That is not a particularly easy question for me to answer but I am going to give it a shot. Bare with me as I been around the internet a long time. I will do my best to connect the dots. I think all the blogs I refer to are on my side bar.
Here is the original post that asks the question. http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2008/10/why-did-you-start-blogging.html
Picture this, eBay, early 1998. They had chat boards and discussion boards on various subjects relating to your interests. The chat board where I participated was chucked full of the brightest most opinionated people I ever had the pleasure to read. For the most part, I learned more from that board than I did my entire college education. It was like a crash course in reality. Mostly well-read posters from all over the United States and we were instantly communicating. It was a novel experience for most of us. For some it pre-dated IMing.
There was always someone who was an expert on this or that and more than willing to share everything they knew about their specialty. Many knew a lot about a wide range of topics. It was an interesting place to spend time. I do not care what you wanted to know, these chatter’s were researching maniacs. Whatever happened in our lives that chat board was constant. It was a daily priority to read and for the most part, it was usually a supportive and safe place to post. I am sure many good close friendships began there. I met an old- time poster for lunch last month. I introduced her to Thai Food and of course, she liked it. Well, what’s not to like?
Over the years, I have continued to check in there especially whenever anything interesting happens in the real world and sometimes I check in ‘just because’. Everyone was going through something different and yet we were all connected by a common interest. I knew that board was a microcosm of the real world and I thought it fascinating to read. Whenever there were tornadoes, flooding, hurricanes, snowstorms, fires, politics, 911, etc, we all were anxious to hear from those we knew could be in harms way. There are a lot of us old time posters that still lurk even if we do not actively post. That particular chat board will probably always be one that I read for the rest of my life.
Anyway, a few years ago someone that eBay chat board posted a link to a blog, My Country Life. I had just returned home from a year in NY where I lived in the country and I was yearning for new of the country life. Besides I had learned to click on all the links anyone posted because there was usually something really kewl. (Or is it cool? How are we spelling it now?)
Donna, at My Country Life (Just Me on blogger-posted on my sidebar) was the first blog that I read. I like what I read. Donna tells it like it is. I like her attitude; she is down to earth, married to a great guy who is her true soul mate. No drama. She and her hubby ride a sweet looking motorcycle and she takes me on many photoblog vacations. Once she posted pictures of a church, she attended that where everyone rode Harley Davidson’s. Her husband, Cliff loves tractors and can build anything. She has a milk cow named Secret and a bull named Meatloaf. On the corner of her country acreage Cliff built a small cabin for her as a private retreat that she sleeps overnight at whenever she want more peace of mind and quite.
She is good people, has a PhD in Common Sense, I respect her. Shit, she had even successfully lost weight and lowered her cholesterol, things I have not mastered. Do I romanticize her life? You bet your I do. I live in an asphalt jungle. I miss the country.
I sometimes would read other blogs off her blog list but then she went and posted Pioneer Woman’s blog link. I was beginning to see blogging in a new light. Ree took blogging to a new level. Coincidentally, when I was a child I wanted to grow up and be a cowgirl. Now, here is this blog about living on a cattle ranch. Wow…that will stretch a city girls mind. I am sure anyone who reads this entry already knows of Ree. I remember when she would only have a handful of comments and now there are often over 10,000. I want to win a $500 gift card to Home Depot so I can get sprinklers for my yard. What a pain in the ass it is to have to drag around a hose. I know Ree gets it. She wants life to be easier. If she knew how much I like a nice yard and how much easier my life would be if I had sprinklers she would pick me to win that $500.
It took me a while but I was beginning to realize that blogging was the future. I needed to blog, I knew it, but I got in my own way. Isn’t that what we all do? I mind f*ked myself. I didn’t think I would blog good enough, have anything interesting to share, and I really didn’t want anyone I knew to know how screwed up I was feeling, but I did NOT know that when I started my first blog. I did not want anyone to disagree with me or confront me or any other ridiculous thing you could imagine; I did not want to feel criticized. All my old negative childhood tapes were playing in my head. I was really down on my game. I only posted three times and I let my first blog die a quick death. I only shared benign safe things anyway. It was a waste of my cyberspace but I learned the lesson. Looking back on that timeframe, I now know that I was trying to heal from several major losses and was not ready to risk my feelings in such a visible arena. I was barely holding it together and Tess was in worse condition than I was.
