Silence frightens me.
Music must play, a window must be open allowing the birds' songs and the wind's whisper (or roar, if we speak of this past week) to fill my silent spaces. I am selective about the sounds surrounding me; if they drone too much or are too interruptive, they will not be tolerated.
Snoring has long been an unacceptable nocturnal silence substitute. As I child I dreaded family trips because we would all stay in one motel room and I could never sleep due to the severe snoring issues my father seemed to suffer. Ever since engaged, I have rarely been able to sleep in the same bed as my husband, likewise due to his snoring. This has found me sleeping the majority of the marriage, until separation of bedrooms, on the sofa; in hotels, in the bathroom on the floor or out in the car; and in Sweden in the TV lounge of the apartment building. Some say that snoring, as one becomes accustomed to the partner they love, comes to sounds like the sea. I have yet to find that appreciation for such midnight sounds.
When in my home music reaches to almost every corner, especially when I am alone. I grew up in a home where music always played from an old phonograph stereo of my grandfather's, that still to this day is functional. The apparatus through which the music flows doesn't matter now; I must have music playing.
The sound of human voices is also comforting to me. Most comforting is when they are calm, controlled conduits of peaceful coexistence. Now that my children are older and conversant, it is a pleasure to have two intelligent beings in my company that I can teach to opine and to effectively express their thoughts, and let them teach me so much as well.
Yesterday was a silent day, but in a very different and eerie way. I went to the gym in the morning and had a wonderful workout, but nobody spoke to me and neither did I speak to anyone else. Normal for my gym. I returned home and my children were awake, downstairs in His part of the house, watching Saturday morning cartoons. I showered, prepared breakfast, and put myself hard to work on editing my book. That lasted all day, without a single word exchanged with any other human being. I had my Saturday programming on through NPR, but those voices were not speaking on a conversational level with me, personally. It was a radio broadcast.
The sun rose and fell, and it was not until 8:00 last night that I spoke with anyone but my cat. The silence--I must accustom myself to this silence on my weekends without the children. Even if I leave the house, I am often surrounded by impersonal silence as so many in public are engrossed in their own worlds they don't even excuse themselves if they bump into me when dialing or texting on their Crackberries. Sure, sound abounds, but taking the form of the normal drone of daily life, shopping, cell phone conversations--almost anything is more interesting than what is being lived now, or the avoidance of certain silences for fear of having to figure out how to fill those spaces, or fear of having to interact with others outside a comfort zone.
Perhaps I see silence as an abyss. Many see silence as a refuge. How do you see silence?
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta mama llama. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta mama llama. Mostrar todas las entradas
domingo, 15 de febrero de 2009
lunes, 9 de febrero de 2009
the flame
Fire is power.
I am equally fascinated by the flame of a tealight or taper as I am with a campfire. For hours I can sit, engrossed in the observance of patterns of light, of figures my imagination conjures from the graceful dance of the flame. Fire has the power to capture my attention and to allow me to move into another state of consciousness.
Sunday nights in my childhood home were bath nights. My sister and I would take our baths together, akin to how my children currently co-bathe, and once dried and jammied, we would sit in front of the fire that Dad had built in the fireplace and let our locks dry. First the back, then the front. I loved doing my front last as I could close my eyes, let the heat melt into my face and transport myself into pre-dreamland, which soon awaited after our hair had dried. Some nights we begged Dad to put a spoonful of chimney cleaner into the fire, which created a colorful dance of light and my sister and I would yell out the different hues we would see, pointing and jumping enthusiastically at this miracle of light.
I was fascinated by how a heavy log could be consumed down to ashes that crumbled in my hand after being licked by the flame for an entire evening. It wasn't until later that I came to realize that fire is alive. It eats, breathes, excretes and, in how humans use it as a representation of ire, passion and warmth, it seems to feel. This realization deepened my fascination into a respect for fire's power.
When in a tiny, cold Catholic church in Sweden, that lacked of electricity and heat, I was given a tiny taper to hold after trudging through two feet of snow to arrive at Mass. Unable to concentrate due to the deep, bone-reaching cold I felt, I chose to stand instead of sit on the cold bench. I removed one glove and warmed my fingertips over the flame of that candle. I don't remember a thing said in Mass that night; I only remember the warmth that tiny flame gave my fingers and I was grateful.
I light a candle in my bedroom almost every night. I rarely have time to sit and simply stare at the show anymore, but somehow the knowledge that this fire burns next to my bed, safely enclosed in a hurricane holder, not only fills my room with the lovely scent of burning candle but also gives me a feeling of power, of capability and of mind force.
When extinguishing this flame before sleeping, I used to feel a sadness, almost that I took the life of this powerful energy source. I now revel in the smell of the trail of smoke that is left behind, remembering all I felt thanks to that flame and allowing my night to end and my dreams to begin.
What does the flame mean for you?
I am equally fascinated by the flame of a tealight or taper as I am with a campfire. For hours I can sit, engrossed in the observance of patterns of light, of figures my imagination conjures from the graceful dance of the flame. Fire has the power to capture my attention and to allow me to move into another state of consciousness.
Sunday nights in my childhood home were bath nights. My sister and I would take our baths together, akin to how my children currently co-bathe, and once dried and jammied, we would sit in front of the fire that Dad had built in the fireplace and let our locks dry. First the back, then the front. I loved doing my front last as I could close my eyes, let the heat melt into my face and transport myself into pre-dreamland, which soon awaited after our hair had dried. Some nights we begged Dad to put a spoonful of chimney cleaner into the fire, which created a colorful dance of light and my sister and I would yell out the different hues we would see, pointing and jumping enthusiastically at this miracle of light.
I was fascinated by how a heavy log could be consumed down to ashes that crumbled in my hand after being licked by the flame for an entire evening. It wasn't until later that I came to realize that fire is alive. It eats, breathes, excretes and, in how humans use it as a representation of ire, passion and warmth, it seems to feel. This realization deepened my fascination into a respect for fire's power.
When in a tiny, cold Catholic church in Sweden, that lacked of electricity and heat, I was given a tiny taper to hold after trudging through two feet of snow to arrive at Mass. Unable to concentrate due to the deep, bone-reaching cold I felt, I chose to stand instead of sit on the cold bench. I removed one glove and warmed my fingertips over the flame of that candle. I don't remember a thing said in Mass that night; I only remember the warmth that tiny flame gave my fingers and I was grateful.
I light a candle in my bedroom almost every night. I rarely have time to sit and simply stare at the show anymore, but somehow the knowledge that this fire burns next to my bed, safely enclosed in a hurricane holder, not only fills my room with the lovely scent of burning candle but also gives me a feeling of power, of capability and of mind force.
When extinguishing this flame before sleeping, I used to feel a sadness, almost that I took the life of this powerful energy source. I now revel in the smell of the trail of smoke that is left behind, remembering all I felt thanks to that flame and allowing my night to end and my dreams to begin.
What does the flame mean for you?
domingo, 1 de febrero de 2009
the mirror
Mirrors have always fascinated me.
When a child, Mom and Dad (note the teamwork represented in my memory of facts) installed sliding mirror doors on our closets in all of the bedrooms in the house. I would sit in front of that sliding piece of vanity-inducing goodness for hours, often merely playing solitaire, a long-time favorite choice of personal entertainment. Or I would pretend to be a rock star.
This set-up proved most valuable when there were two teenage daughters in the house; instead of dominating the bathroom, our precious hair-care routine took place in our individual rooms.
My parents were so smart! However, the fact I could see my entire body when getting dressed did not assist me much in putting together ensembles that did not completely clash. After having taught those ages in a completely different culture than my own, I have come to decide that is a developmental stage, so-called color and pattern blindness and the desire to have one's own style not dictated to by anyone else.
That was Me.
I remember the night my maternal grandmother died. We got The Call at 2 a.m. and never went back to sleep. Nobody did. A major heart attack claimed my 62 year old Grandma in the middle of the night. (Yes, I am wearing red this coming Friday. Please join me.) I sat up the rest of the night, listening to the screaming anguish of my mother, my father making seemingly endless phone calls, lamp on, door cracked but not entirely closed (we had a no-closed door policy in my house; cracked was fine, no firm closure permitted), shuffling cards, listening to KTMT. Tears for Fears' song "Shout" must have been Billboard's #1 that week; it played all day long and every time I hear that song to this day I am carried back to that day when I sat in front of my mirror doors, playing Klondike or Four Aces or Clock or 13 pyramid...whatever...and watched myself cry and cry silent tears while Mom screamed the pain of her soul out. I was fourteen.
Mirrors later became an obsession. If there were anything into which I could catch a glance of my reflection, I would search it out to ensure hair was in place, the little make-up I wore was okay, nothing in my teeth; I had my secret checklist that would be fulfilled in car windows, oven doors and glass picture frames.
Undoing this vain practice has proved difficult. Even at an age in which I should now feel comfortable with who I am and how I represent myself to the world, I seek out my reflection constantly, same checklist in mind.
Perhaps I try to find something deeper, that little "spark" or detail that everyone else seems to see in me but that I cannot see in myself. If I look in enough mirrors, will that ever give me the opportunity to see me as others do?
Mirrors represent a constant search for a me that I, evidently, am not yet certain truly exists except through the eyes of others. What do mirrors represent for you?
When a child, Mom and Dad (note the teamwork represented in my memory of facts) installed sliding mirror doors on our closets in all of the bedrooms in the house. I would sit in front of that sliding piece of vanity-inducing goodness for hours, often merely playing solitaire, a long-time favorite choice of personal entertainment. Or I would pretend to be a rock star.
This set-up proved most valuable when there were two teenage daughters in the house; instead of dominating the bathroom, our precious hair-care routine took place in our individual rooms.
My parents were so smart! However, the fact I could see my entire body when getting dressed did not assist me much in putting together ensembles that did not completely clash. After having taught those ages in a completely different culture than my own, I have come to decide that is a developmental stage, so-called color and pattern blindness and the desire to have one's own style not dictated to by anyone else.
That was Me.
