Creating a new possibility

I have an appointment on Saturday with a resume writing service. Yes, I'm going to pay someone to write a resume for me. I have a resume, but, it is pretty bland and structured for my current field, which I hate. I spent some time interviewing the owner of the writing service and explained to her what my goal is.....moving on....so, we will meet on Saturday and she will craft the door with which I hope to walk through out to a new beginning. Now, just what do I want this new super dynamic resume to say? Good question? Probably ought to have an idea of what I want to do before we build my future, eh? I just worked up a cover letter for something vague that I would like to make happen. Given my personal experience with open heart surgery and all of the life experience that comes with that, I'd like to find a place in the medical world in a professional capacity that does not require me going to medical school.....or any long term school of any type. I know, I'm expecting a miracle, but, you know what? I'm due a miracle. Yes, I've already recieved many miracles, but, seriously, it's time for another one, a miracle that shows me the way to my soul work. And, I know I can help people in a non-needle, non-body fluid, non-technical way. I know, crazy, huh? But, what is risk, adventure, daring without a little bit of crazy? I am going to appeal to every pediatric cardiologist I can find within a 50 mile radius, even a couple hundred mile radius, the Heart Association, too, hoping that someone will find me amusing enough to grant me an audience....if only to have me certified insane and institutionalized.

Really, what I want, is to help. To be a solution. To give people experiencing struggle with something I've lived through, hope. To hold the hand of a kid scared out of his mind and just by being present, show him that everything is going to be okay. To be the calm in the middle of a critical storm. To be the soft quiet voice that comforts a Mom waiting for her child to come out of surgery. To be the doctor's feedback for how to make things better for his or her patient and the patient's family. To give. To make a difference. Perhaps it is too much to hope for. See? This is why I need a miracle.

Miracles aside, creating opportunity is certainly in order. God helps those that help themselves, right? I do feel a Divine pull toward the world where my heart has been fixed, repeatedly. I think about this vague place in the medical world alot. Maybe the place already exists, I just don't know how to get there and believe me, I've googled it, there are no quick directions.....only serious requirements for some kind of degree. I am not deterred, though, I've been making stuff up my whole life, what's one more story?

I am excited about the resume writing, it gives me hope. (Seriously, HOPE is stalking me).

A small, smattering of what brings me joy, peace and comfort....

I love the surprise of something in bloom wafting through my front door, only to discover it is the orange tree in full bloom in my neighbor's front yard. I love the sun as it shines through the leaves on the tree in the front yard and the pattern the shade creates on the porch. I love the watchful eye of my small dog as he observes me working around the house, hopefull that I will perch soon so that he might rest his chin upon my leg. I love the feeling of a freshly made bed when you crawl into it for the first time. I love long conversations with a friend who you can say anything to, or nothing at all and she still knows what you mean, or who finishes your thoughts even before you know what the rest of your thought is. I love believing that everyone is made perfect and whole just the way they are and wanting each person to believe that for themselves. I love the ritual of brewing a pot of tea, the loose leaf kind, in a china teapot with boiling water and then using sugar tongs and cubed sugar to sweeten it. I love boiled shrimp, hot or cold with drawn butter. I love picture frames, so much that I have 3 HUGE rubbermaid tubs full and that I have to fight with myself not to buy any more. I love new books, especially if they are on sale, books big, small, fiction, non-fiction, hardback, paperback, jacketed, unjacketed. I love new music, too, country, new, old, classic, rock, 80's, 40's, 70's, big band, classical, celtic, Christmas. I love seeing the hummingbirds at the feeder, especially when I didn't know they had found it yet. I love watching for my seeds to germinate and seeing the tender seedlings as they break the surface of the dirt in their little germinating houses. I love Fourbucks' peppermint mocha, too much. I love finding the right spot for hanging my framed art works. I love a big, open, empty white wall and all of it's possibilities - what to hang there in the open white space and what not to hang there. I love the handmade curio cabinet my Father made for me 13 years ago and dusting and cleaning the glass on it just as I'm getting ready to load it up with my prized possessions. I also, love that the curio cabinet has endured many moves with me and not one scratch, dent or ding has appeared in it's wood and the glass has never been broken - knock on wood. I love a Sunday afternoon nap, one that sneaks up on you as you lay in your bed reading and the drowsiness overtakes you. I love a new tube of Carmex lipbalm, just out of it's funny little box. I love a slow moving ceiling fan that gently moves the air around the room. I love that every azalea bush I drive by in my new neighborhood is in full bloom and the yards with azalea bushes look like rides at an amusement park. I love that no matter what is going on in my life, I am stuck wtih HOPE, she is always there, lurking, stalking, whispering, prodding, needling, reminding me that I cannot ditch her, no matter how many times I've tried to give up, she just won't allow it.