I felt like I could barely take care of myself and on top of everything I was being thrown into a care-giving role for Tess. Our roles were all blurred. Life was changing and I had NO control of it. I was isolating myself and my world became very small. When I could not do anything else because I was so depressed and scared I began reading other blogs. People died. I cried. More losses! Their deaths affected me and I had not even ever met them but I knew them. They were not afraid and they wrote about their fears. They were real. They were dying and I was gaining strength from their journey. They were teaching me how to live by sharing their death process. There were several brave Warriors that I will always admire and remember. They had become part of my life and I wish they had not lost the fight I miss them. These deaths empowered my life.
I have to do this in parts…but as you can guess, I think real life is more interesting than TV or Books.
To be continued………
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Life is full of Curves
Things are happening. A lot of changes! Way too many to write about now. When I started this blog a couple of months ago I knew there were changes in the making and this blog would be a place I could write about whatever I felt comfortable sharing. I never factored in that there would be so many things that would eat up my blogging time. Where to begin?
With all the different stressors I have been coping with lately I decided to go back into personal therapy with a therapist whose specialty is working with caregivers. My first session was last week. My homework was to figure out what gives me joy. I have jotted a few things down but I am searching for more. I need more joy in my life.
I also am attending a caregiver's group. I have attended two group meetings so far and I admit it has been interesting and I feel good being out and about more. My homework for group was to blog before the next meeting.
My son’s gave me a membership to Curves for my birthday. I love it. I go everyday they are open and enjoy the workout. At first I was a bit self-conscious but now I don’t care what anybody thinks. I am pushing myself while I am there and my body feels alive.
Now here is the thing about Curves. It is all women. NO PROBLEM for me. It may not be PC for me to love the fact that no men are allowed but I do. I love the energy. I love the support. I love the challenges. I love the way it is always clean. I love the music. I love the women. I love the workout.
All this loving to workout is a little out of character for me and then, all of a sudden, I eyed the posters on the wall and I knew why I felt so at home.
Is it just me? Do you see what I see? All I know for sure is that I want to thank the art department down at Curve’s headquarters for making me feel so comfortable. I love thata there are posters hanging on the wall that give me permission to play. I wonder what they mean by play? Hummmmm.
With all the different stressors I have been coping with lately I decided to go back into personal therapy with a therapist whose specialty is working with caregivers. My first session was last week. My homework was to figure out what gives me joy. I have jotted a few things down but I am searching for more. I need more joy in my life.
I also am attending a caregiver's group. I have attended two group meetings so far and I admit it has been interesting and I feel good being out and about more. My homework for group was to blog before the next meeting.
My son’s gave me a membership to Curves for my birthday. I love it. I go everyday they are open and enjoy the workout. At first I was a bit self-conscious but now I don’t care what anybody thinks. I am pushing myself while I am there and my body feels alive.
Now here is the thing about Curves. It is all women. NO PROBLEM for me. It may not be PC for me to love the fact that no men are allowed but I do. I love the energy. I love the support. I love the challenges. I love the way it is always clean. I love the music. I love the women. I love the workout.
All this loving to workout is a little out of character for me and then, all of a sudden, I eyed the posters on the wall and I knew why I felt so at home.
Is it just me? Do you see what I see? All I know for sure is that I want to thank the art department down at Curve’s headquarters for making me feel so comfortable. I love thata there are posters hanging on the wall that give me permission to play. I wonder what they mean by play? Hummmmm.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Whew....I am tired
I did not know the effect writing my previous post would have on me. It opened up a wound that I thought had healed a while back. Wrong. I had only addressed the surface feelings and now I have fallen into the deeper, letting go type of feelings. Somehow, these feel more real, more sadness less anger and panic. My mind has been reeling, and I have jumped from project to project. I am so overwhelmed I am having a hard time not just giving in to a long nap. I consciously resist napping several times throughout the day. I keep telling myself to stay busy and get my life in order. My normal level of procrastination is no longer working for me and I am pulled into the here and now where my past is crashing into my present and if I want my future to be less chaotic then I need to keep moving forward.
As I see it, being an only child has few benefits. I am sure some might think it a blessing not to be pestered by siblings, I will never know. I told my mother once that it was hell being an only child. She seemed shocked that I would have felt that way. She was a difficult person to please, very needy and it would have been nice to share the focus of her wrath occasionally. Even in the good times, I was on hyper-alert waiting for the other shoe to drop. I learned to hate my own name because of the way she screamed it.
When it comes to immediate family, my childhood frame of reference is quite small and included my grandma, mother and me. My grandmother and mother have both left this world so that just leaves me. I do have a few distant relatives out there but less than a handful of us are in occasional contact and then only via emails. Although I have a history of doing many things by myself, I really do enjoy the companionship of another person more than being alone or doing something by myself. I do have some dear lifelong friends and we see each other as often as our schedules permit, which is never enough. Great source of support for me but I still have way too much alone time on my hands. The care giving I do for Tess also makes my world seem a little smaller.
