Stuck
like glue, in a fix, in the middle
Mired
deeply, thickly, immovably
Bogged down
dragged down, weighted, burdened
Held
pushed, shoved, blocked
Stayed
halted, delayed, diverted
Trapped
boxed in, jailed, removed
Caught
grabbed, tethered, tied
words that describe my life...
when will I be free'd?
Sunday, October 13
Sunday, October 6
Saturday, October 5
What If
What if he said, "I'm sorry".
What if he really, really, meant it.
What if he asked me, "Please, could you ever forgive me?"
What if he understood when I said I couldn't.
What if he said he would spend the rest of forever trying to earn it anyway...
What if he said, "I was so wrong..."
What if he meant it, really really meant it.
What if he told me all the ways he was part of the breaking and destruction... and what if he owned all the things that broke MY heart?
What if he saw the light, the revelation, the truth, the whole entire messy scary thorny disgusting shameful horrible "thing" that was...and was real and authentic, finally?
Would any of it change who I have become?
Would I suddenly be different?
Would I be less angry?
Less scared?
Less worried and tense?
Less full of bitterness and sorrow and regret?
Would I lose the grief I've shouldered every day for more than four years?
Would I be less sure of myself? Less aware of my own heart? Less focused on my children, my soul, my future?
What would happen to my sweet sweet treasure that I was gifted with, the big brown eyes that melt me, the tiny face that spins my heart and soul...my littlest angel who isn't mine alone?
What if suddenly he took all the "I'm sorry"'s that I've given, all the "forgive me"'s that I've sobbed, all the "I was wrong to do this, and that, and say those things" that I've written and said and meant - and he finally believed me, and accepted it.
What if nothing... what if "just this" is "just this" for the rest of forever...
What if this is ok?
What if me, being strong, is better than what was?
What if me, being wiser, is better than what was?
What if my sweet treasure, my littlest angel, could only "be" because of all that came before?
What if all of us, being more mature and with wide open eyes, are stronger and safer and better off than before?
What if what we all have learned leads to something bigger, braver, deeper, truer, and more real than what used to be?
What if, yes, what if this is ok?
What if he really, really, meant it.
What if he asked me, "Please, could you ever forgive me?"
What if he understood when I said I couldn't.
What if he said he would spend the rest of forever trying to earn it anyway...
What if he said, "I was so wrong..."
What if he meant it, really really meant it.
What if he told me all the ways he was part of the breaking and destruction... and what if he owned all the things that broke MY heart?
What if he saw the light, the revelation, the truth, the whole entire messy scary thorny disgusting shameful horrible "thing" that was...and was real and authentic, finally?
Would any of it change who I have become?
Would I suddenly be different?
Would I be less angry?
Less scared?
Less worried and tense?
Less full of bitterness and sorrow and regret?
Would I lose the grief I've shouldered every day for more than four years?
Would I be less sure of myself? Less aware of my own heart? Less focused on my children, my soul, my future?
What would happen to my sweet sweet treasure that I was gifted with, the big brown eyes that melt me, the tiny face that spins my heart and soul...my littlest angel who isn't mine alone?
What if suddenly he took all the "I'm sorry"'s that I've given, all the "forgive me"'s that I've sobbed, all the "I was wrong to do this, and that, and say those things" that I've written and said and meant - and he finally believed me, and accepted it.
What if nothing... what if "just this" is "just this" for the rest of forever...
What if this is ok?
What if me, being strong, is better than what was?
What if me, being wiser, is better than what was?
What if my sweet treasure, my littlest angel, could only "be" because of all that came before?
What if all of us, being more mature and with wide open eyes, are stronger and safer and better off than before?
What if what we all have learned leads to something bigger, braver, deeper, truer, and more real than what used to be?
What if, yes, what if this is ok?
Sunday, September 22
Someday
Is it silly to weep over this? To wonder if I missed my chance? To dream of finding some connection like this, even now?
But I'm not unhappy alone... I'm not. I don't want to be tied down, to compromise, make room for and be flexible with... I don't want to share my space, my kids, my life... But still, it's human nature to want love, connection, to want to find that perfect soul mate who just "gets" you without trying. Or maybe it's just MY nature to want that.
This Jess Penner song is the theme to the wedding video of a friend of mine who married for the second time at age 40. She is crazy cornball goofy in love with a man who is crazy cornball goofy in love with her. They were together long enough to maturely decide that this marriage thing was exactly right for them. They are smart, intelligent, thoughtful people. But also total goofy cornballs. Their life is by no means easy - a blended family with teens, jobs, sports, their own individual jobs and extra curricular activities... but there is such respect and support for each other, such joyful accommodation of each others whims, such genuine interest in each other, that it stings a little, this emptiness of mine.