That is just a small, smattering of all that I love......all that brings me joy, peace and comfort.

Let me tell you something about a broken heart.....

I have one. A broken heart....well, technically it has been repaired, literally, technically. How? You ponder. Well, it's not magic, however, but by the grace of God and some really good doctors, it has been fixed. Three times. You'd think they would have done all the repair work once, the first time. However, such is the nature of a congenital heart defect, the one they call "Tetrology of Fallot". So, this is the beginning, the true beginning of my journey through life, literally and metaphorically. I was born a 'blue baby' in 1965. My parents were young, 19 and 21. I don't think at any age you are prepared to hear that your baby is broken when she arrives. It's not like you can send her back and get a refund. Or, send her back and ask for a replacement.

As I weave my way through this story, I will probably lose my way occasionally as I also tell the story of my family. Ultimately, it is our story. All parts, good, bad and ugly, but, I hope, ultimately beautiful. In the metaphorical sense, I believe that we can break our own hearts, merely by ignoring love, or maybe avoiding it or being denied it. I feel that I have had two kinds of broken heart all of my life. One we fix with surgery, the other, we fix with love. I will be digging deep to tell this story and know myself well enough that I will likely stray from the path, in order to avoid painful parts, but, I promise it is my intention to get the 'heart' of my destiny. (I know, such tacky cliches', but, I can't help it, I LOVE THEM). Not only will I be traversing my own pain for this story, but, I will need to get my family to discuss what they felt and how they managed.

Looking back to when I was a child I don't have a ton of memories about my illness. I have some memories, but, I cannot be sure they are my memories or are memories of stories about what we all went through. Like, for instance, there is a box full of hand made get well cards from my kindergarten class, that I still lug around with me from home to home, from kids I do not remember, even the slightest bit. Also, in the box, birthday cards for my mother, as my 1st open heart surgery was just a few days before her 24th birthday. I don't have a direct memory of this, but a story told to me by my grandmother, about my dad tying a big red bow around my chest, making the 'fixed up heart' her birthday gift. See, origins of some of my memories and or emotions may be skewed by the handing down of the story.

I do remember, very vividly laying on the operating table, drifting in and out of awareness as they prepped me. I would dose off, they had me somewhat sedated before they actually put me to sleep, and I remember becoming alert off and on and when I did, it seemed like I was strapped to the operating table in a vertical position and if I could concentrate, the table seemed to lower itself to a horizontal position. I know that this was only an affect of the sedation, now, as an adult who has been through the same surgery two more times, but, back then, it was scary and alarming. I also remember how huge the overhead lights seemed to be and how close they felt to me as I was laying there trying to stay alert. I remember the oxygen mask they put on my face and then the lights went out.......I try to remember stuff from back then, but, honestly I think my memories are tainted by the stories my family tells.

In the magical memory box there is a scrapbook with get well cards from family and friends and photos of me in the hospital. Even after I look at the photos I don't remember what was going on when the photo was taken. Mom J used to tell a story about a fancy pink nightgown that completely boosted my spirits and there is a photo of me in that gown. I do not remember wearing that gown in the hospital, but, I do remember the gown afterward and it being around for many years after the surgery. Pink chiffon over pink polyester, with ruffles. I remember stories about the nurses paying a bank I had sitting on the table next to my bed a quarter to take blood from me. I remember a story about taking out my own stitches with plastic, round nosed, kid scissors. I apparently did this in the night, before I was to have them taken out by the doctor, the next morning.