I remember the night my maternal grandmother died. We got The Call at 2 a.m. and never went back to sleep. Nobody did. A major heart attack claimed my 62 year old Grandma in the middle of the night. (Yes, I am wearing red this coming Friday. Please join me.) I sat up the rest of the night, listening to the screaming anguish of my mother, my father making seemingly endless phone calls, lamp on, door cracked but not entirely closed (we had a no-closed door policy in my house; cracked was fine, no firm closure permitted), shuffling cards, listening to KTMT. Tears for Fears' song "Shout" must have been Billboard's #1 that week; it played all day long and every time I hear that song to this day I am carried back to that day when I sat in front of my mirror doors, playing Klondike or Four Aces or Clock or 13 pyramid...whatever...and watched myself cry and cry silent tears while Mom screamed the pain of her soul out. I was fourteen.
Mirrors later became an obsession. If there were anything into which I could catch a glance of my reflection, I would search it out to ensure hair was in place, the little make-up I wore was okay, nothing in my teeth; I had my secret checklist that would be fulfilled in car windows, oven doors and glass picture frames.
Undoing this vain practice has proved difficult. Even at an age in which I should now feel comfortable with who I am and how I represent myself to the world, I seek out my reflection constantly, same checklist in mind.
Perhaps I try to find something deeper, that little "spark" or detail that everyone else seems to see in me but that I cannot see in myself. If I look in enough mirrors, will that ever give me the opportunity to see me as others do?
Mirrors represent a constant search for a me that I, evidently, am not yet certain truly exists except through the eyes of others. What do mirrors represent for you?
domingo, 25 de enero de 2009
yawn
I'm tired. I've just been plain exhausted.
Partially due to it being January...you know, cold, dark, blaugh.
I have also worked hard...my house is officially clean. That says a lot right there.
I'm burning out during the day so I can wear the kids down so they will sleep at night early so I might have a few minutes. These minutes elude me by the time they come around because I'm too tired to enjoy.
And I hear my 5:00 a.m. alarm all right. I just choose to ignore it and instead I fall back into blissful slumber.
My dreams are turbulent, so bliss is not the most apropriate modifier. I suppose that will contribute to a general feeling of needing-to-hibernate.
I'll do the taxes next weekend. After that...anything expected of me? If not, you can find me curled up in my bed living off what little body fat I have for survival. (insert yet another yawn, so hard tears spring from my eyes) Time for sleep.
Here's to sweeter dreams!
Partially due to it being January...you know, cold, dark, blaugh.
I have also worked hard...my house is officially clean. That says a lot right there.
I'm burning out during the day so I can wear the kids down so they will sleep at night early so I might have a few minutes. These minutes elude me by the time they come around because I'm too tired to enjoy.
And I hear my 5:00 a.m. alarm all right. I just choose to ignore it and instead I fall back into blissful slumber.
My dreams are turbulent, so bliss is not the most apropriate modifier. I suppose that will contribute to a general feeling of needing-to-hibernate.
I'll do the taxes next weekend. After that...anything expected of me? If not, you can find me curled up in my bed living off what little body fat I have for survival. (insert yet another yawn, so hard tears spring from my eyes) Time for sleep.
Here's to sweeter dreams!
viernes, 23 de enero de 2009
Flashback Friday
Today's flashback takes a different form.
I was graciously invited to take part in one of the millions of neighborhood inaugural events that were held this past weekend here in PoliticsMeccaUSA. It was a lovely event hosted by a couple of my students. Not knowing a soul, a girlfriend and I showed up and ended up having one of the nicest nights we have both had in a long time.
I was reminded how magical it is to get to know new people.
As the male counterpart of the couple I teach took my arm and led me around the room, I realized that all these people knew me, and yet I had just begun to learn about them as my students' abilities have grown to the level of speaking in-depth about their groups, hobbies, sports teams and the other two couples they bicycle tour with. It was flattering; the wine helped me overcome feeling overwhelmed.
I met one lady that night who, in 1974, went to the Galápagos Islands. She had a resident visa in Ecuador at that time, so she got a military flight for $70, she and her husband were weighed before getting on the plane, and then crates and crates of beer was loaded on after them. As they took off, everyone madly started doing the sign of the cross (South American military plane, early 1970s...can't say I blame them!) and they landed about an hour or so later in the Galápagos. They had to take a boat to the main residential island of Santa Cruz, and stayed in Puerto Ayora. Tourists are no longer allowed to stay on the islands, I believe.
During her week there, she met a Norwegian family that had lived there for a couple generations and, from what she said, they became quite close by the time she and her husband had to return to the mainland.
Fast forward 18 years, to December 1992 when I, on my resident visa in Ecuador, got a non-tourist rate to fly a small commuter plane out to the newer airport on the island of Santa Cruz and stayed for four nights in Puerto Ayora. My first night there I met a man about my same age who took me each night to show me the "natives only" side of the Galápagos while my companions slept in their hostel. It was a purely amazing and one-of-a-kind experience and part of why the Galápagos are considered my personal paradise.
Upon my departure on my fifth day on the Islands, I was given a book by this man, with a message written on the front cover to me, written by a Joanna Angermeyer: "My Father's Island". He knew the people in the book; the author was a personal family friend and he wanted me to have it to always remember why the Galápagos are such a special place to those few who have decided to make their lives there.
The woman's eyes lit up on Monday night when I related this to her. "Angermeyer..." That was the family she had met in her time in the Galápagos back in 1974, when my friend would have only been about 2 years old. It was a serendipitous conversation as we stood there, relating, remembering, allowing ourselves to fall back into an empathetic zone of experiences shared and people known, albeit separated by almost 20 years.
This conversation was one of the many highlights on Monday night, and showed me how important it is to continue to extend myself beyond my comfort zone; I never know what treasures await me there.
And perhaps I should go back and re-read that book this weekend.
I was graciously invited to take part in one of the millions of neighborhood inaugural events that were held this past weekend here in PoliticsMeccaUSA. It was a lovely event hosted by a couple of my students. Not knowing a soul, a girlfriend and I showed up and ended up having one of the nicest nights we have both had in a long time.
I was reminded how magical it is to get to know new people.
As the male counterpart of the couple I teach took my arm and led me around the room, I realized that all these people knew me, and yet I had just begun to learn about them as my students' abilities have grown to the level of speaking in-depth about their groups, hobbies, sports teams and the other two couples they bicycle tour with. It was flattering; the wine helped me overcome feeling overwhelmed.
I met one lady that night who, in 1974, went to the Galápagos Islands. She had a resident visa in Ecuador at that time, so she got a military flight for $70, she and her husband were weighed before getting on the plane, and then crates and crates of beer was loaded on after them. As they took off, everyone madly started doing the sign of the cross (South American military plane, early 1970s...can't say I blame them!) and they landed about an hour or so later in the Galápagos. They had to take a boat to the main residential island of Santa Cruz, and stayed in Puerto Ayora. Tourists are no longer allowed to stay on the islands, I believe.
During her week there, she met a Norwegian family that had lived there for a couple generations and, from what she said, they became quite close by the time she and her husband had to return to the mainland.
Fast forward 18 years, to December 1992 when I, on my resident visa in Ecuador, got a non-tourist rate to fly a small commuter plane out to the newer airport on the island of Santa Cruz and stayed for four nights in Puerto Ayora. My first night there I met a man about my same age who took me each night to show me the "natives only" side of the Galápagos while my companions slept in their hostel. It was a purely amazing and one-of-a-kind experience and part of why the Galápagos are considered my personal paradise.
Upon my departure on my fifth day on the Islands, I was given a book by this man, with a message written on the front cover to me, written by a Joanna Angermeyer: "My Father's Island". He knew the people in the book; the author was a personal family friend and he wanted me to have it to always remember why the Galápagos are such a special place to those few who have decided to make their lives there.
The woman's eyes lit up on Monday night when I related this to her. "Angermeyer..." That was the family she had met in her time in the Galápagos back in 1974, when my friend would have only been about 2 years old. It was a serendipitous conversation as we stood there, relating, remembering, allowing ourselves to fall back into an empathetic zone of experiences shared and people known, albeit separated by almost 20 years.
This conversation was one of the many highlights on Monday night, and showed me how important it is to continue to extend myself beyond my comfort zone; I never know what treasures await me there.
And perhaps I should go back and re-read that book this weekend.
domingo, 18 de enero de 2009
conflicted
He is on standby.
On the list, He is #1 on the list for his rank to be called out for a year of service.
This doesn't mean *necessarily* Iraq or Afghanistan. Upon learning more about it last night, He will go where there is need for his rank--Navy Captain. That could be anywhere...including, of course, where the pirate activity is occuring off the Somali coast of Africa. And as He is an active reservist, not IRR, He is not being called up against his will. Even though He has had three years active duty time and time during Desert Shield/Desert Storm so long ago, it is possible the rotation has been exhausted for his designator. Or that they don't count the aforementioned time.
The chances are 2:3 that He will go. He'll get 60 days' notice.
I sat down and told him that, even though we can't live in the same house, that doesn't mean I want him to go off to war. Main reason being, I don't particularly want my children to not have a father for a year. The one person who I have told about this possibility said, "Well, now you'd finally have what you wanted." I don't see what she is talking about; I want a separation, not for him to disappear. I have never said that. Remember, I won't even consider moving away because I feel so strongly about the children having time with their father. I want the children to have quality time with both of us, not just with me--as I know I need a break, too.
And selfishly (because I am essentially selfish), I know that I also have no family support here. Calling on friends is hardly an option as all the children are all so much older and everyone is so deeply involved in their own heavy schedule of activities; yet my children are still yet too young, by law, to leave home alone. But such is Life. Again, not quite what I had signed up for.
But I will figure it out. I always do!
So then I wonder if I shouldn't just try to make this work. I don't know--to give him some hope or something. Not for me, but for Him. But, as my friend pointed out, He would return in a year and we'd be back in the same situation: He thinking all is hunky-dorey and me, discontented and unfulfilled.
And, really, all is simply in theory as the earliest he could be recalled would be 1 April. So until a 60 day notice comes up, Life must continue on as normal. Just impossible to make any long-term plans for travel on my part; my trip to South America this year may not happen...or I'd just have to take the kids with me...but then I'd need to get passports for them both...hmm. Must think about this now, mustn't I?