Where is this going? What am I trying to convey? What is the point? How do the three previous paragraphs connect? First, I wanted to empty my thoughts so when I get up from here and go back to my previous project I will be the tabula rasa, clear minded so I can learn as I go and not be hindered with my racing thoughts. Second, I have still been trying to please my mother even though she is dead. That crap stops now. Last, I got the bulk of my parent’s worldly possessions and I have been dealing with it for nearly 7 years, I am tired and I want my own life back. All the spinning in circles I feel like I am doing has to stop, I am forcing myself to get on a schedule to attend to all these projects.
Here is the good part. My mother collected a lot of fun and beautiful things and so I am enjoying going through and looking them, and although some of my memories are fond, I don’t want to hang onto all of her things. I only want to keep a few of the things I really like. My stepfather had some cool stuff too. Old stuff. Interesting stuff. Things that I just want to have as memories now. I keep asking my sons if they want any of their grandpa’s stuff, so far I am still in possession of it. It may not seem like it but alas, I have a plan. Back to the grind.
Rose
As I see it, being an only child has few benefits. I am sure some might think it a blessing not to be pestered by siblings, I will never know. I told my mother once that it was hell being an only child. She seemed shocked that I would have felt that way. She was a difficult person to please, very needy and it would have been nice to share the focus of her wrath occasionally. Even in the good times, I was on hyper-alert waiting for the other shoe to drop. I learned to hate my own name because of the way she screamed it.
When it comes to immediate family, my childhood frame of reference is quite small and included my grandma, mother and me. My grandmother and mother have both left this world so that just leaves me. I do have a few distant relatives out there but less than a handful of us are in occasional contact and then only via emails. Although I have a history of doing many things by myself, I really do enjoy the companionship of another person more than being alone or doing something by myself. I do have some dear lifelong friends and we see each other as often as our schedules permit, which is never enough. Great source of support for me but I still have way too much alone time on my hands. The care giving I do for Tess also makes my world seem a little smaller.
Where is this going? What am I trying to convey? What is the point? How do the three previous paragraphs connect? First, I wanted to empty my thoughts so when I get up from here and go back to my previous project I will be the tabula rasa, clear minded so I can learn as I go and not be hindered with my racing thoughts. Second, I have still been trying to please my mother even though she is dead. That crap stops now. Last, I got the bulk of my parent’s worldly possessions and I have been dealing with it for nearly 7 years, I am tired and I want my own life back. All the spinning in circles I feel like I am doing has to stop, I am forcing myself to get on a schedule to attend to all these projects.
Here is the good part. My mother collected a lot of fun and beautiful things and so I am enjoying going through and looking them, and although some of my memories are fond, I don’t want to hang onto all of her things. I only want to keep a few of the things I really like. My stepfather had some cool stuff too. Old stuff. Interesting stuff. Things that I just want to have as memories now. I keep asking my sons if they want any of their grandpa’s stuff, so far I am still in possession of it. It may not seem like it but alas, I have a plan. Back to the grind.
Rose
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Dear Diary
I had a diary when I was a young girl, a birthday gift from my mother. It was red leather hard bound with a gold lock on the front. My mother told me that it was My Diary and she explained to me that it was a good way for me to journal my life, keep track of my ideas, pen my secrets, and record my special events.
I wrote down a few of my secret desires, nothing to outrageous, somehow I knew better. I even wrote about some of my disappointments regarding my personal, social and academic life. I wrote about some of the adventures my friends were having, the ‘coming of age’ adventures my generation did. However, intrinsically, I knew not to write about my intimate feelings or any of my personal escapades. I remember for safekeeping that I hid it on the top shelf of my closet(symbolism in it's highest form) behind an old purse, completely out of sight.
Then, one day, out of the clear blue, my mother asked me about one of my friends and whether or not it was really true that they did this or that. I knew immediately that she had gone snooping in my room, found my well-hidden diary and read it. She would have had no other way of knowing this information. I could even envision her in my minds eye picking the little gold lock. I never really trusted her after that but I never really trusted her before either. She eventually admitted reading it probably only because she knew she was busted. Somehow, that particular behavior was so representative of her true character. Sneaky.
She went through my homework assignments in the same manner, searching for what ever I wrote. If I checked out a library book she would read it after I went to bed, before I could ever finish a book, she read it. She seemed competitive about it at times. Just once, it would have been nice to read a book first. It was as if she needed to know what I read and what I wrote. Her behaviors messed with my head. She took a lot of the joy out of reading and writing for me. She was not only invasive, she was constantly critical of my endeavors.
