driving the Natchez Trace

I have so long neglected this blog that I don't even understand the new format anymore.

So, fuck it.

I am going to write whatever I want on here.  This is my blog, after all.

I need to vent, and in order to do that I'm going to have to relieve myself of the pretend obligation that I need to be nice, educational, or accommodating to anyone who might be offended by my posts.

Frankly, I've been offending myself for not writing, because I am too caught up in trying to think of a name for a new blog.

I can't do that anymore, because here I sit, at work, in the quiet of the night at 2 a.m., crying.

This seems to be the only place where I break down.  I don't have a typical nursing job. Patients actually sleep, and I often only work with one other person.  There is lots of time to think.  Too much time.

I'm looking forward to finishing my master's degree next year and getting a dayshift job in a busy clinic.  I'll actually have other things to focus on then besides how sucky life can be...at least my life, as I'm sure some of my patients will have sadder stories to tell.

We used to be a family.  The four of us.  That's not something you just throw away.  I feel like that is a precious thing.  There are going to be problems, of course, but family is sacred.

I have never experienced what that means. My parents were divorced when I was 12, and I was shuffled around between them for awhile.  There was nothing sacred there.  My sister and I were the human pawns in their game of who could get out of paying child support.  I represented a dollar sign and an inconvenience of time.

Then I married young, at 18, and that marriage was over within 2 years.

This marriage was my chance to get it right, but I'm obviously not good at this.

My kids will never be made to feel as if they're an inconvenience.  Not from me.  I can't control what their dad does, but I've been hurting for them lately.  It's almost like I am 12 all over again, feeling their pain.  I've promised myself that I won't let them feel what I felt.  Ever.

Tonight, as I've done several other nights, I'm thinking about the outings we had together as a family.  The four of us.  The kids happy in the back of the van with DVD players.  Dad driving as I read a book in the passenger seat.  The kids running around on a hill while I take photos.  Laughing at the silly things we find on the ground, at the irony of life.

I loved every minute of those outings, except for times like when Claire walked into a spider web on a forest hike and it took awhile to console her screaming, or one of us clumsily tripped and scraped a leg, or insects crawled onto our food during a picnic (well, Brandon liked that part).

Now that I think back, I don't believe my husband was enjoying himself much.  He was faking. I was taking the photos, lost in the wonderment of what was around us, and I think he was just watching me do it, not an active participant himself, but simply going through the motions.

He told me once, toward the end, that he thought about taking photos too, but I was offended and told him to get his own hobby.  I was a jerk for that, for being possessive of my interests.  The thing was, I wanted him to have hobbies besides TV and video games, to find his own loves, and to share them with me and teach me something, not copy what I was doing.  Not do another thing that I would have to be the expert at.

I didn't take any photos of the spider webs, but the memories are there.

We're still going to have those outings that I treasure, but it will only be the three of us now.  We are sacred.

upside down

So...I am getting divorced, or being divorced from, whichever way you look at it.

This is the 5-year anniversary of this blog and of the date we moved to Tennessee from Illinois.  I once said out loud on facebook "I give it 5 years."  I was so unhappy here initially, but I've slowly grown to tolerate some of it, and love other parts of it.  It's a bittersweet anniversary.

 I didn't and don't want to write the details here though, because this is mostly my "fun" blog, and what part of divorce is fun (unless you are the divorcer, maybe)?  That is why I've been so quiet lately.


Also, some of it might be offensive and depressing to my garden/insect/earthy readers, although I know that no matter what our hobbies are we all have very real and human problems, and sometimes it is our hobbies that keep us grounded and sane despite them.


Therefore, I am going to make a new blog only for the topic of the divorce.  It will be one more way to help me get through.  There will be many personal things on there, and since people I know in real life sometimes read this blog here, I have to "screen" the readers first.  I am not so brave and trusting that I won't be horribly judged.


