.

Henry was my Mother's Mother's Brother or Patty's Father's Mother's Brother.

When Patty said how she missed her Mom today, I thought of Sandy's heartfelt laugh, and then I thought of Patty's Dad, my Uncle Bob and how he laughed and called me Little Mary. I have many memories of Uncle Bob sitting in his wheelchair on the farm porch, which made me think of my one memory of Uncle Henry, sitting in a wheelchair on the porch at the farm.I just knew that Uncle Henry must have written a poem about Mothers, because we Barths...we love our Moms! No matter what happens in this world, the lives of family intertwine and mingle and our spirits dance around in our hearts forever joining us, healing us, being a part of us.

Absentee Blogger Ballott

This blogger has been absent, because:

a. she fell down a hill.
b. she fell off the grid.
c. she fell into a movie.
d. she fell in love.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but the heart growing fonder makes the blogger go absent. I am so much in love that I haven't had to blog. Blogging gave me a chance to speak my mind and my heart to someone who would listen, but now I have a real live man who listens to me, who loves me, who laughs with me. I never in a million years believed that such a wonderful man existed. He makes me be better. And that's a difficult task, because I was darn good to begin.

Autism: Lancet Rant

Friend: I am not taking one side or another, but do you know anything about the Lancet?
Mary: sure...I know all about it.
Friend: what do you know about it
Mary: world's leading general medical journal
Friend: well there are lots of different ones, but when I was in Neurology it was really respected. I just want to make sure you know it is not just a tabloid. It goes back and rechecks research and is one of the few that will say "Hey we made a mistake with analyzing the research" I cant imagine sometimes your life Mary, but try to keep an open mind. I had physicians - some of which I really respected - others that I mocked - that swore by the research it reports.
Friend: Different specialties of the Lancet http://www.thelancet.com/
Mary: I know all about the Lancet.
Mary: so in another 10 years, when they come back and say someone else paid for the research to discredit Wakefield. what then?
Mary: research is big business
Mary: autism is now becoming big business
Mary: it's not business
Mary: it's my life
Friend: I am sorry Mary. I just wanted to try to give you information. That's all. I didn't mean to get you upset.
Friend: I understand your life.
Mary: You didn't upset me. I already posted it on my facebook earlier today.
Mary: that autism is becoming chic (HBO movie) and the business of controversy (doctors blaming parents and parents blaming doctors) angers me
Mary: all the research does is try to place blame...
Mary: and none of that helps my Sophie
Friend: Oh, I agree. why do drs. blame parents... what possibly?
Mary: for the most part...doctors have god complexes or at the very least huge egos
Mary: and the nice ones? they don't want to hurt people...that's not why they became doctors.
Friend: Of course
Mary: so, they can't conceive that the vaccines are harmful
Friend: They are trained to trust
Mary: Have you gotten a shot lately? Have you read ALL that could go wrong? So, why can't they believe that something perhaps they don't know about could also go wrong?
Friend: When they are in med school, they don't know the chaos of the research. They evolve when they go through their residencies and internships and fellowships. And the drug companies are the biggest sinners. Someday, you'll know my path.
Friend: I got my yrly flu and the HINI.
Friend: but believe, me I am counting on a higher power to change things. The FDA is the biggest sinner on the planet
Mary: I got the Hep shots before going to Punta Cana...I could not let my Mom read all that could go wrong. I could feel that stuff going through me.
Friend: Well, you survived. I am proud of you! The contaminants have exited by now and you wouldn't have that time with your sister....
Friend I'll let you go, as always, I am praying for you and your beautiful family!
Mary: I know! Same goes for you!

Monday de-Motivation

How do I get motivated?

For a while there, my alarm would ring, and I would jump out of bed, put the dog out and in, and then walk for 30 minutes on the treadmill, do some chores, and then get the girls and me ready for our days. Now, I can barely get out of bed. I have both my regular alarm and my phone alarm set each weekday morning. I never used to sleep in on the weekends. And yet, I make it a point to go to Mass on Saturday evenings, just so I can sleep in another day. (I guess getting to Mass is a good thing though.)