I think I was probably pretty scared through most of the first surgery ordeal. What I do remember is being worried about everyone else. What I know, is that we've all been shaped by my broken heart, we've all suffered some emotional trauma, some of us have come out the other side stronger, others, not so much. I carry that with me, even though intellectually I know that I did not control how things unfolded, my soul, my heart, they carry these truths with me.

Okay, we're getting there, some pain. At the ripe old age of 5 I already believed that what we all went through was my 'fault'. How does a 5 year old reconcile that? You begin to clean up what you think is a mess you created. Not having the wherewith all to disseminate between 'fault' and circumstance, a child of 5 begins her life as a 'care-taker'. Only to become a life long co-dependant. (This is a label I judge, because it is what I am, whether I like it or not). Fortunately, I can have my heart fixed with a little surgery, yet, I cannot find the person who can surgically remove my life long affliction of co-dependency. There are many other elements that go along with this observation, which I hope to uncover as I stumble along. But, I think I am done for tonight.

"They're called boobs, Ed" Erin Brockovich

I like to spend a little time browsing my photography and rummaging through my 'quote closet' before I begin a post to the blog so that I have a little inspiration to work from. Tonight, while I was not inspired by a photo or a quote, I was inspired by my work day and the movie I watched when I finally got home. Work was awful (I know, BE GRATEFUL), it was so awful, it was painful. I feel like everything I touch is a mess and the more I touch it, the messier it gets, I've lost a significant amount of confidence in my ability to do my job in a manner that I can respect, (don't worry, I don't do a job where anythng awful would happen if I made a mess....in fact the field I work in is already a mess), and today in the most painful of moments, I had an epiphany, I know I'm not supposed to be there, remember, I already quit once, and so, whilst in this painful moment I thought to myself, the universe is pushing back. The Universe, the Divine is telling me, everyday, MOVE ON....quit being afraid, MOVE ON. Everyday I go to work hoping beyond hope that it will be better, different, "today, I will get a handle on the shit on my desk" and everyday, I make progress, only to be pushed back twice as far as I got the day before. I felt like I couldn't take a breath in.....then I realized I'd been holding my breath for what seemed like hours. I keep waiting for something to happen, for something to snap inside of me.....and then I remember it already did.....and I still went back for more.

Wednesdy night T.V. sucks......however, Divine intervention set things up for me to watch Erin Brockovich tonight and there it was.....inspiration. I am not unemployed with three kids, but, I am at a dead end with nowhere to go but up and her story is inspiring in a way that is more than one dimensional. I want to help people, do something of worth, give back, feel something. And Erin managed to do something big merely through perserverance and stick-to-it-ive-ness. She had many obstacles, none of which was just being a chicken, she had no previous job experience, little education, limited resources and huge responsibilities. When I grow up I want to be just like her. I guess I better grow up, eh?

So, what are my obstacles? What is holding me back? Why do I walk to the edge, peer over and then step back? Because I think the fall is too far. What if I fail? What if I don't really have what it takes to be 'all that I can be' (I don't think the Army would take me). I hate that my current job takes all of the wind out of my sales, but, right now my confidence is in the toilet and I don't know how to get out. Where's the Tidy Bowl Man when you need him? I know, I'm being flip and childish. Today, I was at the edge again, peering over, wishing someone would push me, anyone. I know that when the pain is the greatest I am usually closest to a breakthrough and I KNOW I am on the cusp of findng my path.

I really do know the way to my destiny, I just have to do the work. I need to write the story, the story of my heart. The path will reveal itself through the writing of this story. The story is long, though, and I am impatient. I have been reading other writer's writing on writing....(funny) and through their experiences, and my own, I know that once I begin the writing of the story, I will begin to heal and find what I am looking for. So, I guess I better get on the road.