Regardless of the violations of childhood by my mother, over the years, I have enthusiastically started numerous journals; but before too many entries, I stop writing and file the journal away on some shelf in one of my remotest bookcases, never to be written in again. I have had some beautiful journals, my favorite one was gray suede and I wrote in it for six days. A few months ago, I sat down and read a few of the entries realizing all the entries sounded so fake and so insincere. They were completely censored and it was as if I shallowly wrote them expecting someone to find them read them. To my knowledge no one ever did.
After I finished reading each one of them, I felt the divine urge to SHRED them page by page. I guess it might have been more symbolic to do some sort of ritualistic burning thing, but shredding them was enough for me. It was a cleaning out, a clearing of the past. Never one moment since I tore out the pages, one by one, and watched them be shred into little quarter inch strips have I regretted destroying them.
Ironically, when I packed up my parent's home, I found a huge box full of all my mother’s hand written journals. Unlike my skimpily written in journals she had filled each and every page, front and back, beginning to end. She lived in the country, fairly isolated and she recorded a good portion of the thirty years she lived there. When I asked her, what she wanted me to do with them and she told me she wanted me to read them after she died. She didn't say it in a very nice tone either. She has been gone for 3 years now and I still have no desire to read one word from them. I feel like she wrote them for me; and if she did, I know the words would be the same passive aggressive guilt trippy crap she used to say to me before I set boundaries and stopped listening to her. I will not shred her diaries and maybe there will come a day that I will want to know what she wrote about her own life but right now I do not want anything to do with them.
I am not sure exactly why I wrote about this particular memory. I am sure it has something to do with my blogging now. I know how important of a lesson it was for me to learn that my own mother did not trust me or respect my privacy. Her constant actions showed her true colors. She once told me she couldn't help how she was(it's just like her never to take responsibility for her actions)and then confessed that she had done so many bad and sneaky things as a teenager that she was just making sure I didn't get in the same trouble that she did. Hey...couldn't she have tried talking to me or lovingly teaching me? She was not very good at staying calm during any conversation so I guess she did what she thought was best.
Maybe it's because of how untrusted I felt while growing up that I consciously made sure that I was always respectful of any and all things that belonged to either of my sons. I always knocked before entering their rooms. I never looked though their drawers, wallets, glove compartments, book bags or the likes. Maybe that is why both of my sons have given me keys to their homes. I never want to loose their trust. Thanks, Mom for teaching me that important lesson. I just wish it had been by your good example. Your methods totally sucked.
Rose
I wrote down a few of my secret desires, nothing to outrageous, somehow I knew better. I even wrote about some of my disappointments regarding my personal, social and academic life. I wrote about some of the adventures my friends were having, the ‘coming of age’ adventures my generation did. However, intrinsically, I knew not to write about my intimate feelings or any of my personal escapades. I remember for safekeeping that I hid it on the top shelf of my closet(symbolism in it's highest form) behind an old purse, completely out of sight.
Then, one day, out of the clear blue, my mother asked me about one of my friends and whether or not it was really true that they did this or that. I knew immediately that she had gone snooping in my room, found my well-hidden diary and read it. She would have had no other way of knowing this information. I could even envision her in my minds eye picking the little gold lock. I never really trusted her after that but I never really trusted her before either. She eventually admitted reading it probably only because she knew she was busted. Somehow, that particular behavior was so representative of her true character. Sneaky.
She went through my homework assignments in the same manner, searching for what ever I wrote. If I checked out a library book she would read it after I went to bed, before I could ever finish a book, she read it. She seemed competitive about it at times. Just once, it would have been nice to read a book first. It was as if she needed to know what I read and what I wrote. Her behaviors messed with my head. She took a lot of the joy out of reading and writing for me. She was not only invasive, she was constantly critical of my endeavors.
Regardless of the violations of childhood by my mother, over the years, I have enthusiastically started numerous journals; but before too many entries, I stop writing and file the journal away on some shelf in one of my remotest bookcases, never to be written in again. I have had some beautiful journals, my favorite one was gray suede and I wrote in it for six days. A few months ago, I sat down and read a few of the entries realizing all the entries sounded so fake and so insincere. They were completely censored and it was as if I shallowly wrote them expecting someone to find them read them. To my knowledge no one ever did.
After I finished reading each one of them, I felt the divine urge to SHRED them page by page. I guess it might have been more symbolic to do some sort of ritualistic burning thing, but shredding them was enough for me. It was a cleaning out, a clearing of the past. Never one moment since I tore out the pages, one by one, and watched them be shred into little quarter inch strips have I regretted destroying them.