My solution to this is if you would like to read about this side of my life--if you care enough to try--drop me an email at moonflower317@yahoo.com, and I will send you the link.  (Actually some of it might turn out to be a teensy bit humorous, only because my brain copes with this kind-of stuff by forcing myself to laugh at the sadness.)


To the rest of you, I will try to keep writing funny and/or informative things every 6 months or so like I've been doing ;-)

journey

Why do we stay in places in our lives where we feel, sometimes with every ounce of our being, that we should not be there?

Because we fear the unknown.

As wrong, as lonely, as sad, as infuriating or as unfulfilled as we may be, we are comfortable in the KNOWN.

And even though what lies ahead and is unseen may open doors that we never thought possible, we still can't see that far, and that's scary.

I know that no matter what happens though, I need ME.  I need to be the person that I was born to be; to not waste the talents I was given because I am in a melancholy funk.  I'm still not sure who that is, and I imagine I'll be working it out until I can't remember where to put my fingers on the keyboard anymore.

I need to be a friend, in return for all the friends in my past and present who have given to me when I couldn't give in return.

I need to be a mom to my kids, to fill their world with the joys of life that it took me so long to find on my own.  To give them the tools to be strong and to know that their greatest ally is themselves.

I have a feeling that this walk down a long unknown trail of many turns, through a forest I've never traveled in before, has already begun.  I am surrounded by stands of tall trees, thick shrubs and May apples covering the ground, still believing that I'm in the parking lot, that I can go back home and life will resume with the known.  I have yet to fully recognize the implications of where I am.

If I do finally figure it out--when I do--I expect poison ivy, thorns, ticks and spider webs on my face.  I also know that there will be surprise blackberries, fields of wildflowers, the croaks of a family of bullfrogs, and a soft breeze that cools me in my weak and tired moments.

And it is those moments that I will wait and hope for, because I know they will eventually come.  They always do.

the thousand year stare

The thousand year stare
scaffolds up a hundred transparent moments
my attention wanes
and sharpens abruptly.
I flirt with an emerald hummingbird
on the sun's side of the window
but he only sees his reflection, not the ghost
nods goodbye to sample a Gerber daisy
timid
peach-colored
proud
one of two on a stubborn plant.
I return to the kitchen.
Lines ingrained in pressed wood trace my finger
alphabet letters and preschool portraits
smiley faces
pencils tapping out songs leaving stars behind
the cadence of children making music around our table.
Window smudges.
Moss on the gate grows unchecked
the siding glows
this incessant heat
how long will it take to return after I scrub it away?
I remember something my mother wrote
words of tonic water when they finally went down
still undigested
does she resent me for not being her
or for being myself?
The books I ordered should have arrived
it has been nearly two weeks.
Piano lessons, nursery rhymes, the gingerbread man.
Dinner.
Milk?
High-pitched silverware slides
with plates like cymbals
piercing.
My family sings melodies of white noise in the background of my daydreams
I wish I could discern the tune
the fine points, the rough edges
find an intrinsic harmony.

explaining death to a 4-year-old

This morning my husband's grandmother died. I worked last night, so sometime while I was sleeping he explained what happened to my daughter.

Later on before dinner, she hid behind my son's bed. I realized she was crying, and when I asked her what was the matter she burst out with "Grandma died!" So we had our first conversation about death.

"Can I touch her?"

"Yes, but you can't laugh or play around. It's a very serious occasion at a wake."

"Did God take her to heaven?"

"Yes, she's up in heaven with God. Her body will be in the casket, but she's not really there. It's just her body."

"Did they rip her head off?

"No."

She doesn't have a head anymore?"

"Uh, yeah, she still has a head. She just can't talk to you anymore. What made her who she is, how she talks to you, that won't be there. Go on and eat your soup now, sweetie."

She seemed satisfied with this. We'll see how the wake goes.

Rest in peace, Gram.

grandpa

Today I found a copy of the eulogy and poem I wrote for my Grandpa's funeral from June 13, 2005. He died when he was 94. I thought I would share it here.