Tai Chi

I began a Tai Chi class tonight. I was going to do Yoga, but, I'm a person who is more likely to attend an exercise class if it is conveniently located to either my work place or home....so, Tai Chi won the coin toss. And, as I was moving painfully slow through the first movements of an exercise (the perscribed way to do the exercise) I relished the days when I studied Shotokan Karate. Tai Chi is at a MUCH slower pace and while the slow pace seems like it might be just what I need to relieve stress, I'm wishing that I were in a Dojo training in Shotokan.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. It struck me as odd that I would immediately miss my old form of training after such a long hiatus (more than 5 years), especially since Tai Chi is quite beautiful and peaceful. I began mentally examining my thoughts, what I was feeling and what my body was experiencing. Most Martial Arts origins are based in self defense by hand, in other words, you are trained to defend yourself with your hands and body, ONLY as a form of defense, not offense or attack and while I don't know, yet, how Tai Chi fits into that spectrum I immediately noticed the similarities between my old art and this new one. And, what was most interesting to me was that my body remembered how to move within the exercise.

I am of course piqued by this art form, as I was taught in Shotokan that almost all martial arts have the same moves, strikes, kicks, stances, etc, only each style might expand on those key moves, they all remain the same and have the same uses. So, in the first part of the first exercise we learned tonight, a series of hand moves are executed as blocks, (in Shotokan they would be blocks to a strike), and when my body recognized the move's intention, or rather purpose, my impulses all fired at once and I inadvertently executed a Shotokan Knife Hand block! The instructor noticed I discovered something as I was moving, however, she did not know I had previously studied another art form and commented on how I wa s 'examining' my movement. She assured me that we would practice these moves many times and not to worry about 'catching on'. That is when I discovered that maybe Tai Chi isn't going to be enough to keep me interested, because I wanted to keep going, learn more, move forward, FASTER. Several old parts to Katas I learned in Shotokan ran through my mind and my body flinched in recognition. The night was full of discovery, ( I love discovery and even more, recognition of discovery), energy was being moved. Yes, I could actually feel energy moving with me as I executed my exercise. Energy pushing back against my hand as I was ushering it to and away from me.

The more advanced students broke off from the beginngers after we warmed up and in between demonstrations of the movements we were to do I watched in the mirror to see how good the advanced students looked and their movement was quite entrancing. They appeared to be doing a very well choreographed ballet, only with blocks, kicks and punches....and they were quiet. In Shotokan you expelled energy by puncuating your movements with yells or in some cases grunts. I realized I missed that, I wanted to puncuate the ending of our exercise with a 'hayaw!' The class ended on a good note, I did not sweat, have to roll around on the floor and my old body remembered a time when it was younger. I am anxious for the next class as it did not seem like we really worked very hard or for very long.

I am nostalgic for my old Dojo and classmates. I really enjoyed training in Shotokan, it gave me a certain amount of self confidence and a sense of being responsible for my higher self. While the instructor was explaining some parts of our exercise, she alluded to the origins of our movements, but, cut herself short explaining that the purpose for the class was merely the exercise and that she might cover the reasons for some moves later on, but, that it was not imperative to know these things. As I continued on with the exercise and my body recognized more movements, I realized that I also missed knowing why movements were done the way they were and what the movements might have been used for, because as Imentioned, all Karate is executed for a purpose. I guess maybe I was as attracted as much to the 'ceremony' of Karate as I was to the energy expulsion!

Big night in a small way. Moving energy is always good for the soul. Oss, Sensei!

Friends, I'd like to introduce my friend, BobKitty......

Please, don't try this at home without adult supervision!

Tons O' fun, I'm telling you! Boys and their toys.....he looks like he's playing with a Tonka toy while he's working that bad boy.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary how does your garden grow.....?

Well, mine will be growing in a bed 48 x 48 feet square! Yes, it is going to be HUGE! I can't wait! Over the course of this past weekend, my friend, Ricky, played with his friend, BobKitty and dug, hauled and tilled the backyard here, so we might plant a couple of tomato plants.....HA! - not just a couple. It was pretty amazing to watch Rick work his little Bobcat excavator and I can assure you, he had fun. It even looked like he might tip it over at one point. You know, it's true, there really is only one difference between men and boys and it's the size (and cost) of their toys. I spent part of the weekend planting seeds in little seed starter trays - 200 seeds! Yes, I know, that sounds like alot, however, I wanted to make sure everything made it out of the dirt, so, I over planted. Obviously, there will be room for MANY plants and I went crazy with the seeds, trying just about anything that tickled my fancy. This will be my first garden of this size and variety. I will blog about it all summer and share my discoveries and lots of photos. Rick asked me more than a couple of times if I'd be able to handle a garden of this size and I assured him I would not be without help. He is going to set up a complete drip system with a timer for the water, so, watering will take care of itself, I will only need to take care of weeding, bug hunting and PICKING! Texas, my trusty frog hunter will assist as best as he can from his vantage point on the ground.