On the list, He is #1 on the list for his rank to be called out for a year of service.
This doesn't mean *necessarily* Iraq or Afghanistan. Upon learning more about it last night, He will go where there is need for his rank--Navy Captain. That could be anywhere...including, of course, where the pirate activity is occuring off the Somali coast of Africa. And as He is an active reservist, not IRR, He is not being called up against his will. Even though He has had three years active duty time and time during Desert Shield/Desert Storm so long ago, it is possible the rotation has been exhausted for his designator. Or that they don't count the aforementioned time.
The chances are 2:3 that He will go. He'll get 60 days' notice.
I sat down and told him that, even though we can't live in the same house, that doesn't mean I want him to go off to war. Main reason being, I don't particularly want my children to not have a father for a year. The one person who I have told about this possibility said, "Well, now you'd finally have what you wanted." I don't see what she is talking about; I want a separation, not for him to disappear. I have never said that. Remember, I won't even consider moving away because I feel so strongly about the children having time with their father. I want the children to have quality time with both of us, not just with me--as I know I need a break, too.
And selfishly (because I am essentially selfish), I know that I also have no family support here. Calling on friends is hardly an option as all the children are all so much older and everyone is so deeply involved in their own heavy schedule of activities; yet my children are still yet too young, by law, to leave home alone. But such is Life. Again, not quite what I had signed up for.
But I will figure it out. I always do!
So then I wonder if I shouldn't just try to make this work. I don't know--to give him some hope or something. Not for me, but for Him. But, as my friend pointed out, He would return in a year and we'd be back in the same situation: He thinking all is hunky-dorey and me, discontented and unfulfilled.
And, really, all is simply in theory as the earliest he could be recalled would be 1 April. So until a 60 day notice comes up, Life must continue on as normal. Just impossible to make any long-term plans for travel on my part; my trip to South America this year may not happen...or I'd just have to take the kids with me...but then I'd need to get passports for them both...hmm. Must think about this now, mustn't I?
martes, 13 de enero de 2009
So, whaddya want from me?
A local AP tutoring firm contacted me, with an email line stating they had "Desperate Need for AP Spanish Tutor." Interesting, I thought, and I responded that I would be interested, provided that such contract employment would be on my terms, not theirs (business for me, currently, is not hurting).
My terms being that 1) all classes are held in my home classroom, and 2) my pay is $50/hour.
I received a response inquiring where my classroom was located. Then a follow-up asking me to send my CV and three references. Sure, not a problem...striking me a bit as funny as HE had searched ME out to offer ME a position (evidently responding to my CraigsList ad). However, I said I would send everything only pendent upon my pay being commesurate with my going rates.
He emailed back requesting a meeting with me as soon as possible. I told him that, due to my teaching schedule, I am unable to meet with him before Friday morning. Knowing full well, of course, that his only purpose in seeing me face-to-face was to try to talk me down from my going rates.
He then began to get upset, evidently, in his email, wondering what kind of time I would have to dedicate to his students if the earliest I could come to him is Friday morning. I fired back that I stay at home teaching so that I can be a mother for my two young children as well, 'sir'. That permits me to have students while having my children at home and working around my schedule as, most importantly, a parent first. My students all understand and, above all, respect that in me.
I then said that, if that is not an acceptable arrangement for your company, then we are perhaps not a good match.
He didn't appreciate that response, as I received a rather snide comment back about my "TEACHING SCHEDULE" permitting. I do have students Monday-Thursday afternoon/early evening, then children pick-up from school, dinners to prepare, etc. I have my limits; hence what I have chosen to do--while earning more money than I did at the Uni working their hours. Plus, by now my feathers are a bit fluffed; I did not go to him asking for employment. He, instead, was "desperately seeking a Spanish AP tutor" and sought me out. Then had the nerve to switch the table to feed his own ego? make me seem like the bad guy? I'm not exactly sure, but it didn't work as he has lost one hell of an excellent prospective tutor that he sought and then proceeded to chase away.
It was today that I realized how far I have come in such a short time in my business. Whereas two years ago I would have jumped like a puppy through whatever hoop this man had set out and complied with whatever pittance had been tossed my way, I have learned that my name has gotten out, I have regular students and recommended students alike who I have earned all by myself, with no need for a school or an agency for matchmaking. I don't have to take the crap he was trying to deal out anymore, and I would not have enjoyed working for someone like that. My sympathies to those who do work for him.
In my final email of this exchange I did thank him for his interest...! Queen of the subversive jabs am I!
(and just to let you know---I really, really derive great pleasure from coming out on top of such pettiness!)
My terms being that 1) all classes are held in my home classroom, and 2) my pay is $50/hour.
I received a response inquiring where my classroom was located. Then a follow-up asking me to send my CV and three references. Sure, not a problem...striking me a bit as funny as HE had searched ME out to offer ME a position (evidently responding to my CraigsList ad). However, I said I would send everything only pendent upon my pay being commesurate with my going rates.
He emailed back requesting a meeting with me as soon as possible. I told him that, due to my teaching schedule, I am unable to meet with him before Friday morning. Knowing full well, of course, that his only purpose in seeing me face-to-face was to try to talk me down from my going rates.
He then began to get upset, evidently, in his email, wondering what kind of time I would have to dedicate to his students if the earliest I could come to him is Friday morning. I fired back that I stay at home teaching so that I can be a mother for my two young children as well, 'sir'. That permits me to have students while having my children at home and working around my schedule as, most importantly, a parent first. My students all understand and, above all, respect that in me.
I then said that, if that is not an acceptable arrangement for your company, then we are perhaps not a good match.
He didn't appreciate that response, as I received a rather snide comment back about my "TEACHING SCHEDULE" permitting. I do have students Monday-Thursday afternoon/early evening, then children pick-up from school, dinners to prepare, etc. I have my limits; hence what I have chosen to do--while earning more money than I did at the Uni working their hours. Plus, by now my feathers are a bit fluffed; I did not go to him asking for employment. He, instead, was "desperately seeking a Spanish AP tutor" and sought me out. Then had the nerve to switch the table to feed his own ego? make me seem like the bad guy? I'm not exactly sure, but it didn't work as he has lost one hell of an excellent prospective tutor that he sought and then proceeded to chase away.
It was today that I realized how far I have come in such a short time in my business. Whereas two years ago I would have jumped like a puppy through whatever hoop this man had set out and complied with whatever pittance had been tossed my way, I have learned that my name has gotten out, I have regular students and recommended students alike who I have earned all by myself, with no need for a school or an agency for matchmaking. I don't have to take the crap he was trying to deal out anymore, and I would not have enjoyed working for someone like that. My sympathies to those who do work for him.
In my final email of this exchange I did thank him for his interest...! Queen of the subversive jabs am I!
(and just to let you know---I really, really derive great pleasure from coming out on top of such pettiness!)
lunes, 12 de enero de 2009
dreaming of stilettos
They were black, sexy stiletto dress shoes, to be worn with a sexy black dress. I found them and wanted them, even though I have yet to ever wear stilettos.
With my long legs and the perfect length dress, I would be--well, invincible.
*---*
I am going to an Inauguration Ball, hosted by a couple I have been teaching for almost two years who were kind enough to invite their young Spanish teacher to share in next week's fun. My date is a girlfriend, a fellow mother of a classmate of La Princesita who lives around the corner. Black tie; should be a lot of fun. However, I don't really have a black-tie dress.
I have a week. I will see what I can figure out. She-ra suggested I raid the closet of her babysitter, an 18-year old away at college. Is that a compliment or a jab? :)
*---*
I have had a new surge of Life. I feel good, I feel like I look good, and I take my stiletto dream as an embracing of the sensuality I have permitted to reenter my life. Granted, this sexual validation comes from a battery-operation fallus (which I cannot seem to quite get enough of right now) but I choose to see this as a first-of-the-year pick-me-up that usually does not hit until the sun begins to shine with more direct rays in the springtime.
And I feel good.
Now to find a dress. And, if the mood hits, maybe I will find stilettos for the night...but don't hold your breath.
With my long legs and the perfect length dress, I would be--well, invincible.
*---*
I am going to an Inauguration Ball, hosted by a couple I have been teaching for almost two years who were kind enough to invite their young Spanish teacher to share in next week's fun. My date is a girlfriend, a fellow mother of a classmate of La Princesita who lives around the corner. Black tie; should be a lot of fun. However, I don't really have a black-tie dress.
I have a week. I will see what I can figure out. She-ra suggested I raid the closet of her babysitter, an 18-year old away at college. Is that a compliment or a jab? :)
*---*
I have had a new surge of Life. I feel good, I feel like I look good, and I take my stiletto dream as an embracing of the sensuality I have permitted to reenter my life. Granted, this sexual validation comes from a battery-operation fallus (which I cannot seem to quite get enough of right now) but I choose to see this as a first-of-the-year pick-me-up that usually does not hit until the sun begins to shine with more direct rays in the springtime.
And I feel good.
Now to find a dress. And, if the mood hits, maybe I will find stilettos for the night...but don't hold your breath.
sábado, 10 de enero de 2009
I have my bed back
Young Prince has moved out and fully into his Big Boy Bed. Yes, he is 4 1/2. But I had an "until 5 at the latest" rule. Exceptions include nightmares and big storms. Otherwise, everyone OUT!
I am enjoying my king-sized bliss--all by myself.
The first morning I have not yet had to be up and out for any reason, I took advantage to dust off my (former) dead battery case. You know the one--big, purple with pearl action. And ears.
Ah, why I had I abandoned thee? What an absolutely glorious way to begin a Saturday.
I am enjoying my king-sized bliss--all by myself.
The first morning I have not yet had to be up and out for any reason, I took advantage to dust off my (former) dead battery case. You know the one--big, purple with pearl action. And ears.
Ah, why I had I abandoned thee? What an absolutely glorious way to begin a Saturday.