"My life will never be the same since you have gone. It is like there is a new chapter unfolding, one that reads 'you are no longer a child, and all the childish things have passed away.' It is very humbling to have your direct line of relatives gone this early in life. It makes you feel older than you really are, and gives the message that it is imperative to continue to pursue your dreams. You were my link to the carefree, happier times in my life when I was very young.

I hope that my family can someday, in years to come, build their memories on the fun and loving holidays like my cousins and I could always look forward to.

Grandpa inadvertently gave me wisdom for life, even after his death. Knowing him has taught me to stop withholding love to avoid the pain of loss. To say meaningful words to people while they are alive, and not just in eulogies, where they may or may not be listening. How important it is to maintain good relationships among your children. That it is never too late and you are never too old to grow closer to God.

As I grow old, and if I am fortunate to do so as you have done (perhaps avoiding McDonald's might help), I hope that I will leave something for the generations after me that incorporates all of the lessons that I gained from my ancestors before me."



Reunion

I will not ponder his reasons
In dashing your soul towards the throne
For now you belong to the ages
And Jesus has carried you home.

The tread of your footsteps fell lightly
As weary, you followed the days
In patience, awaiting reunion
With the sight of your loved one's gaze.

When over that bright hill you travel
And our planet appears but a star
All the long years of toil and trial
So suddenly banished afar.

Remember us as you are walking
Amongst those with whom you now lie
And send us new hope in our meeting
As we send you our loving goodbye.

heeding the voices

My birthday is coming up this month. The great thing about birthdays is that they give you another chance to reflect on your life. Better than the new year when you are supposed to resolve to do things or not do things, of which about 75% of these haven't happened by the following January. With birthdays you get your whole life to make or break your promises and dreams.

I've learned over the years to listen to that little voice of God or angels or my brain or whatever or whoever is talking to me. This sounds kind-of crazy, but I will explain in order to make my case.

Several years ago I was in nursing school and commuting back and forth to Chicago from the suburbs almost every day.

Sometimes I would drive within a mile of my grandpa's house on the way home. But in my rush to get my daughter from day care, I never consciously realized how close I was.

On one of the afternoons the thought occurred to me that I should stop and see him. Just a quick visit. But what if he's napping or eating dinner or down the street at my aunt's house? I didn't want to be rude and just show up. I was finding every excuse that I could think of not to go.

A week later my healthy grandpa was suddenly dead, found lying on the floor next to his bed, at age 94. I never did stop to see him. I ignored the voice.

So today I was thinking about my mother, living alone up in central Illinois in a run-down house out in the country, surrounded by open land that puts no brakes on the cold, icy winter wind.

I was thinking about how I hadn't heard from her since she visited around Christmas. This, in itself, is nothing to worry about. I could go months without hearing from her. It has been like this for years. She lives her own life and seems to call me when it's convenient, and I've learned to deal with that.

But as I was sitting at the kitchen table eating my lunch, the little voice spoke up and told me to call her, and being that I'm about to turn 37 and I've learned that I need to pay greater attention to that sound, I called. I got the voicemail and left a message.

She returned my call later that evening, and as she rambled on about her visit to the spa and water aerobics, I breathed a sigh of relief. She was alive and well.

My mom told me that my aunt happened to have an extra ticket for an Eagles concert on the 18th, the day after my birthday. Some other family members that I hadn't seen in a long time were also going, but she told my aunt that she didn't think I would drive all the way up from Tennessee just to attend a concert. She figured that it wasn't even worth telling me about, but since I had called, she might as well mention it.

Little did she know that I had been in one of my all too frequent "I miss Illinois" funky moods lately, and had entertained the idea of driving up there for my birthday to cheer myself up. Later on I decided against such frivolity since we were planning another vacation in May. But now I had a reason to go.

So glad I heeded the voice this time.