To Jump or hang from the ledge.......

So, I quit my job on Friday. Over the weekend, I reconsidered and fortunately, I was able to rescind my resignation. I'm not happy with myself. Once again, I chickened out. My friends, God Bless them, all supported me in their own ways. I, however, did not support myself. This is a big issue for me. And, after spending most of last year in therapy, you'd think I'd have some of this stuff hammered out. I have been so stressed out (I actually hate that phrase, "stressed out", it's soooo 90's) that I just folded in on myself and couldn't seem to find my way out. Panic set in and I just reacted. I'm not sure my reactive behavior wasn't wrong, because I was listening to my heart (physically and metaphorically) and for a brief second I honored my feelings.....and those were....."f---k this s--t, I hate myself for doing battle everyday without any cause". And, for feeling like a failure. I want to do something with my whole heart, not something that is breaking my heart down, as well as my spirit. I believe we have the power to choose. I literally preach this mantra, 'you have the power to choose', yet, I am paralyzed by the idea of choosing to be happy. Or, rather to take a risk. I actively choose to stay in a job that hurts my soul. I know, a little melodramtatic, however, seriously, that's how I feel, like I'm killing my own spirit. It's like a form of spiritual suicide. The thing is, my gut told me I would be okay if I left, if I just honored my feelings and jumped, I would be okay. But, reason stepped in and talked me out of trusting my intuition. Isn't that what happens to us as we grow up? We know ourselves better when we are little kids than we do as adults because we haven't spent our whole lives being told to 'walk the path you're told to walk', 'do the right thing', 'be responsible'. When we're a little kid we don't know our limitations, we think the whole world is revovling around us and nothing can go wrong, we believe in ourselves, intrinsically. Ah, but to restore that belief in myself, to KNOW what I did as a child. Isn't that funny we spend our lives yearning to KNOW things and all along if we just listened to that little kid we once were, we'd know everything we needed. We live our lives backwards, yes, this has been discovered before I just thought it outloud, but, until you live it.......

So, because I quit my job and scared myself....I did make some inroads to a plan and I am executing. It's time to start taking better care of my body....so, Yoga starts next week and I will begin with that. Further,I think I need to do some research on resume writing and resume writers. Then, research on places where I might be able to apply my heart. While I'm not happy with the hungry dog of fear nipping at my heals, I am trying to find compassion for myself and at the very least be proactive, instead of reactive, moving forward. One of many lessons I'm sure I'll take away from my small lapse in 'reason', is that I am so close to jumping I should either step away from the ledge, or begin to pack my parachute......

"The only way to have a life is to commit to it like crazy". Angelina Jolie

Now, she is one crazy broad. Angeline Jolie. Brad Pitt aside, let's think about this....six kids, make movies, travel the world doing good.....be richer than your wildest dreams and look good doing it. I don't necessarily find her inspirational, but, if she weren't famous maybe I could get close to being inspired.....that's just my judge sitting on my shoulder pointing out that lots of people have equally fabulous lives, but, we don't know about it because they aren't "Angelina Jolie", right? So, mostly I was admiring how she appears to live her quote and that made me jealous that she has the balls to do just that, commit to a life, like crazy. Now, sorting out the part where I figure out what I want my life to be about.....that would be the hard part. Baby steps, she says......baby steps. Have I mentioned that I am not a patient person, well, I'm not. I want my fabulous life, NOW! Baby steps...remember, baby steps.

So, here's what I do know, I love to write. I've secretly been a writer most of my life. Well, maybe not entirely secretly, but, I haven't embraced it, nor have I really shared it with too many people. As a teen I wrote many angst ridden poems, love letters, and small essays, not even really essays, but, blurbs. These pagees of emotion are still around, and every so often I get them out and read through them....reliving the horror that is teen angst. So, writing is within me....waiting to be nurtured, encouraged, embraced and honed. This is something I would like to do. Could I do it and make money? Do I have the chops to brave it out in the world with my heart wide open like a target waiting for the hat trick? I'd like to think I might have the guts....I've been through alot and survived worse things, I think.