***
In order to fully enjoy the effects of my little purple Peter Rabbit, I have to conjure in my mind the picture of him. The only man I have ever loved; the only one, in the history of my lovers, to have ever raised me to the heights of bliss just by a look. The only with whom I could fight and look forward to our reconciliation...and who would come after me when I never would admit I wanted to be chased. The only who would love to create with me as a team, be it a meal or a project, or even a work of art. The only who could tell by the tone of my written word--not even voice--my mood. The only one felt challenged by me yet not intimidated by my powerful and very complex spirit. The only one who could make me laugh and cry and feel valid no matter what, because of an acceptance of who I am. The only one who physically fit me as if we had been created for each other.
To experience a love like this makes everything else so gray by comparision. Unfair it is, really; nobody else could ever have a chance in my life. Having such a partner by my side like that, I feel invincible. I am learning to find this strength within myself. Some days are better than others, but I know this will be a good year. I am prepared to make it so.
And with a little help from my friend, all the better!
To experience a love like this makes everything else so gray by comparision. Unfair it is, really; nobody else could ever have a chance in my life. Having such a partner by my side like that, I feel invincible. I am learning to find this strength within myself. Some days are better than others, but I know this will be a good year. I am prepared to make it so.
And with a little help from my friend, all the better!
miércoles, 7 de enero de 2009
mistaken signals
I am beginning a new phase of life.
This has greeted me with a new perspective and a fresh, confident ideal of not wanting or needing to find companionship on a romantic level. There is so much freedom in knowing that I don't need to have that to feel fulfilled, and the resulting strength is empowering.
However, I find myself at a crossroads because I think my ideal of finding men to pass platonic time with is just that: an ideal, a fantasy, something that I will probably not find. I recently had the opportunity to watch movies one evening with a male friend, for whom I feel no particular spark but who is wonderful company, extremely handsome and at a similar life stage. It was nice, platonic, no pressure felt and very comfortable.
When relating this evening spent in nice friendly company to my female friends, I am surprised at the reactions; namely that I am being naive to think that any man would not invest time like that if he didn't have deeper interest, in hopes that this would develop eventually into more. "Men can have all the patience in the world until they get what they want."
Perhaps that assessment is correct. Perhaps I am being naive. It would be nice to have a single person, woman or man, to be able to call and get together from time to time and just enjoy each other's company, much akin to how I spent this past weekend with my girlfriend from grad school, but without having to get on an airplane to do so. Even better if that person is also a parent, if only for the empathy and comprehension aspect. I simply have no desire, nor am legally able, to develop any relationship deeper than a friendship level, yet am starting to carry doubts of the existence of this no-expectation type of connection at this stage of life.
This has greeted me with a new perspective and a fresh, confident ideal of not wanting or needing to find companionship on a romantic level. There is so much freedom in knowing that I don't need to have that to feel fulfilled, and the resulting strength is empowering.
However, I find myself at a crossroads because I think my ideal of finding men to pass platonic time with is just that: an ideal, a fantasy, something that I will probably not find. I recently had the opportunity to watch movies one evening with a male friend, for whom I feel no particular spark but who is wonderful company, extremely handsome and at a similar life stage. It was nice, platonic, no pressure felt and very comfortable.
When relating this evening spent in nice friendly company to my female friends, I am surprised at the reactions; namely that I am being naive to think that any man would not invest time like that if he didn't have deeper interest, in hopes that this would develop eventually into more. "Men can have all the patience in the world until they get what they want."
Perhaps that assessment is correct. Perhaps I am being naive. It would be nice to have a single person, woman or man, to be able to call and get together from time to time and just enjoy each other's company, much akin to how I spent this past weekend with my girlfriend from grad school, but without having to get on an airplane to do so. Even better if that person is also a parent, if only for the empathy and comprehension aspect. I simply have no desire, nor am legally able, to develop any relationship deeper than a friendship level, yet am starting to carry doubts of the existence of this no-expectation type of connection at this stage of life.
martes, 6 de enero de 2009
feeling shattered
Oh no...heavens, NOTHING like what was going on Last Year at this time!
I fell down the stairs today.
Fortunately not all 13 of them. Only about the bottom 1/2...ouch. And unlike a seasoned faller who would know to not to fight the feeling, I reached out, grabbed the banister and promptly twisted my body into landing in a contorted heap at the base of the steps.
And they were the indoor, not the outdoor, steps, so it was all my doing and not to be blamed on some random showing of ice.
I somehow managed to drive myself to the chiropractor, where for the second time in two weeks he had me in tears popping me into place. But I am prescribed ice therapy, "as much as I can" tonight as my left shoulder and the base of my neck is completely swollen (dude, no wonder it hurts so bad!) and to, um, 'pop' back in tomorrow so he can torture me a bit more into place.
So I will sit and give thanks for laptops as my neck ices and I plan the rest of the week's classes.
Side note updates:
My weekend away to Georgia was lovely. My girlfriend and I had not seen each other in about 4 years, and we desperately needed some catch-up time. Watched some old movies, one newer flick and did some shopping. Swapped class ideas and voila! We could have technically written that weekend off for taxes.
My mother is up to old antics again. The Christmas Letter included a lovely guilt trip blatantly directed at this Mama Llama about what a crappy daughter I am to keep her grandchildren at such a distance. She has also rejected the name that my daughter, the first grandchild of the family, gave to her. My sister and her husband are angry with her about this as well, and it makes it very hard to even make the efforts to pick up the phone. I'm getting tired of it. I guess the webcam I bought her for Christmas went over like a lead balloon. Can't say I don't make an effort. I just need to smart up and stop making the efforts...
...if she weren't my mother, it would be so easy.
As far as my Rocking Resolution list goes, I am doing well so far. Granted, we're only a week into the New Year, but still...
And with that I go back to the ice.
I fell down the stairs today.
Fortunately not all 13 of them. Only about the bottom 1/2...ouch. And unlike a seasoned faller who would know to not to fight the feeling, I reached out, grabbed the banister and promptly twisted my body into landing in a contorted heap at the base of the steps.
And they were the indoor, not the outdoor, steps, so it was all my doing and not to be blamed on some random showing of ice.
I somehow managed to drive myself to the chiropractor, where for the second time in two weeks he had me in tears popping me into place. But I am prescribed ice therapy, "as much as I can" tonight as my left shoulder and the base of my neck is completely swollen (dude, no wonder it hurts so bad!) and to, um, 'pop' back in tomorrow so he can torture me a bit more into place.
So I will sit and give thanks for laptops as my neck ices and I plan the rest of the week's classes.
Side note updates:
My weekend away to Georgia was lovely. My girlfriend and I had not seen each other in about 4 years, and we desperately needed some catch-up time. Watched some old movies, one newer flick and did some shopping. Swapped class ideas and voila! We could have technically written that weekend off for taxes.
My mother is up to old antics again. The Christmas Letter included a lovely guilt trip blatantly directed at this Mama Llama about what a crappy daughter I am to keep her grandchildren at such a distance. She has also rejected the name that my daughter, the first grandchild of the family, gave to her. My sister and her husband are angry with her about this as well, and it makes it very hard to even make the efforts to pick up the phone. I'm getting tired of it. I guess the webcam I bought her for Christmas went over like a lead balloon. Can't say I don't make an effort. I just need to smart up and stop making the efforts...
...if she weren't my mother, it would be so easy.
As far as my Rocking Resolution list goes, I am doing well so far. Granted, we're only a week into the New Year, but still...
And with that I go back to the ice.
jueves, 1 de enero de 2009
reflections on the old; resolutions in the new
Ah, 2008 is gone. History.
I began the month of December in quite a funk, not only due to the memory of and added loss but also due to what I perceived to have been a failure of a year. I wanted to have acheived my separation in 2008 and that did not happen.
However, I could not see at that point the great strides I have indeed made. What might seem like baby steps to some are huge to me. I have Him talking now in terms of "my weekend" vs. "his weekend" with the kids. I am no longer sitting home and crying during his time with the children; I am being productive, going out, enjoying my life and making the most of the freedom I have, trying to relax as much as possible so as to be a better mother when they are mine again. I am overcoming a fear of going out and doing things on my own; my basic insecurities that have ruled my life for so long are beign dismissed and I am coming out stronger and much more self-defined as a result.
And I am trying to laugh more.
That is how 2008 ended for me. What will 2009 have in store?
I want to build my business up just a bit more, as my youngest will be in school five mornings a week this coming year.
I want to cook more, bake more and eat out less.
I want to depend more on tea and less on coffee to keep my eyes open during the day.
Walk/bike more, drive less.
Simplify my life; less expenses, more experiences.
Develop more self-discipline regarding my computer use.
Define my various paths in my life.
Rid my life of that which is toxic and surround myself with healthy people and experiences.
More salads, less sweets.
More exercise, fewer excuses.
Get my backyard back into shape.
Ensure all in my life know who they are and what their roles in my life are; and conversely define what my role in their lives is.
Ascertain that He and I are playing on the same field, with the same expectations--about which, right now, I have an uncertain vibe resonating deep within me.
Start working on getting over my fear of confrontation.
Go somewhere I have never before been.
A new, different passport stamp? Hmmmm...would be nice!
Be the best mother I can be, and give thanks for these two greatest gifts I have been given each and every day of my life.
Keep a cleaner house.
Love more, live more; worry and resent less.
Let things go.
Be well.
I began the month of December in quite a funk, not only due to the memory of and added loss but also due to what I perceived to have been a failure of a year. I wanted to have acheived my separation in 2008 and that did not happen.
However, I could not see at that point the great strides I have indeed made. What might seem like baby steps to some are huge to me. I have Him talking now in terms of "my weekend" vs. "his weekend" with the kids. I am no longer sitting home and crying during his time with the children; I am being productive, going out, enjoying my life and making the most of the freedom I have, trying to relax as much as possible so as to be a better mother when they are mine again. I am overcoming a fear of going out and doing things on my own; my basic insecurities that have ruled my life for so long are beign dismissed and I am coming out stronger and much more self-defined as a result.
And I am trying to laugh more.
That is how 2008 ended for me. What will 2009 have in store?