I wish them so much joy. I know they deserve it. Can I wish joy for myself as well?
Prompt: Does Art Have Power to Cause Change OR Is It Just Pretty To Look At
prompt from English I
9/16/13
Does Art Have Power to Cause Change:
This past weekend, in some random unmemorable way, the topic of orgasms came up while myself and my two teens were hanging out.
My 17 yo son said, "mom, I really don't think we should discuss this in front of Bear!" and I replied, "Buddy, she is almost 16, I'm pretty certain she knows what an orgasm is!"
Well, much conversation ensued in which I discovered that my almost 16 year old daughter does not, indeed, know what an orgasm is and based on my 17 year olds description, when told he could explain, I'm not so sure that even HE knows what one is. I did not elaborate however, and as is common, other topics came up and orgasms were soon forgotten.
Stay with me... this will relate to art...
Moments later while my son was going on and on and describing the absolute deliciousness of his smoothie, my daughter innocently asked him, "Does it give you hot 'organisms'?" Lord, I admit, I pee'd my pants a little I laughed so hard. They laughed and I laughed and we all laughed til our sides ached and we were gasping for breath and weak with our own love for each other.
This? This is art: the creation of funny, innocent, smart, creative and joyful kids. This is art: the love and laughter in a broken family. This is art: the power of joy and kindness and humor and love, and yes - it CAN change the world.
9/16/13
Does Art Have Power to Cause Change:
This past weekend, in some random unmemorable way, the topic of orgasms came up while myself and my two teens were hanging out.
My 17 yo son said, "mom, I really don't think we should discuss this in front of Bear!" and I replied, "Buddy, she is almost 16, I'm pretty certain she knows what an orgasm is!"
Well, much conversation ensued in which I discovered that my almost 16 year old daughter does not, indeed, know what an orgasm is and based on my 17 year olds description, when told he could explain, I'm not so sure that even HE knows what one is. I did not elaborate however, and as is common, other topics came up and orgasms were soon forgotten.
Stay with me... this will relate to art...
Moments later while my son was going on and on and describing the absolute deliciousness of his smoothie, my daughter innocently asked him, "Does it give you hot 'organisms'?" Lord, I admit, I pee'd my pants a little I laughed so hard. They laughed and I laughed and we all laughed til our sides ached and we were gasping for breath and weak with our own love for each other.
This? This is art: the creation of funny, innocent, smart, creative and joyful kids. This is art: the love and laughter in a broken family. This is art: the power of joy and kindness and humor and love, and yes - it CAN change the world.
Friday, September 20
Wednesday, September 18
Late Night Phone Call
She calls when I am just 15 minutes into the show. It used to be our show. We would wait all week for Thursday nights,
planning for it with excited giggles and imagined events. When Thursday finally arrived, you would find
us gathering snacks and blankets and fluffing up pillows, and then we would
take over the couch and the remote control.
I love that she calls right at the moment I have queued up an old rerun
of our old show. It’s karmic. I hope.
I hit pause and answer the phone to hear her wild burst of
laughter. Laughter or hysterical crying?
I’m not sure until I hear her voice saying, “Hi mom!” My brief moment of concern is washed away and
replaced by joy.
She tells me that her friends were all just laughing at
something funny, reminiscing about their first words as babies. A topic brought up by my face-book post of her
baby brothers first word spoken just that day.
What was her first word? Oh, a four letter word referencing bowel
elimination. Yup. That sent her off into more giggles and I
could hear her friends in the background laughing along with her. They are not
surprised, it is apparently still her word of choice, I hear them saying in the
background.
It is good to laugh with her. It is good to be on the phone with her,
laughing. She is my delight but things
have been strained lately. My life and
choices, her life and choices, are all
at odds with each other and it’s been hard to find the closeness, the love, the
fun, the groove of our hearts beating together as they once did.
We chat some and I avoid anything too tense. I've written her a letter and she hasn't
received it yet so I’ll save the tense stuff for later, tonight I want to just
enjoy the laughter.
When we hang up, I start up the show again. It’s lonelier now, watching this show without her here. My bowl of snacks and my icy beverage aren't as good, un-shared as they are. The show isn't as suspenseful without the whispered premonitions and our running commentary. The theme song at the end makes me weepy and melodramatic. I laugh at myself a little, do the dishes, and tuck myself into bed. My daughter, 3000 miles and two time zones away from me is just getting into the groove of her night. All is as it should be I suppose.
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