And, I know something else; I want to give - until I don't hurt anymore. What do I have to give? My heart, literally. But, first I have to commit and I don't know how. I'm not talking about committing to a romantic relationship, I'm talking about committing to love, unromantic, selfless, spiritual love. Like the nun said; "In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love". (Mother Theresa). So, committing like crazy to brandishing my heart every single day of my life to give someone love, kindness, hope and peace, that is what I have to figure out how to do. Crazy is right. Behind the scenes, I am sorting through the concept I have brewing on how I might find this craziness, bare with me, the fear follows me around like a hungry, stray dog, (which as a dog lover I am always inclined to feed), so, I have to decide how I might save the dog, yet, not feed the fear.

A Hero's welcome...................

I watched a movie two nights ago that is still affecting me. The movie was done by HBO; "Taking Chance", staring Kevin Bacon. It is the story of one man's journey escorting a fallen Marine home. I saw the previews for it almost a month ago and made a note to myself to watch it. I didn't have HBO at the time and decided I would upgrade my t.v. service for one month in order to watch this particular movie. As circumstances would have it, and as a result of the move, I ended up with HBO as part of my new t.v. scheduling. In all of the hullabaloo related to the move I'd forgotten that I was going to make arrangements to watch this movie....on Sunday evening as I was channel surfing I stumbled on it. This movie is a beautiful tribute to every fallen military person. It is also a tribute to those who have the honor of escorting one home. Currently, my nephew, Anthony Lee Brown is serving in the 1st Cavalry division of the Army in Iraq.....I don't want to relate this movie to him, however, I could not help but think of him throughout the whole movie. In my family, we don't talk about the realities of what might happen to Anthony, in fact, we usually just invite the elephant in the room to stay for dinner, all the while walking around it. Again, the movie is beautiful and if you have an opportunity, watch it, but, make sure to secure a box of kleenex for comfort, you'll need it. I sobbed through most ot if, not because I mourned for the fallen Marine, who LT. Col. Mike Strobl escorted home, surely I cried for that young man, but, more than that, I cried for what we all survive because of him. And, I cried with tears of pride for the acts of kindness that every day Americans show throughout the journey Mike makes escorting Chance home. And for the kind, dedication and reverence of the people who prepare Chance for his journey home. This movie gives us a glimpse of what preparation is made to transport a fallen Soldier, Marine, Airman or Sailor home. Kevin Bacon nails his role as Lt. Col. Mike Strobl and you can't help but change with him as he makes the trip from the east coast to Wyoming, where Chance's family waits for him. I immediatly went the HBO web-site to see if the movie will be released on DVD and pre-ordered it for it's release in May.

I don't want to think about what Anthony endures while he is away, but, I do not look away from the very real possibility that something could happen to him. I pray for him......constantly. This is Anthony's second tour in Iraq and I look forward to the day when he will come home, on his own steam, a Hero's welcome.