Ironically, when I packed up my parent's home, I found a huge box full of all my mother’s hand written journals. Unlike my skimpily written in journals she had filled each and every page, front and back, beginning to end. She lived in the country, fairly isolated and she recorded a good portion of the thirty years she lived there. When I asked her, what she wanted me to do with them and she told me she wanted me to read them after she died. She didn't say it in a very nice tone either. She has been gone for 3 years now and I still have no desire to read one word from them. I feel like she wrote them for me; and if she did, I know the words would be the same passive aggressive guilt trippy crap she used to say to me before I set boundaries and stopped listening to her. I will not shred her diaries and maybe there will come a day that I will want to know what she wrote about her own life but right now I do not want anything to do with them.
I am not sure exactly why I wrote about this particular memory. I am sure it has something to do with my blogging now. I know how important of a lesson it was for me to learn that my own mother did not trust me or respect my privacy. Her constant actions showed her true colors. She once told me she couldn't help how she was(it's just like her never to take responsibility for her actions)and then confessed that she had done so many bad and sneaky things as a teenager that she was just making sure I didn't get in the same trouble that she did. Hey...couldn't she have tried talking to me or lovingly teaching me? She was not very good at staying calm during any conversation so I guess she did what she thought was best.
Maybe it's because of how untrusted I felt while growing up that I consciously made sure that I was always respectful of any and all things that belonged to either of my sons. I always knocked before entering their rooms. I never looked though their drawers, wallets, glove compartments, book bags or the likes. Maybe that is why both of my sons have given me keys to their homes. I never want to loose their trust. Thanks, Mom for teaching me that important lesson. I just wish it had been by your good example. Your methods totally sucked.
Rose
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
We're All Alone
I keep trying to get back to the blogging but real life has been exhausting lately. I had a two-day garage sale but this time it was not held at my house as I moved it to a friend’s house who has a better location less than a half a block from Wal-Mart’s. We did have a lot of traffic and sold a lot of the stuff but not everything. Ace, my youngest son, packed up all the good stuff that didn’t sell and as he is going to take it to his girlfriend’s house for one of their big yard sales.
I had pretty much decided that whatever stuff remained on Saturday afternoon I would donate and start fresh with more of my mother’s estate next time. Besides, I am always weeding though my stuff and getting rid of one thing or another. I had a full truck of donations on Saturday. I felt good not having to look at some of that stuff any longer. It was also sort of sad since I knew my mother collected a lot of it and it was just another way of letting go of the past.
I just got back from Costco, which is always a major production. If my dog wasn’t out of food I would have figured out a way to put the trip off. I finished putting the things away so now it is my time to relax before making dinner or helping Tess with something.
It is getting more difficult for me to watch Tess suffering. Listening to someone cry with physical pain is something I have not become accustomed and seriously doubt I ever will. It is the most helpless feeling I have ever experienced and with each passing day, I feel more and more discouraged. Tess tries so hard to do things on her own without needing my help and sometimes I get angry that she did something that was too difficult or too much for her. If she falls down I know our life as we know it will change and I am not ready for what all that may entail. I am not in any way ready to let go. One of her hips is necrotic; the hipbone is partially missing. With all the medical problems she has, they are not sure she would benefit from surgery in the end. Both hips and both knees are causing her problems; couple that with a collapsed lumbar spine and a degenerative cervical spine with osteoarthritis plus constant nausea….whew. (NOTE- if you are reading this please do not ask or comment with HAVE YOR TRIED this or that...rest assured we have and I am pretty sure we have tried things most have never heard or thought of) The betrayal of the body is the way I put it.
Tess was once an active person, but her decline over the past three years has been a slow but steady spiral downwards. When she was younger, she even danced professionally in summerstock musicals. To watch this person I love so much decline is almost more than I can do. I know she is tired and so am I. I feel like I am living my life for both of us. She only leaves the house to go to the doctor. She needs help with everything she does. The ironic thing is that I am not the caregiver type and she is not the kind that accepts being cared for easily and, if anything, she is still trying to take care of me. It is so weird to have been in this roll for so long now.
I need change the subject here. I don’t want to get all upset or depressed because I know that won’t help our situation at all. I sometimes escape by listening to songs on youtube. Here is one that Tess and I used to dance to and brings tears to my eyes now but in a good sort of way.