I want to build my business up just a bit more, as my youngest will be in school five mornings a week this coming year.
I want to cook more, bake more and eat out less.
I want to depend more on tea and less on coffee to keep my eyes open during the day.
Walk/bike more, drive less.
Simplify my life; less expenses, more experiences.
Develop more self-discipline regarding my computer use.
Define my various paths in my life.
Rid my life of that which is toxic and surround myself with healthy people and experiences.
More salads, less sweets.
More exercise, fewer excuses.
Get my backyard back into shape.
Ensure all in my life know who they are and what their roles in my life are; and conversely define what my role in their lives is.
Ascertain that He and I are playing on the same field, with the same expectations--about which, right now, I have an uncertain vibe resonating deep within me.
Start working on getting over my fear of confrontation.
Go somewhere I have never before been.
A new, different passport stamp? Hmmmm...would be nice!
Be the best mother I can be, and give thanks for these two greatest gifts I have been given each and every day of my life.
Keep a cleaner house.
Love more, live more; worry and resent less.
Let things go.
Be well.
lunes, 22 de diciembre de 2008
The Spatula Wars
He went out and bought a set of new spatulas.
Not just any spatulas, Le Creuset spatulas. (read: very very expensive)
I have a full set, with two that are a trite battered by a blender's blade but still completely usable. That is like 8 or 9 spatulas in reach of my stove, that fit perfectly into a little white holder so that I can pull one out and all of the rest don't come out due to lack of spersonal spatula space.
(sorry 'bout that...feeling sassy)
So I unload the dishwasher the other day and there are ten new spatulas in there, just washed. I had never seen them before. I have already all those utensils, most of which (like the baster brush) I never, ever use. I have had these now for six years, it is no secret I have them unless Somebody is just unaware that these spatulas, pasta spoons, slatted spoons, etc. actually exist in my kitchen.
And I don't have a lot of excess spatula space in my kitchen. My drawers are pretty full.
So I took the spatulas and put them out on his table where I put his mail, magazines and other items. Thinking that maybe, just maybe, he's starting to plan for his move out by purchasing for his own kitchen... (not that he can cook or even know what to use most of those utentils for besides stirring the OJ in the morning)
Well, the next morning my spatula jar is so filled with spatulas that I can no longer pull one out without the entire mess of them falling out of the damn jar. So, sputtering spatula explitives I remove his, cursing the fact that my kitchen wa has been upset, and return them to his table.
I see the receipt he laid out for some reason on the kitchen counter. $100 worth of spatulas.
I about, um...split a spatula in half reading that!
Dude. I could do a heluva lot more with $100...OH--excuse me. They were 20% off! That explains it. He saw the magic four-letter word: SALE. And just HAD to buy. (he's just like that) No matter if there is need, just buy for the purpose of buying...
...which runs so utterly contrary to who I am and how I run my finances. For me, managing our finances was nightmarish as I had to deal with a complete lack of discipline.
Okay, so I took those $80 worth of spatulas and returned them, yet again, to his side of the table.
The next day, there were three little spatula subversives sitting in the spatula jar.
I took them and, sputtering, hid them. I don't want them, I don't need them and I don't want to see them.
Then I was getting Christmas cookie frosting ready. In little cups, I had a rainbow assortment of frostings ready for a little plastic knife that I traditionally use as the spreaders...nothing heavier will balance in those little teacups I use. He comes in and says, "Oh, and there are these..." and his voice trails off in confusion when he goes over to the spatula jar and sees that his special spatulitas have suddenly disappeared.
I snickered...to myself.
I have made it clear that I NEED a thermometer, I NEED heavy winter socks and I would LIKE to have my bike serviced and my violin bows rehaired. Never once have I said a thing about needing new spatulas. But yeah, I'm not heard. I feel strongly about using until unusable. I bought new pans this month, stoneware, because the tin ones I had had rusted and were thus rendered, well, unusable. So I upgraded. But I know what it is I will use and what I will not. He does not do any cooking, he does not spend any productive time in the kitchen (except eating), and he will not stop misplacing items that I have had in the same place for six years in some crazy miscellaneous space that leaves me cursing and losing time and literally holding a scavenger hunt for kitchen shears or measuring spoons when they are not where I expect them to be.
Dude, he is so totally breaking my stride.
Yes, I am well aware of the hilarity of the situation. These are petty, minor specks of spatula spittle that hopefully brought a smile to your face, as it did mine putting it into words!
And with that I wish you a happy Christmas Eve-Eve!
Not just any spatulas, Le Creuset spatulas. (read: very very expensive)
I have a full set, with two that are a trite battered by a blender's blade but still completely usable. That is like 8 or 9 spatulas in reach of my stove, that fit perfectly into a little white holder so that I can pull one out and all of the rest don't come out due to lack of spersonal spatula space.
(sorry 'bout that...feeling sassy)
So I unload the dishwasher the other day and there are ten new spatulas in there, just washed. I had never seen them before. I have already all those utensils, most of which (like the baster brush) I never, ever use. I have had these now for six years, it is no secret I have them unless Somebody is just unaware that these spatulas, pasta spoons, slatted spoons, etc. actually exist in my kitchen.
And I don't have a lot of excess spatula space in my kitchen. My drawers are pretty full.
So I took the spatulas and put them out on his table where I put his mail, magazines and other items. Thinking that maybe, just maybe, he's starting to plan for his move out by purchasing for his own kitchen... (not that he can cook or even know what to use most of those utentils for besides stirring the OJ in the morning)
Well, the next morning my spatula jar is so filled with spatulas that I can no longer pull one out without the entire mess of them falling out of the damn jar. So, sputtering spatula explitives I remove his, cursing the fact that my kitchen wa has been upset, and return them to his table.
I see the receipt he laid out for some reason on the kitchen counter. $100 worth of spatulas.
I about, um...split a spatula in half reading that!
Dude. I could do a heluva lot more with $100...OH--excuse me. They were 20% off! That explains it. He saw the magic four-letter word: SALE. And just HAD to buy. (he's just like that) No matter if there is need, just buy for the purpose of buying...
...which runs so utterly contrary to who I am and how I run my finances. For me, managing our finances was nightmarish as I had to deal with a complete lack of discipline.
Okay, so I took those $80 worth of spatulas and returned them, yet again, to his side of the table.
The next day, there were three little spatula subversives sitting in the spatula jar.
I took them and, sputtering, hid them. I don't want them, I don't need them and I don't want to see them.
Then I was getting Christmas cookie frosting ready. In little cups, I had a rainbow assortment of frostings ready for a little plastic knife that I traditionally use as the spreaders...nothing heavier will balance in those little teacups I use. He comes in and says, "Oh, and there are these..." and his voice trails off in confusion when he goes over to the spatula jar and sees that his special spatulitas have suddenly disappeared.
I snickered...to myself.
I have made it clear that I NEED a thermometer, I NEED heavy winter socks and I would LIKE to have my bike serviced and my violin bows rehaired. Never once have I said a thing about needing new spatulas. But yeah, I'm not heard. I feel strongly about using until unusable. I bought new pans this month, stoneware, because the tin ones I had had rusted and were thus rendered, well, unusable. So I upgraded. But I know what it is I will use and what I will not. He does not do any cooking, he does not spend any productive time in the kitchen (except eating), and he will not stop misplacing items that I have had in the same place for six years in some crazy miscellaneous space that leaves me cursing and losing time and literally holding a scavenger hunt for kitchen shears or measuring spoons when they are not where I expect them to be.
Dude, he is so totally breaking my stride.
Yes, I am well aware of the hilarity of the situation. These are petty, minor specks of spatula spittle that hopefully brought a smile to your face, as it did mine putting it into words!
And with that I wish you a happy Christmas Eve-Eve!
sábado, 20 de diciembre de 2008
Great insights from Delilah
Is that how she spells her name?
You know, the one who has that radio show that plays on most commercial pop/easy listening stations on weeknights, who gets phone calls from listeners and either gives them advice or allows them to vent their issues.
Last night, while finishing the Christmas cookie cut-and-bake, I was tuning into her show as that is the programming on the local Christmas Tunes Radio Station on that particular Friday night. One caller said that she wanted to tell her husband how much she loved him. They have been married 5 years, known each other 11 total. Delilah then asked her one simple question:
What is the greatest thing that he has done for you?
Her answer?
He makes me feel that I am valuable. He loves me for who I am, he allows me to be me.
So, he makes you feel comfortable in your own skin?
Oh, yes.
Something very powerful hit me at that moment. I had never even considered this as one of my huge problems, although one of my most pressing questions of late has been what has happened to the me I used to be? My self-esteem is gone, I am NOT the self-confident, independent woman I once was.
What happened to me?
And a flood of images, of memories, of things said washed over me. How he would tell me after meetings or groups we were part of that I ought not talk so much, that I dominated, that I was a braggart or boastful. How I had to act a certain way at his professional (military) functions...fortunately I had been trained in the art of working a crowd back in the day so I could handle myself "appropriately" to his standards. How I was attacked verbally in front of five other couples during a Valentine's dinner party for helping to clean the dishes because "as guests we do not help clean up."
These are examples of many such censorships of my character and of who I am intrinsically...examples of how he has never made me feel comfortable to be me, or that I am just somehow "not good enough" for whatever his standards are.
Hence my destroyed self-esteem.
Damn him for doing this to me.
I can't believe I haven't seen this before. But I feel so empowered today in coming to see this; a first step in the rebuilding of Mama Llama, to the strong and independent Llama I once was...
...if not better!
You know, the one who has that radio show that plays on most commercial pop/easy listening stations on weeknights, who gets phone calls from listeners and either gives them advice or allows them to vent their issues.
Last night, while finishing the Christmas cookie cut-and-bake, I was tuning into her show as that is the programming on the local Christmas Tunes Radio Station on that particular Friday night. One caller said that she wanted to tell her husband how much she loved him. They have been married 5 years, known each other 11 total. Delilah then asked her one simple question:
What is the greatest thing that he has done for you?
Her answer?
He makes me feel that I am valuable. He loves me for who I am, he allows me to be me.
So, he makes you feel comfortable in your own skin?