Taking the risk to blossom.......the beginning

Now that the move is over, I can begin to focus on what I’d like to do with myself. You know explore that inkling I mentioned in one of my first blogs. I recently had a reading with a spiritual astrologer,( yes, I believe in astrology and what it can tell a person about themselves and about others), that reading actually inspired this blog, so, going forward from that reading I am going to delve into the parts of me that my chart tells me to embrace. This is not the first time I’ve used my birth chart to help me understand myself and as I should have known, this reading was really no different from the last….I am nowhere near where I am supposed to be in my career path/life’s work. I am in a field that is cut throat, not always ethical, very stressful and totally unfulfilling and I have hated it for 24 years. I know, pathetic, eh? Staying in a career that you hate for that amount of time is just pure self loathing and lack of esteem…..well, I guess I should cut myself some slack, fear is a great motivator and I’ve been scared my whole life of stepping outside of a known security. I do not have a college education and I started in the industry I am in at the age of 18, right out of high school at a place my Mom worked, because the job was handed to me and I didn’t know any better. It completely amazes me how fast 24 years went by. I’ve been working in my field for over half my life. That is a long time to hate your work. And, I was out, but that year and a half was spent caring for my Grandmother and grieving her loss, so, I did not figure out in time what I wanted to do with myself before my medical insurance ran out and therefore, I let fear take over again and I went back to hell (this is what I affectionately call my work). Hell get’s uglier everyday and I am not as young as I used to be, so, my patience (mind you I am not by nature a patient person anyway) is very thin, very thin, so, I’m pretty sure I’m not long for hell and so, begins more excavating, more digging, more growing, more pain, more fear. Please do not misunderstand my griping about my job as being ungrateful, given the current jobless rate, I absolutely appreciate the position I am in and wake up every morning thanking the Divine for a job at all, yet still dreading the day ahead. People always feel compelled to remind you of these kinds of things when you’re griping, like that is actually going to make your unhappiness better, the irony is that it only makes me feel worse for hating what most people would be ecstatic for. Yes, just one big dichotomy I am. (Check that out a big word, eh?) See, no college education and I found that word! I hope it means what I think it means…….Okay, back on course. I have a lot to offer the world, my small world and the greater world and I intend to give until I don’t hurt anymore.

Moved.....to tears

Well, the move is done. I am spun. I knew it would be difficult and sad. On moving day things were so crazy and the ever watchful eye of my parents huddled over me, so, to save them, I held my composure. Since moving day, I've been so busy starting the process of settling, while still working 10 hour days and literally falling into bed only to read until I dozed off, that I have not allowed myself the emotional release I have waiting at the gate, until today. I had to return to the Ranch to leave some things for my Dad and to collect some of my own. He was not there, no one was, not even a spirit. I shuddered as I walked in through the garage door as I did so many days before, even in the days when Mom J was there, knowing the landscape of her dining nook and living room had changed dramatically. The tears began and they fell, undaunted by my will not to cry, literally pouring down my cheeks, spilling on my jacket and the floor. I walked through the house, still crying, looking in each room, recognition of all the things my Dad moved in and recognition of my heart, still mourning my Grandmother, even now, so far away from her departure, pulled on the tears. The mixture of his things and her memory just felt like a betrayal. I don't know how else to describe it. My Grandmother did not want my Dad to have her house, but, My Mother beleived that him owning it, not losing it, was the lesser of two evils. I am conflicted by my loyalty to my Grandmother and my desire to some day own the house myself. These things all play into my muddle of emotions. Family loyalties are tricky, even ones that are not coupled with any truly bad feelings between family members, they sometimes are even harder to sort out because there is no clearly defined betrayal. I've been trying to work this out in my head and my heart for many months now, knowing this day would come. I have not come to terms with it and am going to find it hard to settle in where I am and still go out to the Ranch to visit my Father. As I write this, I know I need to find a way to let go, to give myself the necessary grieving time for the 'loss' of my home, to love myself enough to say, "It's okay to cry, to feel, to live with what you're feeling and to honor your heart". More grief, more growing, more pain, all a part of really living. So, for this moment, I choose to look forward instead of behind......because really living is what I want to do.

The Long Goodbye..............