I think that I'm just worn out. 43 years and worn out. Really? Uncle Harold is 95, and his body is just now wearing out.

Maybe I need to stop and see him more often. He does provide great insight into a vast number of things. Knowing that I will more than likely not live that long...maybe that should motivate me to do something of worth? something of value?

But then...who would wash the dishes and the laundry and sweep and vacuum and water the plants and feed the dog and the people? I do a lot. Not that I need constant validation, but no one in my current household appreciates anything that I do. It's just expected from both my teen and my autistic. I am there to serve them.

My Dad...at 83...that would have been nice

My Dad would have been 83 years old tomorrow. He died a little less than 10 years ago. He's been absent 23% of my life, and yet I miss him terribly. He was a huge part of my Sophie's life, and yet she's just 11 years old. How can that be? I think of her as a baby, and I see her in his arms. I think about how different certain things would be if he were still around. Would Sophie be able to talk? Would Hannah be happier...feel a little less abandoned by her idiot father with her Grandpa's arms wrapped around her? Would my Mom have it a little easier? Would holidays be a little more, well...more? I am sad.

I miss him...

when I drive north up Lima Center from Scio Church at night, the route he sometimes took home from work at midnight.

when I see an usher at church struggle slightly when rising from genuflecting.

when I pull into my Mom's driveway, I can still see him carrying an old coffee can full of chicken feed over to the hen house.

when I fix anything with duct tape or a paper clip!

stew, pancakes, rhubarb, or asparagus

when Hannah wears the red Gap sweatshirt I bought for him.

coffee and donuts after Sunday Mass

word searches and solitaire

the way he patted my hand

I can see him sitting at the kitchen table with his funny glasses at the end of his nose and his old ratty white undershirt and too small sweatpants and his crazy uncombed hair.

damn...I miss that old man.

Christmas 2009

Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth; that can transport the sailor and the traveler, thousands of miles away, back to his own fire-side and his quiet home! ~ Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers, 1836

I find that quote particularly appropriate this Christmas since I feel young at heart even though my children are growing up and when so many friends and family are not in the area to celebrate with us on this Christmas Day. I thank God for all who are within reach at this time and also for those in our hearts!

May the spirit of Christmas bring you peace,
The gladness of Christmas give you hope,
The warmth of Christmas grant you love.
~Author Unknown

Another busy year at work with another new territory to explore, and I expect the same to be true in 2010 as well. Last January, I traveled to sunny San Diego and plan to go to Orlando next month for a couple of days. These work trips are inside conference rooms without any time for fun out and about. Last Spring though, I was lucky enough to travel to Punta Cana with my Sister and some great people from work for an all-fun trip! Too many great activities to list, but Michelle is a great zip-liner, and I am a great beach-lounger!

Hannah has jumped right into 9th grade…high school! Busy, busy. She’s joined the workforce with a couple of great babysitting gigs. She babysat last night, spent the night at a friend’s, went to the bakery to listen to my friends sing Christmas songs this morning, went skating with friends at the ice rink in the afternoon, attended Mass with Grandma, and will babysit again later tonight. Hannah plans to play soccer in the Spring, and looks forward to some pre-season coaching from a friend of mine. So far, she has taken a different art class each term and is thinking of a career in the art field. Maybe she’ll attend Siena like her Mom & Aunt? Whatever she decides to do, she’ll be amazing!

Sophie is loving 6th grade. Some mornings, she pulls me along, while she runs down the sidewalk and across the street to the school. She swims 4 days a school-week when possible and loves the water. Still no words on a regular basis, but in November, Sophie said "Love Mama." Hannah heard it too! Who knows if Sophie will ever say it again, but it was truly music to my ears and in my heart. Sophie’s current favorite movie is The Little Mermaid. I think because of all the swimming and singing and that Ariel gets her voice back! She plays that part over and over again.

Happy, happy Christmas! May Christmas bring you spirit of peace, gladness of hope, and warmth of love that lasts through the New Year!

Love, Mary, Hannah, Sophie, and Rascal too!