Sometimes when I hear this song I just want to go back in time and remain in that place where I had everything ahead of me. My Tess would hold me while I cried about how scared I was of letting go of my life as I knew it then. I was married to a great guy, I had two small children and I was in love with Tess. I had to stop pretending that I was straight. I had been pretending way too long already. Even though the fear of making life changing decisions scared the hell out of me there was a sense of total excitment about being all that I could be and living an honest life. I had to admit to myself I was a lesbian and I had to stop living a lie. In her arms I felt safe. I had new dreams and with Tess in my life I was well on my way to realizing them. That was in 1980 which seems like a lifetime ago in some ways and then sometimes it seems like just yesterday.
Once the stories told
It can’t help but grow old
Roses do
Lovers too
So cast your season’s to the wind
We’re All Alone…
I had pretty much decided that whatever stuff remained on Saturday afternoon I would donate and start fresh with more of my mother’s estate next time. Besides, I am always weeding though my stuff and getting rid of one thing or another. I had a full truck of donations on Saturday. I felt good not having to look at some of that stuff any longer. It was also sort of sad since I knew my mother collected a lot of it and it was just another way of letting go of the past.
I just got back from Costco, which is always a major production. If my dog wasn’t out of food I would have figured out a way to put the trip off. I finished putting the things away so now it is my time to relax before making dinner or helping Tess with something.
It is getting more difficult for me to watch Tess suffering. Listening to someone cry with physical pain is something I have not become accustomed and seriously doubt I ever will. It is the most helpless feeling I have ever experienced and with each passing day, I feel more and more discouraged. Tess tries so hard to do things on her own without needing my help and sometimes I get angry that she did something that was too difficult or too much for her. If she falls down I know our life as we know it will change and I am not ready for what all that may entail. I am not in any way ready to let go. One of her hips is necrotic; the hipbone is partially missing. With all the medical problems she has, they are not sure she would benefit from surgery in the end. Both hips and both knees are causing her problems; couple that with a collapsed lumbar spine and a degenerative cervical spine with osteoarthritis plus constant nausea….whew. (NOTE- if you are reading this please do not ask or comment with HAVE YOR TRIED this or that...rest assured we have and I am pretty sure we have tried things most have never heard or thought of) The betrayal of the body is the way I put it.
Tess was once an active person, but her decline over the past three years has been a slow but steady spiral downwards. When she was younger, she even danced professionally in summerstock musicals. To watch this person I love so much decline is almost more than I can do. I know she is tired and so am I. I feel like I am living my life for both of us. She only leaves the house to go to the doctor. She needs help with everything she does. The ironic thing is that I am not the caregiver type and she is not the kind that accepts being cared for easily and, if anything, she is still trying to take care of me. It is so weird to have been in this roll for so long now.
I need change the subject here. I don’t want to get all upset or depressed because I know that won’t help our situation at all. I sometimes escape by listening to songs on youtube. Here is one that Tess and I used to dance to and brings tears to my eyes now but in a good sort of way.
Sometimes when I hear this song I just want to go back in time and remain in that place where I had everything ahead of me. My Tess would hold me while I cried about how scared I was of letting go of my life as I knew it then. I was married to a great guy, I had two small children and I was in love with Tess. I had to stop pretending that I was straight. I had been pretending way too long already. Even though the fear of making life changing decisions scared the hell out of me there was a sense of total excitment about being all that I could be and living an honest life. I had to admit to myself I was a lesbian and I had to stop living a lie. In her arms I felt safe. I had new dreams and with Tess in my life I was well on my way to realizing them. That was in 1980 which seems like a lifetime ago in some ways and then sometimes it seems like just yesterday.
Once the stories told
It can’t help but grow old
Roses do
Lovers too
So cast your season’s to the wind
We’re All Alone…
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Oh Well
The weather has been perfect lately drawing me outside, luring me to do a little more than take care of the few flowers I grow. When I was cleaning out the storage shed, I looked at my bike and decided it was time to get my butt on it. I finished sorting through and cleaning the shed and rode to the pet store to get some cat food for Oh Well. I had a FREE coupon for a free 3.5 bag of cat food and I was sure I could use my old backpack to hold my water and cell phone. I thought the ride would do me good.
I had not been near my bike since last year and last year I only rode a few times. What I am trying to say is that I did not realize was that I almost needed training wheels last year but eventually after I lowered the seat and could touch the ground I mastered riding straight with little traffic buzzing by me. Mostly I stayed in the bike lanes. Last year I rode blocks out of the way to just to avoid the traffic on the main streets.
Three days ago I decided that I would brave it do whatever I could using my bike. I need the exercise. I live a few blocks from the ‘downtown’ district of my mega huge city and nearly everything is within riding distance. I even rode to the local social security office to drop of some forms for Tess. Anyway. Back to the pet store.