Oh, yes.
Something very powerful hit me at that moment. I had never even considered this as one of my huge problems, although one of my most pressing questions of late has been what has happened to the me I used to be? My self-esteem is gone, I am NOT the self-confident, independent woman I once was.
What happened to me?
And a flood of images, of memories, of things said washed over me. How he would tell me after meetings or groups we were part of that I ought not talk so much, that I dominated, that I was a braggart or boastful. How I had to act a certain way at his professional (military) functions...fortunately I had been trained in the art of working a crowd back in the day so I could handle myself "appropriately" to his standards. How I was attacked verbally in front of five other couples during a Valentine's dinner party for helping to clean the dishes because "as guests we do not help clean up."
These are examples of many such censorships of my character and of who I am intrinsically...examples of how he has never made me feel comfortable to be me, or that I am just somehow "not good enough" for whatever his standards are.
Hence my destroyed self-esteem.
Damn him for doing this to me.
I can't believe I haven't seen this before. But I feel so empowered today in coming to see this; a first step in the rebuilding of Mama Llama, to the strong and independent Llama I once was...
...if not better!
lunes, 15 de diciembre de 2008
bursting with pride
I have yet to figure out how to handle these kinds of situations: a friend calls me to invite Princesita ice-skating. He won't answer the phone, ever. Or hardly ever, so he never gets the call or even hears the phone ring and hence never checks messages unless it is on his cell. And that is not foolproof, either. So although it is not my weekend with the children, I am asked if Princesita can go ice-skating with them.
I asked Him and he said yeah, do you want me to take them?
I suppose I should have said yes, but he won't get on skates and especially Young Prince is a bit dependent still on an adult's arm out on the ice. Knowing this, I said I'll take them and he was absolutely fine with that.
Difficult point in being under the same roof is trying to establish his-time vs. my-time. I felt bad for infringing upon his weekend with the kids. However, my time with them should not be the only one in which they have interruptions, friend activities, etc. I rather enjoy such interaction and, as they aren't really going a lot of places without me yet, it just gives me some adult time with another parent, which I always enjoy.
Perhaps I will just have to begin to tell people: They are with their father this weekend; here is his number. And let that be that.
I asked Him and he said yeah, do you want me to take them?
I suppose I should have said yes, but he won't get on skates and especially Young Prince is a bit dependent still on an adult's arm out on the ice. Knowing this, I said I'll take them and he was absolutely fine with that.
Difficult point in being under the same roof is trying to establish his-time vs. my-time. I felt bad for infringing upon his weekend with the kids. However, my time with them should not be the only one in which they have interruptions, friend activities, etc. I rather enjoy such interaction and, as they aren't really going a lot of places without me yet, it just gives me some adult time with another parent, which I always enjoy.
Perhaps I will just have to begin to tell people: They are with their father this weekend; here is his number. And let that be that.
*---*
Ice-skating with my children has become one of our greatest winter pleasures. Princesita is completely independent and can even spin around on her own and go backwards. She demonstrated yesterday, in the second half of the two-hour skate session, how at ease she feels on the blades.
She began to skate about 5 feet away from Young Prince, then would turn around and tell him to skate to her. He would, not touching anything, me behind him but not holding onto him at all, and would end in her arms, giving her a big hug. Parents all around were watching with smiles. I was beaming, so proud. Then she would skate a little further away and he, concentrating on her, would make his way over to her. This process repeated itself until Princesita was at one end and Young Prince at the other, and he made his way all the way over to her without falling or grabbing me.
She taught him how to skate.
She would pretend to fall and make silly faces to keep Young Prince giggling...which turned into a great motivation for him to continue. She made his learning fun, she knew what to do to keep his attention and not let him get frustrated when he would, in fact, slip and fall. He didn't even go anywhere near the wall the entire second half of the session, boasting a confidence that he had garnered from his big sister's amazing teaching style and support.
Princesita says she wants to be a teacher. I consistently see in her the natural ability to teach, the patience to explain, the creativity to find a way to make the material easy to learn, and the flexibility and sense of humor to maintain motivation and attention. Although I have seen this in her many times before, it was yesterday that it somehow became most apparent to me; she is a natural-born teacher.
She looked at me when I told her this yesterday and said, "But Mommy, I just did what you did for me when I was learning."
I don't remember what I did as she has come so far, but she knew what she had to do to make Young Prince take those first independent steps on ice. He trusted her and she didn't let him down.
I am so proud.
She began to skate about 5 feet away from Young Prince, then would turn around and tell him to skate to her. He would, not touching anything, me behind him but not holding onto him at all, and would end in her arms, giving her a big hug. Parents all around were watching with smiles. I was beaming, so proud. Then she would skate a little further away and he, concentrating on her, would make his way over to her. This process repeated itself until Princesita was at one end and Young Prince at the other, and he made his way all the way over to her without falling or grabbing me.
She taught him how to skate.
She would pretend to fall and make silly faces to keep Young Prince giggling...which turned into a great motivation for him to continue. She made his learning fun, she knew what to do to keep his attention and not let him get frustrated when he would, in fact, slip and fall. He didn't even go anywhere near the wall the entire second half of the session, boasting a confidence that he had garnered from his big sister's amazing teaching style and support.
Princesita says she wants to be a teacher. I consistently see in her the natural ability to teach, the patience to explain, the creativity to find a way to make the material easy to learn, and the flexibility and sense of humor to maintain motivation and attention. Although I have seen this in her many times before, it was yesterday that it somehow became most apparent to me; she is a natural-born teacher.
She looked at me when I told her this yesterday and said, "But Mommy, I just did what you did for me when I was learning."
I don't remember what I did as she has come so far, but she knew what she had to do to make Young Prince take those first independent steps on ice. He trusted her and she didn't let him down.
I am so proud.
sábado, 13 de diciembre de 2008
balance
I got up and out to the gym today, for the first time in two weeks due to being sick and/or it being my weekend with the monitos. If I don't feel well enough to go work out, I really don't feel well! I ran my 5 miles in 35 minutes flat, which felt good, and about killed myself on weights I hadn't lifted in a few weeks. All in an effort to release all that is lying so heavily atop my soul.
Physical health/strength/endurance--balance.
Did I succeed? I'm not sure. No, I don't think so. Only time heals wounds and I hurt too deeply right now to make much more than a superficial dent. But I, and all involved, are in communications to seek a balance. Balance for the time being. That is all that can be done, so it is a valid and worthwhile goal.
Presence/communication--balance.
I did my share of the Christmas Cards this morning; He can do his side. This is the first year I will not do his work. I am almost finished crocheting Princesita's new bedspread; Young Prince's is already done and hidden away. Santa will dress their rooms while they sleep on Christmas Eve--when they awaken on Christmas Day, that will be their big surprise.
Presents-spirit--balance.
I pampered myself just a bit with a hair cut yesterday; the Hair Butchery is less that for me as I have a "master beautician" there I always use and she even brings me food once in a while. Nobody notices I get my hair cut but I suppose the only one who needs to notice is myself. Anyway, my beautician/magician is Iranian, a grandmother and just such a caring soul. I love to feel her fingers caressing my scalp just as much as I love the pull of the layering scissors against my head.
Pleasure/pain--balance.
I received word from my uncle; it appears he has had a stroke and is going through some tests, etc. He's the only family I have left on my father's side. Under normal circumstances that news wouldn't phase me but in the just slightly fragile state I feel I am in right now that news just pushes me over tears' edge.
Season's joys and season's losses--balance.
There is a cookie exchange tonight. I have just created the most decadent rumballs I've ever tasted--forget the "nilla wafer" filler; I have a gluten-free/soy-free concoction that is pure chocolate, condensed milk, vanilla and rum. Then some powdered sugar and soy-free chocolate chips on the outside and voila! The monitos licked the pot clean...quite literally.
Bitter/sweet--balance.
'Tis the season. I could use some other balance in my life as well. Balance between the emotional and the physical--my lack of physical contact is creating in me a monster that feels a need for great release. I was mentioning to a friend the other day, I would just kill for a make-out session. With someone. Geez, with anyone. Just to have that feeling again. Nothing more. Just to feel passion again, to feel someone's lips devouring mine. But that will not happen; I will not let that happen.
Passion/self-control--balance.
Facebook encounters have been interesting of late. An old hot and heavy flame from high school is evidently sleepless in Seattle. He shoots me an email asking me if I "remember us at -- Park?" Of course I do...he and I perfected there the beginning steps of a great art, hidden by the bushes, after school as juniors/seniors. We had quite a variety of funspots--the U of O football stadium included. But That was Then. He is now married to a beautiful wife, a gal I knew in college, with three children...and should NOT be emailing me with flirtatious fun. Even if merely being flirtatious--that is cheating and he is wrong to do that to his wife. And that is that.
Past tense/present tense--balance.
Now to balance my caffeinated mocha with some nice decaf hot tea to warm my body and prepare myself for just a tiny bit of supplies shopping, and I leave you for now.
Physical health/strength/endurance--balance.
Did I succeed? I'm not sure. No, I don't think so. Only time heals wounds and I hurt too deeply right now to make much more than a superficial dent. But I, and all involved, are in communications to seek a balance. Balance for the time being. That is all that can be done, so it is a valid and worthwhile goal.
Presence/communication--balance.
I did my share of the Christmas Cards this morning; He can do his side. This is the first year I will not do his work. I am almost finished crocheting Princesita's new bedspread; Young Prince's is already done and hidden away. Santa will dress their rooms while they sleep on Christmas Eve--when they awaken on Christmas Day, that will be their big surprise.
Presents-spirit--balance.
I pampered myself just a bit with a hair cut yesterday; the Hair Butchery is less that for me as I have a "master beautician" there I always use and she even brings me food once in a while. Nobody notices I get my hair cut but I suppose the only one who needs to notice is myself. Anyway, my beautician/magician is Iranian, a grandmother and just such a caring soul. I love to feel her fingers caressing my scalp just as much as I love the pull of the layering scissors against my head.
Pleasure/pain--balance.