So, on the eve before I begin my final hours in my Grandparents home, I find myself sorting through photos I have taken of this place in the last 18 months. It blows me away, the changes that have occured out here in just that short time. It hardly looks or feels the same. And, yet, my Grandparents still haunt me here. I miss them. My heart is heavy with the departure on the horizon and my poor Father is doing everything he can to soften the blow.....the harder he tries, the more blunders he makes. I know I have to go and my whole heart is crying, "I am sorry Mom and Papa, I did the best I could and if I could have done better I would have". I feel like I'm abandoning them with every box I pack and every old item I leave behind. Regret dogs me once again as I look around and wonder how we might have done things differently. So, much to write about, without a clue where to begin. When I moved out here to care for Mom J, the grounds were horribly overgrown and completely unkempt. We did have a friend keeping the possiblity of fire hazard at bay, however, the over growth at the front door was pretty 'Munsters' like. But, shortly after I moved out here we began cleaning things up as we knew that we'd be selling the house at some future point. I took photos of each step, because that's what I do and also while Mom J was still alive I would show her the pictures of our progress. We had landscapers out here twice to sort out the front and back yards....the second gig was a set of Twin Brothers, Wes and Wayne....they were adorable and very nice and they did a kick ass job...anyway, I photographed the job as we went along so they would have the photos for their own 'portfolio'. I have many pics of this old place over the span of our adventures out here. I even have this fabulous series of "cowboy portraits" that I took of some of THE most hunky cowboys you ever want to see....and maybe someday, I'll showcase them here!!!! But, that's another blog altogether. I have some really great shots in black and white, taken with a 'FILM' camera, you remember those, right, they called them 35mm SLR's....ha ha ha ha....some of the old corral in various stages of disrepair and some of the ol' barn. Mom J got the biggest kick out of my use of the old place for my portraiture and usually my subjects enjoyed our photo shoots out here just as much. I always felt Papa out there with me and my subjects as we captured their images. One time, a couple of years after Papa died I came out to the Ranch on his birthday, with a bouquet of flowers and tied them to a post at the corral in memoriam of him. I sat in the back of my truck in the middle of the pasture for hours, just talking to him. We tried to solve some of the World's problems, but, obviously, we were not very successful. I miss him and his drawl. So, tomorrow my sister is coming out to help me with the final boxes and I think more than anything I asked her to come out here so that I won't be too alone with my thoughts. There will be one final 'removal' that will be the hardest, my grandparents had separate bedrooms for all of my life and shortly after they moved into the Ranch, as a handmade Christmas present my sister and I made them signs for their bedrooms - Mom for Mom J's room and Papa for his room - out of bread dough clay and stained wood. To this day those signs still hang over their bedroom doors - tomorrow I will bring them down and pack them with some of the remaining memorabilia that I have yet to box. It will then be official - Mom and Papa will have left the building........

A peek at the band.....

I can't resist, I have to post one shot of the band we enjoyed Saturday night. I will freely admit the Kilt was killing me.....the fiddle player ROCKED it, as did his Kilt......check them out if you get a chance, Tempest.

Writing even just a little, everyday............

So, I've been busy. Livng. Well, packing, too. I actually went out Saturday night, something I rarely do, with friends for a birthday celebration. A great time was had by all, especially the birthday girl. We saw an amazing Celtic band, Tempest, and I did my best to 'dance me boots off'! I have skills as a silversmith, so, I spent most of Saturday fabricating my friend's birthday gift, so, I didn't get much packing done, therefore, I spent ALL DAY Sunday packing....literally, from 7:30 a.m to 8:00 p.m., I was exhausted when it was time to get up for work today. I think the older I get, the shorter the days get. I can't even believe it's already March 2009. It feels like it was only yesterday when I moved in here. I had so many plans for how I was going to change my life and despite the fact that I have almost completely reverted back to where I was before I moved in here, I know that I am a different person today, much different. I also feel stronger than I ever have, more at peace with who I am, or rather who I am allowing myself to become......ME. I've been reading a new book and a piece of advice from the book is to write everyday, even if it's just a little bit, just do it everyday. I'm behind a few days, however, living gives us things to write about, right? And, so, I write. I had an opportunity today to go by my new home and see it empty, which helped me get a perspective of how my belongings are going to fit in the place, I took photos. My friend, Ricky is getting the place all cleaned up and fixing some things that needed taking care of. I believe it will make a good home for me. At least for right now, while I am excavating my soul for guidance regarding my future. I am anxious to get settled at the new place, I need to feel rooted for awhile. As much as I love my Grandmother's house and hate to leave it, truly for the almost two years I've lived here I've known it was always temporary. Now, I can be indefinitely rooted, or rather, I do not have a 'due date' for the time being. This is somewhat liberating and I am looking forward to that simple freedom. With that stability, I can actually focus on writing, make it part of my day, everyday, not just on the days when I'm not packing. I've included one of the photos I took of the new place, should have taken a pic of the outside, but, it slipped my mind, I was more interested in where all of my furniture was going to go. Silly me.