I loved the free feeling of the breeze blowing across my arms and face. I consciously though about how much cooler it was riding the bike than it was sitting at my computer. My mind drifted and at time I enjoyed myself and relaxed into the ride. I huffed and puffed and finally I arrived at the pet store in one piece. I held my breath several times but I made it to my destination totally unscathed.
I looked around for a secure place to lock my bike but there was none to be found so I asked if I could bring it inside and park it by those huge dog cages off to the side in the front. Of course, they let me and if they had not I would have walked it through the store back to the cat food isle. Could not find the right Indoor Cat Mature Senior Sensitive stomach blend that Oh Well devours in a 3.5 lb bag. Lucky day, the Science Diet representative was there and gave me a coupon for $3.00 off the 8.5 bag since they were out of Oh Well’s blend. The bag barely fit inside my big ol’ bright red backpack but I managed to get it safely zipped in. As I picked up that now 12 lb back pack every muscle in my neck and upper back screamed NO. What was I to do? I told myself it was a beginning and I could do it.
I knew that a friend of mine had recently bicycled on the islands off the coast of Washington state, with 25 lb. full backpack, for over 250 miles. She crated her bike and flew it to Seattle, built the bike and started riding to the ferry. When we were in high school we played sports together, we were highly competitive. I increaesd the self talk and told myself 'If she could do that I could do this.' Two kids later for both of us and she is stronger than she was 40 years ago. I am at the bottom of my game with all that. My friend said she could cross biking the Washington Islands off her bucket list. I want a bucket list and I want to cross things off it.
I made it home in one piece with the cat food safely on my back. I smiled as OH Well waited patiently for me to open the bag completely so he could sneak a couple of morsels out of the open bag. Immediatley upon arrival home I iced both my neck muscles and my lower back . I did it. I met my first challenge.
What’s the long and the short of this. I need a new more comfortable backpack if I am ever going to transport anything else ever. I probably won’t run out looking for one anytime too soon but I won’t quit riding the bike, I just won’t go grocery shopping or to Wal-mart. I mentioned I rode my bike to the social security office to drop of a form. I folded the one piece of paper I needed to turn in and put it in my pocket. Less than 1 oz.
I am changing my eating habits too. I have cut sugar and carbohydrates out of my diet almost completely. I know I get some carbs just because they are everywhere. I definitely have increased the calorie burning activity lately too. I don’t jump on the scale everyday but when I did weigh myself and saw I was down a pound I celebrated by drinking a bottle of water. Patting myself on the back.
Be good to yourself.
Rose
I had not been near my bike since last year and last year I only rode a few times. What I am trying to say is that I did not realize was that I almost needed training wheels last year but eventually after I lowered the seat and could touch the ground I mastered riding straight with little traffic buzzing by me. Mostly I stayed in the bike lanes. Last year I rode blocks out of the way to just to avoid the traffic on the main streets.
Three days ago I decided that I would brave it do whatever I could using my bike. I need the exercise. I live a few blocks from the ‘downtown’ district of my mega huge city and nearly everything is within riding distance. I even rode to the local social security office to drop of some forms for Tess. Anyway. Back to the pet store.
I loved the free feeling of the breeze blowing across my arms and face. I consciously though about how much cooler it was riding the bike than it was sitting at my computer. My mind drifted and at time I enjoyed myself and relaxed into the ride. I huffed and puffed and finally I arrived at the pet store in one piece. I held my breath several times but I made it to my destination totally unscathed.
I looked around for a secure place to lock my bike but there was none to be found so I asked if I could bring it inside and park it by those huge dog cages off to the side in the front. Of course, they let me and if they had not I would have walked it through the store back to the cat food isle. Could not find the right Indoor Cat Mature Senior Sensitive stomach blend that Oh Well devours in a 3.5 lb bag. Lucky day, the Science Diet representative was there and gave me a coupon for $3.00 off the 8.5 bag since they were out of Oh Well’s blend. The bag barely fit inside my big ol’ bright red backpack but I managed to get it safely zipped in. As I picked up that now 12 lb back pack every muscle in my neck and upper back screamed NO. What was I to do? I told myself it was a beginning and I could do it.
I knew that a friend of mine had recently bicycled on the islands off the coast of Washington state, with 25 lb. full backpack, for over 250 miles. She crated her bike and flew it to Seattle, built the bike and started riding to the ferry. When we were in high school we played sports together, we were highly competitive. I increaesd the self talk and told myself 'If she could do that I could do this.' Two kids later for both of us and she is stronger than she was 40 years ago. I am at the bottom of my game with all that. My friend said she could cross biking the Washington Islands off her bucket list. I want a bucket list and I want to cross things off it.