I received word from my uncle; it appears he has had a stroke and is going through some tests, etc. He's the only family I have left on my father's side. Under normal circumstances that news wouldn't phase me but in the just slightly fragile state I feel I am in right now that news just pushes me over tears' edge.
Season's joys and season's losses--balance.
There is a cookie exchange tonight. I have just created the most decadent rumballs I've ever tasted--forget the "nilla wafer" filler; I have a gluten-free/soy-free concoction that is pure chocolate, condensed milk, vanilla and rum. Then some powdered sugar and soy-free chocolate chips on the outside and voila! The monitos licked the pot clean...quite literally.
Bitter/sweet--balance.
'Tis the season. I could use some other balance in my life as well. Balance between the emotional and the physical--my lack of physical contact is creating in me a monster that feels a need for great release. I was mentioning to a friend the other day, I would just kill for a make-out session. With someone. Geez, with anyone. Just to have that feeling again. Nothing more. Just to feel passion again, to feel someone's lips devouring mine. But that will not happen; I will not let that happen.
Passion/self-control--balance.
Facebook encounters have been interesting of late. An old hot and heavy flame from high school is evidently sleepless in Seattle. He shoots me an email asking me if I "remember us at -- Park?" Of course I do...he and I perfected there the beginning steps of a great art, hidden by the bushes, after school as juniors/seniors. We had quite a variety of funspots--the U of O football stadium included. But That was Then. He is now married to a beautiful wife, a gal I knew in college, with three children...and should NOT be emailing me with flirtatious fun. Even if merely being flirtatious--that is cheating and he is wrong to do that to his wife. And that is that.
Past tense/present tense--balance.
Now to balance my caffeinated mocha with some nice decaf hot tea to warm my body and prepare myself for just a tiny bit of supplies shopping, and I leave you for now.
martes, 9 de diciembre de 2008
My letter V
The Exception tagged me on a letter meme that has had my head a-spinning! This is, indeed, a challenge, but an incrediby fun exercise!
She bestowed upon me the letter v.
Now to think of ten things that I love that begin with the letter v. If you leave me a comment, I will give you a randomly chosen letter in turn.
So: on to v!
1. V is for my violin, my first true love, my first traveling companion. My violin took me to Japan my first time, to All State Orchestra, and accompanied me throughout a youth filled with learning and loving in the purest sense. My virgin mind wrote a poem extolling my violin when I was but in high school, as an instrument of my love, through which this love shone forth in both a physical manifestation and an emotional outlet. My violin taught me self-discipline; I was self-taught on the violin and am proud that all I accomplished on my violin was due to my own hard work. I miss my violin--my fingers have lost their training but my heart has not lost the love.
2. V is for my voyages. I am a traveler. I have been to, not counting mere airport layovers, twenty-four countries, twenty-three of which before I turned 30. I have lived (long enough to have to change my visa) in Europe, South America and Asia. I have learned to respect the beliefs and the ways of life of so many who live in such a different way than the over-indulgent way North Americans tend to live, which has created in me a desire for much more simplicity in my life. When I sit for too long without traveling, I become extremely restless; my voyages are good for my soul.
3. V is for vivacity. I am extremely attracted to that quality in people and try as hard as I can to maintain my vivacity of spirit even when I feel beaten down by Life.
4. V is for Vegas. And the only reason I love Vegas is because my sister and her family lives there (as well as an old college roomie) and I have grown to love and really look forward to our once yearly visits.
5. V is for violets. Apart from adoring the vibrancy of violet, my imperfect lawn is filled with violets in the springtime. What most would consider a terrible plague infecting their grass, I adore the deep blue, purple and white violets that come out as a sure sign of spring. My children pick them and make me bouquets with these violets, which I put into mini-vases and decorate our tabletop with these springtime treasures.
6. V is for Vienna. It is the name of my town, that which I now call home. It surprises me, to be honest, that this would pop into my mind as I meditate upon this exercise. I have grown to love Vienna because this is the home my children know, and because my dearest adult friends live here. However, Vienna has also permitted me to follow a dream I never considered possible, that of starting my own school and even writing my own textbook, and I think there are few places where there would actually be an active market for what I do that is not already saturated by community college or other community outreach classes.
7. V is for vanilla, my most preferred candle scent and a most necessary ingredient in most Holiday baking recipes. I find the smell of vanilla intoxicating; it fills me with memories and warmth.
8. V is for variety. I become quickly bored with routine, and even if not capable of getting myself out of the daily routine, I seek out people who can grace my life with variety in some fashion--be it an impromptu coffee once in a while, a spontaneous drop-in at the house, or just a telephone conversation that makes me interrupt my norm/rut.
9. V is for velvet. I find the sensous feeling of that particular fabric glorious against my skin. My favorite dress is black velvet with a Chinese collar; unfortunately, I never have ocassion to wear it as I never go out! Velvet makes me feel like royalty. I love to feel like a queen.
10. V is for vicuña…after all, that is what I am. Even my latin name (Lama vicugna) tells you--I am Mama Llama, domesticated version of the wild vicuña that roam the Andean highlands and that give us such versatile wools to weave into sweaters or scarves, that keeps us so warm. They are sturdy, hearty, strong creatures that can handle the hardships of life on the altiplano and that give such comfort through their wool to others.
Funny, now that the floodgates have been opened, I can think of a variety of v variants that command my attentions.
She bestowed upon me the letter v.
Now to think of ten things that I love that begin with the letter v. If you leave me a comment, I will give you a randomly chosen letter in turn.
So: on to v!
1. V is for my violin, my first true love, my first traveling companion. My violin took me to Japan my first time, to All State Orchestra, and accompanied me throughout a youth filled with learning and loving in the purest sense. My virgin mind wrote a poem extolling my violin when I was but in high school, as an instrument of my love, through which this love shone forth in both a physical manifestation and an emotional outlet. My violin taught me self-discipline; I was self-taught on the violin and am proud that all I accomplished on my violin was due to my own hard work. I miss my violin--my fingers have lost their training but my heart has not lost the love.
2. V is for my voyages. I am a traveler. I have been to, not counting mere airport layovers, twenty-four countries, twenty-three of which before I turned 30. I have lived (long enough to have to change my visa) in Europe, South America and Asia. I have learned to respect the beliefs and the ways of life of so many who live in such a different way than the over-indulgent way North Americans tend to live, which has created in me a desire for much more simplicity in my life. When I sit for too long without traveling, I become extremely restless; my voyages are good for my soul.
3. V is for vivacity. I am extremely attracted to that quality in people and try as hard as I can to maintain my vivacity of spirit even when I feel beaten down by Life.
4. V is for Vegas. And the only reason I love Vegas is because my sister and her family lives there (as well as an old college roomie) and I have grown to love and really look forward to our once yearly visits.
5. V is for violets. Apart from adoring the vibrancy of violet, my imperfect lawn is filled with violets in the springtime. What most would consider a terrible plague infecting their grass, I adore the deep blue, purple and white violets that come out as a sure sign of spring. My children pick them and make me bouquets with these violets, which I put into mini-vases and decorate our tabletop with these springtime treasures.
6. V is for Vienna. It is the name of my town, that which I now call home. It surprises me, to be honest, that this would pop into my mind as I meditate upon this exercise. I have grown to love Vienna because this is the home my children know, and because my dearest adult friends live here. However, Vienna has also permitted me to follow a dream I never considered possible, that of starting my own school and even writing my own textbook, and I think there are few places where there would actually be an active market for what I do that is not already saturated by community college or other community outreach classes.
7. V is for vanilla, my most preferred candle scent and a most necessary ingredient in most Holiday baking recipes. I find the smell of vanilla intoxicating; it fills me with memories and warmth.
8. V is for variety. I become quickly bored with routine, and even if not capable of getting myself out of the daily routine, I seek out people who can grace my life with variety in some fashion--be it an impromptu coffee once in a while, a spontaneous drop-in at the house, or just a telephone conversation that makes me interrupt my norm/rut.
9. V is for velvet. I find the sensous feeling of that particular fabric glorious against my skin. My favorite dress is black velvet with a Chinese collar; unfortunately, I never have ocassion to wear it as I never go out! Velvet makes me feel like royalty. I love to feel like a queen.
10. V is for vicuña…after all, that is what I am. Even my latin name (Lama vicugna) tells you--I am Mama Llama, domesticated version of the wild vicuña that roam the Andean highlands and that give us such versatile wools to weave into sweaters or scarves, that keeps us so warm. They are sturdy, hearty, strong creatures that can handle the hardships of life on the altiplano and that give such comfort through their wool to others.
Funny, now that the floodgates have been opened, I can think of a variety of v variants that command my attentions.
lunes, 8 de diciembre de 2008
A cinnamon spiced latte
The snow fell on Saturday evening.
It was a shower at best, but as whatever did fall has stuck around until today, it counts as the first official snowfall of the season. Following a day filled with a strange mix of charity, commercialism and the arts, Princesita, Young Prince and I decided to don our Santa hats, bundle up warm, and walk a mile downtown to the noodle restaurant for dinner.
The experience was glorious.
The air was cold, but hearts were warm as we held hands, sang songs and marvelled at the fact that we were the only ones perhaps crazy enough to be out walking in the cold, wintry night. Heated by the purest warmth of the company of those we love most, even my four year old never once complained of the two mile round-trip distance in the chill.
*---*
A pipe has broken on my street. There is a consequential calm on what is normally a known shortcut from one major street to another as Town workers are braving the sub-freezing temperatures to fix the problem. The water is frozen all over the street a few houses down.
What cracks me up, though, is that there are these two huge flourescent orange signs blocking off the street entrance, which actually state that the street is closed to traffic. You would not believe the number of cars that enter on the opposite lane of traffic, choosing to ignore the signs strategically placed right in their lane to (futilely) attempt to stop them from entering the street in the first place, then having to “lose time” by actually turning around and leaving the way they came in--right in front of my house.
I could sit and watch that all day. I wonder what it is that makes people not see big orange signs? Just coming down the street because they saw someone enter who happens to live on the street and thus has permission to come down the street? The mentality of “Well, if s/he can break the rules, so can I” (when, in reality, those of us living on this street are not breaking any rules)? The idea that, “But I’m different…I have to get to work and this is the only way I ever go, so why should I let a water main break my stride”?