Purple beads

Dear friend,

I've been thinking of you! I'm sorry that things perhaps are not going the way that you want and hope right now. When things get particularly tough, just remember to take a moment to thank God for all that He has given you, for that act of kindness when your day is going rough, or the memory of a you and a friend, or the sound of your children laughing. It is in these simple things that I can sometimes find the strength I need.

Last Saturday night, I took Sophie to the grocery store. Actually, she demanded it. She didn't pick out too many snacks, and so I knew she was really focused on getting to the frozen food aisle. I dread that row that encases those delightful ice creams. I try to get Sophie out of Polly's with no more than one container. She went straight for the plastic bag full of serving-size-vanillas. Then, I said, "just one" over and over, as I try to block her path, but am always fearful that her 165-pounds will go right through a glass door. While I am picturing in my frazzled head what I will do if she is surrounded by broken shards of glass, she slides behind me for the rectangle of pistachio, which I don't think she even really likes, but favors the color green right now. "Just one, just one," I repeat. Deaf ears! She wants and grabs a round quart of vanilla. I manage to return the vanilla quart without a major tantrum, which can include throwing herself to the floor. I can no longer pick her up, and so I do what I can so that I don't have to try. I grab her arm and hurry her down and around the corner. We pick up milk, bread, yogurt, and then I think..."How will I ever get her back past the frozen aisle to the check-out lane?" Out of the corner of my eye, I see that someone...something has caught Sophie's attention. The most beautiful sight! There was my friend's sister...your sister...with the most sparkly purple and gold mardi gras beads wrapped around her neck. Ice cream...no more! Sophie had eyes only for those purple beads. (Purple is also one of her favorite colors right now too.) Your sister was gracious enough to give Sophie a strand of her purple beads, even before the words had been said, "Hi, Sophie really likes your beads...the purple ones." Sophie was laughing at her twirling purple before we checked out...more ice cream forgotten!

Her act of kindness and Sophie's laughter eased my trip to the store, but it is the love I have for friends like you when I think of you, when I see your family, that gives me strength and reminds me of all that God has given me...my family and friends.

Anyway, I have been thinking of you. If you need anything, you just need to say.

Love, Mary

Sometimes, a dog is just a dog, and sometimes not

(My friend just got a new dog, and she blogged about memories and the way this new dog stirs her. I started to comment on her post, but then the words and thoughts grew too many.)

I had to put my beloved Tyler the dog down about a year after my Dad died, I think. I loved that old dog. When I sat holding him while he passed from this world, I cried. I wrapped him in a blanket and took him home. It comforts me to know that he came home with me. Of course, I stayed with him through to the end.

He always stayed with me. He sat beside me and comforted me when I was in labor, when no one else was there...when my then-current husband was either at work for the first pregnancy or boffing his girlfriend during my second pregnancy.

Sometimes, a dog seems like a lot of work - the never-ending circle of let me out and let me in over and over - and the constant barking, whining, crying to be included in every aspect of family life. Isn't that like any relationship though? It's work, sometimes harder than you want, but sometimes great fun. Just because the dog is sometimes annoying, irritating, sassy, you don't give up. You can yell at a dog, and he still comes running back to you full of hope and love in his eyes. Maybe some people should just have a dog?

Of course, people who are bad with people might also be bad with dogs. Dogs are practice children. They are responsibility without too much worry. My ex loves my current dog, pets him, plays with him. Too bad for the ex that he hasn't seen Rascal in 14 months. Maybe some people will never understand? Maybe some people shouldn't even have a dog?

My dog gives and gives and gives even more. I love that old dog!

monotony and chaos

Ever feel like everyone else is out having fun and you're trapped in a hell of monotony and chaos?

Ever cry uncontrollably because you cannot manage to do the same thing over and over and over again?

It's not just doing the dishes every day. It's washing dishes, having the phone ring, leaving the kitchen to answer the phone, returning to find dirty dishes mixed with the clean ones drying.

It's not just the laundry. It's doing the laundry, only to find piles and piles more on your daughter's floor.

It's not just sweeping the floor. It's sweeping the floor, leaving the room for 5 minutes, and returning to find half a box of Special K on the floor and the rest on the table.