I made it home in one piece with the cat food safely on my back. I smiled as OH Well waited patiently for me to open the bag completely so he could sneak a couple of morsels out of the open bag. Immediatley upon arrival home I iced both my neck muscles and my lower back . I did it. I met my first challenge.
What’s the long and the short of this. I need a new more comfortable backpack if I am ever going to transport anything else ever. I probably won’t run out looking for one anytime too soon but I won’t quit riding the bike, I just won’t go grocery shopping or to Wal-mart. I mentioned I rode my bike to the social security office to drop of a form. I folded the one piece of paper I needed to turn in and put it in my pocket. Less than 1 oz.
I am changing my eating habits too. I have cut sugar and carbohydrates out of my diet almost completely. I know I get some carbs just because they are everywhere. I definitely have increased the calorie burning activity lately too. I don’t jump on the scale everyday but when I did weigh myself and saw I was down a pound I celebrated by drinking a bottle of water. Patting myself on the back.
Be good to yourself.
Rose
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Reflections
Once upon a time my life was in order. It really was. I had files for everything and all my belongings had an assigned place. For the last 7 years things have just gone to hell in a handbag. My little piece of the world is a total reflection of good ol’ disorganized me.
Everyday I look at the stuff I have hung onto and ask myself do I still want or need to keep it. I am better than others I know, at ridding and thinning but I still hang onto stuff even if I don’t have room for it. My mother wanted to have an antique store and collected a lot of unique things. My mother died a few years ago. She had some interesting items but she also had many things that were just old and just reminder her of when she was young. She bought a lot of small, worthless, cool to look at, STUFF. My father died four years before my mother’s death and he had his collections too. Should I mention now that I am an only child? Should I mention they lived on over 30 acres and kept everything they ever laid their hands on? Sorting through that stuff by myself just about killed me. I have sold some of my parent’s collectibles. I have had at least five small estate sales.
I used to own a small bookstore and accumulated quite a few boxes of books. Books are heavy and require some care or they devalue quickly. As part of my ‘getting it back in order’ I am going through the boxes of books and making sure I still want to keep them to sell. There’s an ongoing garage sale set up in my tiny garage and if I come across something (book or otherwise) I don’t want; I take it to the ever growing garage sale.
As I whittle down my earthy processions I have been inundated with the purpose of my purchase and the realization that it is time to change the purpose. Repurposing can be such a poplar concept. Since neither of my sons want my stuff and I don’t have a big place to display it I want others to enjoy it. I want those collectors of same stuff to take it off my hands. Buy it! Give me money. If I have two of something, the second one is gone. I have little collections that I probably won’t break up but I do not need to have the mindset of keeping something “just in case”, because it was mothers, or because it might be valuable. I have come to a place in my life that I simply don’t enjoy the same stuff I that I used to. That is an important point to become aware of for me. There is too much stuff weighting me down right now.
Rose
Everyday I look at the stuff I have hung onto and ask myself do I still want or need to keep it. I am better than others I know, at ridding and thinning but I still hang onto stuff even if I don’t have room for it. My mother wanted to have an antique store and collected a lot of unique things. My mother died a few years ago. She had some interesting items but she also had many things that were just old and just reminder her of when she was young. She bought a lot of small, worthless, cool to look at, STUFF. My father died four years before my mother’s death and he had his collections too. Should I mention now that I am an only child? Should I mention they lived on over 30 acres and kept everything they ever laid their hands on? Sorting through that stuff by myself just about killed me. I have sold some of my parent’s collectibles. I have had at least five small estate sales.
I used to own a small bookstore and accumulated quite a few boxes of books. Books are heavy and require some care or they devalue quickly. As part of my ‘getting it back in order’ I am going through the boxes of books and making sure I still want to keep them to sell. There’s an ongoing garage sale set up in my tiny garage and if I come across something (book or otherwise) I don’t want; I take it to the ever growing garage sale.
As I whittle down my earthy processions I have been inundated with the purpose of my purchase and the realization that it is time to change the purpose. Repurposing can be such a poplar concept. Since neither of my sons want my stuff and I don’t have a big place to display it I want others to enjoy it. I want those collectors of same stuff to take it off my hands. Buy it! Give me money. If I have two of something, the second one is gone. I have little collections that I probably won’t break up but I do not need to have the mindset of keeping something “just in case”, because it was mothers, or because it might be valuable. I have come to a place in my life that I simply don’t enjoy the same stuff I that I used to. That is an important point to become aware of for me. There is too much stuff weighting me down right now.
Rose
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