What makes people around here feel above the rules? Or is this a universal truth that I only see as being so blatantly obvious here? Do we feel invincible, that whatever danger is posed can’t in any way hurt us? Then, if we do get into an accident from the ice covering the street, we can turn around and sue the Town…even if they had signs and road blocks up telling us to stay off the street?
Human nature can be so fun to ponder sometimes.
*---*
He is gone for a week for hearings regarding the Alaskan fishing boat disaster of a month ago. I feel so calm when I am alone here, much less lonely than when I am feeling forced into my solitude. He’ll be back for his weekend with the children, which is fine as I have other plans for the weekend. It is funny to me to think that, in all the Christmases had together, I feel more empowered in this one merely because I no longer feel like I’m doing everything alone as I had always felt before. I feel that I am teaching the children about the spirit of the season in a very holistic fashion, and am working hard to keep negative feelings away. This is already one of the most fulfilling Christmas seasons I have had in a decade simply because I am not caving to anyone else’s expectations nor fulfilling gift obligations for a side of the family that I hardly even know.
The resulting stress release is unparalleled!
I’ll get to the Christmas cards when I get to them. I will get my family’s gifts sent out sometime this week. It will be a simpler Christmas for my children with fewer gifts in quantity but the quality will be noted. The gift of the Nutcracker Ballet this past Saturday was the talk out of my children’s mouths all day on Sunday, when we graciously received another gift of food, warmth, laughter and company at a friend’s home for the afternoon. My children are learning about the magic of gifts that are not the touchable, playable type. Of course my children will receive some toys. But I want them to receive so much more--the traditions and the memories that we are establishing together are what cannot be bought by point-and-click shopping…
…and on these gifts, the shipping is always free.
It was a shower at best, but as whatever did fall has stuck around until today, it counts as the first official snowfall of the season. Following a day filled with a strange mix of charity, commercialism and the arts, Princesita, Young Prince and I decided to don our Santa hats, bundle up warm, and walk a mile downtown to the noodle restaurant for dinner.
The experience was glorious.
The air was cold, but hearts were warm as we held hands, sang songs and marvelled at the fact that we were the only ones perhaps crazy enough to be out walking in the cold, wintry night. Heated by the purest warmth of the company of those we love most, even my four year old never once complained of the two mile round-trip distance in the chill.
*---*
A pipe has broken on my street. There is a consequential calm on what is normally a known shortcut from one major street to another as Town workers are braving the sub-freezing temperatures to fix the problem. The water is frozen all over the street a few houses down.
What cracks me up, though, is that there are these two huge flourescent orange signs blocking off the street entrance, which actually state that the street is closed to traffic. You would not believe the number of cars that enter on the opposite lane of traffic, choosing to ignore the signs strategically placed right in their lane to (futilely) attempt to stop them from entering the street in the first place, then having to “lose time” by actually turning around and leaving the way they came in--right in front of my house.
I could sit and watch that all day. I wonder what it is that makes people not see big orange signs? Just coming down the street because they saw someone enter who happens to live on the street and thus has permission to come down the street? The mentality of “Well, if s/he can break the rules, so can I” (when, in reality, those of us living on this street are not breaking any rules)? The idea that, “But I’m different…I have to get to work and this is the only way I ever go, so why should I let a water main break my stride”?
What makes people around here feel above the rules? Or is this a universal truth that I only see as being so blatantly obvious here? Do we feel invincible, that whatever danger is posed can’t in any way hurt us? Then, if we do get into an accident from the ice covering the street, we can turn around and sue the Town…even if they had signs and road blocks up telling us to stay off the street?
Human nature can be so fun to ponder sometimes.
*---*
He is gone for a week for hearings regarding the Alaskan fishing boat disaster of a month ago. I feel so calm when I am alone here, much less lonely than when I am feeling forced into my solitude. He’ll be back for his weekend with the children, which is fine as I have other plans for the weekend. It is funny to me to think that, in all the Christmases had together, I feel more empowered in this one merely because I no longer feel like I’m doing everything alone as I had always felt before. I feel that I am teaching the children about the spirit of the season in a very holistic fashion, and am working hard to keep negative feelings away. This is already one of the most fulfilling Christmas seasons I have had in a decade simply because I am not caving to anyone else’s expectations nor fulfilling gift obligations for a side of the family that I hardly even know.
The resulting stress release is unparalleled!
I’ll get to the Christmas cards when I get to them. I will get my family’s gifts sent out sometime this week. It will be a simpler Christmas for my children with fewer gifts in quantity but the quality will be noted. The gift of the Nutcracker Ballet this past Saturday was the talk out of my children’s mouths all day on Sunday, when we graciously received another gift of food, warmth, laughter and company at a friend’s home for the afternoon. My children are learning about the magic of gifts that are not the touchable, playable type. Of course my children will receive some toys. But I want them to receive so much more--the traditions and the memories that we are establishing together are what cannot be bought by point-and-click shopping…
…and on these gifts, the shipping is always free.
viernes, 5 de diciembre de 2008
not much to say...
I know, write THAT in the record books. (grin)
I actually have a lot to say, but can't find the words right now. December is a hard month for me, made this year a bit more bitter with Ryan's death. It is hard for me to believe that, come the 17th, it will have been 9 years that Dad died--what seems like yesterday and yet still a lifetime ago. And the 15th makes 7 years that Ko-chan died. And the 30th makes 11 years that my surrogate grandmother died (she lived next door all my childhood life and thus filled that role in my life).
I focus on the lights on the tree, the music, the lights in my children's eyes and try not to let myself think about all I feel I have lost in December.
I try not to feel so cold, but that is hard for me right now. I take my moments of joy and cherish them, and they carry me through my moments of sadness and grief.
I miss hugs. Sometimes you just need someone to hold you, nothing more, and I haven't had that in a very, very long time. I pretend I'm just holding my children but I never really let them know that it is instead them holding me...it is not fair to them to know that kind of pressure at their young ages.
And that is that.
I actually have a lot to say, but can't find the words right now. December is a hard month for me, made this year a bit more bitter with Ryan's death. It is hard for me to believe that, come the 17th, it will have been 9 years that Dad died--what seems like yesterday and yet still a lifetime ago. And the 15th makes 7 years that Ko-chan died. And the 30th makes 11 years that my surrogate grandmother died (she lived next door all my childhood life and thus filled that role in my life).
I focus on the lights on the tree, the music, the lights in my children's eyes and try not to let myself think about all I feel I have lost in December.
I try not to feel so cold, but that is hard for me right now. I take my moments of joy and cherish them, and they carry me through my moments of sadness and grief.
I miss hugs. Sometimes you just need someone to hold you, nothing more, and I haven't had that in a very, very long time. I pretend I'm just holding my children but I never really let them know that it is instead them holding me...it is not fair to them to know that kind of pressure at their young ages.
And that is that.
lunes, 1 de diciembre de 2008
flirting
Dad's House wrote today on flirting and challenged us all to a "A Flirt A Day" contest.
Doesn't that sound like so much fun? Perhaps just the thing to draw us out of our winter hibernations, light a fire in our souls and bring some spontaneity and spark to our spirits.
To be honest, nothing makes me want to crawl deeper into my little cave even more.
I used to flirt, I used to have fun and enjoy my company with others, friends and strangers alike. Now, with a mortal fear that someone might read too much into a look, a word, a touch, I find it easier to live my life in my little contactless circle where I don't have to worry about having anything else further complicating my life.
There are external circumstances, of course, that affect these words. I have a hard time in December, I have a sore throat and am not feeling well (which doesn't happen often), the winter chill and short days affect me each year, and I have recently had a hard disagreement with a close friend that has yet to be resolved; these all create in me a great degree of insecurity and my self-confidence is just low right now.
So low that, reading Dad's post, I found myself in tears, wondering what in the world has happened to ME...the ME I used to be. My strength is gone and my resolve accounts for almost nothing.
*---*
Last night I read a Hans Christian Anderson tale I had never before read to my children. It was called "The Fir Tree". The gist of the story is that the fir tree in the forest was never content with how his life was while surrounded by the beauty of nature in the forest; he always wanted something more. It wasn't until he was chopped down, decorated, promptly discarded and chopped and burned that he realized how he had wished his life away. The last paragraph describing how each pop of his trunk in the fire was actually a sigh as he remembered various glorious scenes from his life that he never appreciated until it was all over.
My kids didn't understand why I cried at the end of the story. And I actually, for the first time, didn't feel like talking about it.
Doesn't that sound like so much fun? Perhaps just the thing to draw us out of our winter hibernations, light a fire in our souls and bring some spontaneity and spark to our spirits.
To be honest, nothing makes me want to crawl deeper into my little cave even more.
I used to flirt, I used to have fun and enjoy my company with others, friends and strangers alike. Now, with a mortal fear that someone might read too much into a look, a word, a touch, I find it easier to live my life in my little contactless circle where I don't have to worry about having anything else further complicating my life.
There are external circumstances, of course, that affect these words. I have a hard time in December, I have a sore throat and am not feeling well (which doesn't happen often), the winter chill and short days affect me each year, and I have recently had a hard disagreement with a close friend that has yet to be resolved; these all create in me a great degree of insecurity and my self-confidence is just low right now.
So low that, reading Dad's post, I found myself in tears, wondering what in the world has happened to ME...the ME I used to be. My strength is gone and my resolve accounts for almost nothing.
*---*
Last night I read a Hans Christian Anderson tale I had never before read to my children. It was called "The Fir Tree". The gist of the story is that the fir tree in the forest was never content with how his life was while surrounded by the beauty of nature in the forest; he always wanted something more. It wasn't until he was chopped down, decorated, promptly discarded and chopped and burned that he realized how he had wished his life away. The last paragraph describing how each pop of his trunk in the fire was actually a sigh as he remembered various glorious scenes from his life that he never appreciated until it was all over.
My kids didn't understand why I cried at the end of the story. And I actually, for the first time, didn't feel like talking about it.
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