Death and Birth and all between

Well, I imagine that poor Harold is buried by now. He was a son, husband, father, and grandfather, at the young age of 41. I'm tired of seeing young men, lying in a box. It's too sad to see his wife, hugging, crying, begging for emotional comfort. I offered what I could: a hug and my daughter as a babysitter, if she needs. It's so not enough. And that's why I'll pray for her...for the strength she needs to bear it and the strength that she needs to persevere and the strength she needs to feel truly alive again.

Death, as much as I feel for the people closest to those lost, it makes me think of my own life and those in it. Time is slipping faster and faster by. There is so much to do, to be, to live. Should I prioritize? Should I grasp at all of it...the gusto? Should I just appreciate the ebb and flow of my everyday existence? Seek the joy in the simple? Enjoy what people come my way?

Too sad was the despair and ending last night. I needed to teeter-totter it. So, I looked for hope and beginning and found a brand new baby. He smiled, cooed, and made all sorts of baby noises...some not so pleasant. I offered what I could to him and accepted from his expressive eyes the simple, true love of a baby.

I guess how we start out life is how we continue through it. There's struggle in life, in every relationship-no matter how simple or complex, but the love we share during makes it all delightful. I am happy.

The Old Man and the Sign

My Dad sent me a sign tonight. It was Rodney.
When I visit my Dad at the cemetery, I chat with him a bit, walk over to the older relatives, back to my Dad, and then I glance over to Rodney and wave. Tonight, when I asked for a sign, which I always do, the Old Man made me really look at Rod's headstone.

July 31, 1999

10 years is a long time, but it really seems like yesterday.

I was just telling a co-worker today about Rodney, because she lost a young friend in an accident this week. Too sad.

I still remember that Saturday afternoon. My parents, Hannah, and a brother were at a picnic. I was about to join them, but got a call from Sister Helen (Rod's aunt). There'd been a farm accident and to pray. I walked up and down that sidewalk at my folks' house, carrying baby Sophie, whispering Hail Mary after Hail Mary.

Well, my prayers were answered, but not how I wanted, if that makes sense. Rod was called to Heaven. Some might argue where he went, but I know. He left a daughter and a woman who had loved him, and I was lucky enough to get to know those special girls after Rod passed.

I wasn't always nice enough to Rodney. Anyone who knew him knew it was sometimes hard to be nice though. Boy, he could tease me. One time, when we were teenagers, he made me so mad that I snatched his hat off his head and threw it on top of my parents' house. People laughed. He laughed, but I think I hurt his feelings, for which now I am sorry. He was just a boy to me...always.

Fast forward...at my wedding reception, where smoking was prohibited (Yes, even then, I was vehement!), Rod lit up. I told him off, but that didn't change anything. What a character! And then he made me feel so loved. He told my new husband that if he ever hurt me, he would be sorry, very sorry. He probably pounded his fist or something like that, and I'm sure gave him a very scary look to which I replied with my own scary look back at him, but no one could make him behave and secretly, I was pleased. I am sure that Rod would have carried out that threat if I had asked him, but I didn't want him to get into trouble. (And the ex-husband is "sorry" enough on his own!)

Rod was a good ol' boy until the end of his life...in many ways, but in the most obvious way to me, he was a boy in his heart, but trapped in a troubled body and hurt spirit. He's better now, easier now, content. But now, when a storm goes through, it's not God bowling; it's Rod thundering through, watering the crops, using those powerful feelings for good.

Life may have been hard for him at times, but he enjoyed it the best that he could. Someone reminded me tonight about Rod's laughter...

Can't you hear him laughing with us right now?

I can. He had a laugh. Man, he had a laugh. And I know I made him laugh a time or two.

After the funeral, they gave me something to remember him, not that I could ever, ever forget my lifetime friend, that boy that grew up down the road. They gave me a hat...a seed farm hat. I'm not sure that they remembered the hat incident, but I do. And I know that Rod got them to give it to me. I keep it at my Mom's on the top shelf of the closet in the spare room, because I just want to keep it. Keep it there. Keep it safe.

I know that Rod is one of my guardian angels. And now...I've gone through at least a dozen Kleenex. My eyes are swollen, and I'll have a crying headache tomorrow. I hope Rod knows that I would not do that, that crying, for just anyone.

So, where was my Dad trying to point me?

Embrace life. Don't be afraid to enjoy who comes into your life. The people in your life are what makes it wonderful and special and meaningful.

So, that's not exactly how the Old Man would have said it, but more like...

You do what you have to do.

And he probably would have added...

Oh...just get along with people.

And for good measure, Pop would have thrown in...

Are those your pajamas you're wearing out of the house?

He thought everything I wore in the 80s were pajamas. (I'm too sad. I gotta end on funny.)

I love Rodney. He is in my heart.

Murgatroyd?

Sometimes, I get so frustrated with all that I have to do, I just cuss out loud. I don't need anyone to come running and do anything. I just need to cuss. It varies, depending on my mood. I have some favorites...none of which are all that nice. Sometimes, it's just an argh! I'm going to try to switch is to something funny...maybe distracting, like Heavens to Murgatroyd?

Maybe it's stress-induced Tourette's?

Yearning...Bolt or Sun?

Yearning? What makes you yearn for someone? Yearning implies tenderness. But is it physical? Does it hit you like lightning? Or is it the emotional sun rising like a beacon?

That pang, that ache, that want...when the person walks away. That desire to lean toward him as he gets farther away and pull him back toward you. To safety, to make you safe. This pull...this electricity. How do you know if the current runs both ways? Does it strike just one and not the other? What if this strike sets you back or spins you around? Are these feelings real? Are you feeling the lightning just to feel the lightning? Real feelings? Do they come about like the sun rising? Slow, colorful, warm, bright, shiny, breathtaking...

Is yearning a response to a general loneliness? Is it just this specific person? Or could it be any person? I don't remember ever feeling this particular kind of yearning before...ever before. This need to be close, just near him.

When I hear him, I can breathe easier.

When I am near him, I cannot breathe.

That doesn't make sense, but it feels good, right, true.

Is yearning an addiction? I can't seem to get enough. Every bit, I enjoy though. Can you truly be happy with what is offered and not want more? Want what you want?

If I am lucky to get more or even luckier to get enough, will enough be enough? Or will I want something else? Do we always need to yearn? Or is there a satisfaction in having what you have? In loving what you love? In being loved back? Is the grass always greener? Or do I have patience enough to nurture my little corner of the world?

Is this a bolt of lightning that only I can see and feel? Or is it the sun...out there where everyone can see the shine and feel the warmth?

If it ever becomes real, will I bolt like lightning? Or will I be rooted in the soil of love and trust and warmth of the sun?

(I might need a bucket of friends to step in...to keep me still.)

Get Motivated...to deal with past heartache

On the way to a Get Motivated seminar, the most innocent thing can cause such despair and pain and loss. But there is a place and time to feel those things and deal with those feelings. So, I made a deal then...with myself. Hold it in. Contain it. Push it down. Deal later. Dealing now...

I spent an afternoon at the corner of Jolly and Hagadorn Roads with that red barn some 12 years ago. Then, it was an antique dealer. It might still be, but I couldn't look that way for long this week. Just a glance brought back so much. It filled me up until my eyes were wet and I spoke softly.

Just about a year before Sophie arrived, I miscarried. It was "just" a blighted ovum, but she was also my child, and I had hopes and dreams for her. She has a name; I gave her Regan. Regan means regal or royal, and she seemed to be in a hurry to get to the Kingdom of God. So, it worked.

After the doctor appointment where she was removed from my aching heart, my husband (at that time) took me to that antique store on the corner there to take my mind off things. I wandered around, looking around, not seeing anything, but trying to mend the hole in my heart.

Although the sadness of that day doesn't overwhelm me now when I think about it, because without that baby turning into my angel then, I would not have my Sophie now! I know that she is the guardian angel for my two earth angels. But...being there, at that place where I felt so much sadness, even just driving by it, caught me off guard and filled me with the despair of that Autumn day almost 12 years ago.

I didn't want to go by again...thanks to the driver for understanding, for accommodating me without question. We didn't go by again. I didn't want to feel that way. No one should.