To My Kids

I'm not much of a Christmas present buyer or giver.  I mean, I like to give gifts to my people throughout the year but the pressure of providing a gift simply because the calendar says it's time for the presents is just not my thing.  Couple that with the fact that I have four children to provide gifts for and the reality that my financial situation is less than spectacular, well, I'm sure people understand my point.

Personally, I prefer a gift that is either homemade or one that is given with much thought to the personality and interests of the recipient.  And that is why I've decided to write a letter to my kids as a special gift this year.  I do best with words.

Yeah, so you all know how I feel about Christmas.  You've seen me through the "all homemade year" and the "year of no tree" and even the "let's travel across the country on Christmas year".  Somehow we always seem to make it work and we keep at least a few familiar traditions in place.  We're good about that.

So this year has been a good year for all of you.  I'm so proud of each one of you and I know that your Dad would be so impressed with how well you guys are doing.  There have been lots of changes that you've had to deal with and you've done it with grace and maturity well beyond your years.  I suppose this ability to persevere and conquer will help you as you continue through life.  That's good.
I hope you know how much I love you guys and how hard I try to keep things going.  Not a day goes by that I don't feel tremendous guilt over what I can't do for you.  I worry about everything.  I feel horrible that you lost your amazing Dad but you also were left with your imperfect, impatient Mom as your only parent.  Your earthy, hippy, barefoot Mom who made everything from scratch (including your clothes!) and who home schooled you because your Dad and I wanted us all to be together as much as possible has been replaced with this Mom who I barely recognize and I feel so guilty.  Oh, I know there are things that you're probably glad to see go away (like elderberry syrup and skip counting songs) and, truth be told, there's a few things I'm glad to put away as well.  But I miss being together--all of us--and I worry.  Your Pop was a smart guy and he could teach you so many things that I cannot.  He was infinitely patient, which we all know that I am not.  He was laid back and slow-paced which we also know I am not.

When you have a baby it's amazing how much love you feel for something so small and unable to give anything in return.  And then when you have another child you're amazed that your love can be multiplied so easily.  That's kind of how I felt when Dad died, like the love I could give to each one of you now had to be multiplied--you needed my heart and your Dad's too.  I try really hard to keep your lives full of experiences and opportunities.  I may not have much money but what I have I try to use for every one's betterment.  I suppose that's why I buy Lucky Charms on occasion now.  Those marshmallows are so darn fun!  I try to be sure that the things that were important to Dad are somehow instilled in you too.  Except his taste in music--we can forget about that.  Blah.

I've tried to shield a lot of ugly realities of life from you.  I don't know how well I've succeeded.  I wish you did not have to deal with the cruelty of people who you should be able to trust.  I wish you didn't have to be afraid of your future and the uncertainty that looms around the corner.  I wish you didn't have to hear untrue, unkind words spoken.  I so wish that you did not have to feel abandoned and untethered.  I try so very hard to give you security and consistency and stability.  Those things keep me getting up in the morning.  The lesson in all of this is, I suppose, a lesson in how not to live and how not to treat people.

Again, I want you to know how proud I am of each one of you.  School, sports, jobs, adult responsibilities.  You guys are amazing.  You've dealt with injuries and unfair treatment and worries with such character.  I see your Dad in each one of you.  Your love of X-Files and Star Wars and coffee and dark beer and hunting and fishing and taking care of the animals and cutting wood and reading and music and baseball.  My list goes on and on.  He is in each of you.  Never forget that.  Even though he is not here he is still with you.

We are in this together and we are kicking ass.  Do not let anyone tell you otherwise.  Don't be a half-asser, do your best, always tell the truth, and know your boundaries.  Start the fire if you're the first person up, clean up your messes, always take the time to hold babies.  Wear good socks, make your bed, and read a book occasionally.

Love you guys.

I Detest Mice.

Sometimes I forget that I can't go back.  I mean, I know that I cannot age backwards and I'm really fine with that fact.  And as much as I miss those fleeting baby years from my kids growing up I'm pretty much OK with leaving that in the past too.

What I forget is that I cannot have my old life back.  Ever.

Sometimes I feel like I am just passing the days until things "go back to normal."   That I'm just in a temporary stage or a season of sorts and eventually things will fall back into that comfortable, familiar place again.

It's easy to deceive myself.

I keep looking ahead, not to the side or behind.  Keep doing the things.  Go through the motions. Check off the days.  In due course I can stop holding my breath and everything will be normal.  I will be able to breathe again.  Inhale.  Exhale.

Bullshit.

This is not the interim.  This is not passing.  Nope.  This is perpetual and standing and constant.  Hard words to get my feeble arms to embrace.

I got out the Christmas decorations the other day because what kind of Mom would I be if I didn't decorate for the holidays?  Personally, I like to think I'd be a more sane, relaxed Mother but I doubt I could get my kids to hop on board that idea.  So like most families I have a hodge-podge mix of Christmas decorations.  Kid's homemade ornaments, family heirlooms, trinkets picked up here and there, even items from Bill's and my childhoods.  Our decorations would not be featured in any magazine spread but the overall presentation of our baubles is a great representation of our lives.

That is, until the mice ruined everything.  Freaking vermin.  All our memories, packed into Rubbermaid totes, covered with mouse crap.  Mice nests in the creche.  Christmas books covered with mouse urine.  Stockings chewed up.  I'd like to send Rubbermaid a picture of the devastation and tell them that their product sucks.

As I tried to salvage what I could and burn the irreparably ruined items I was struck by how easy it was to throw it all away.  Oh sure, a lot of this stuff held great memories of happy times.  But it was just stuff.  (Stuff that was going to give me hantavirus now)  I understood that what happened to the contents of these few totes was out of my control.  Kind of like the circumstances of my life were also out of my control.  Putting it out at the curb with this week's garbage was probably easier than trying to clean it up and keep it.  Am I going to miss the ugly table runner or sock snowmen (that I made when the big kids were tiny so they couldn't break anything) or ceramic Santa figurine?  Maybe.  But not much.

Hey, don't think for a minute that I'm comparing the fleeting significance of mere stuff with the importance of life.  I am not.  But the act of throwing seemingly important things away without suffering major regret has just got me thinking.  

Complacency, though comfortable, is no way to live life.  Or so I'm finding.  Don't confuse responsibility and complacency.  They are not the same.  One is self-satisfying and one is a mature choice in taking care of what is yours--and taking care of it to the best of your ability.  Sometimes that hurts and is hard but it's what big people do.  It's easy to use complacency as an excuse.  And that is why I threw away the Christmas decorations and found a replacement that better fits my family today.  I'm sure there will be a little pissing and moaning but at the end of the day, it's all good.  There is a tree and lights and a few familiar memories.

And some space for stretching out.

Addled.

Lately I've felt especially untethered.  Teetering.  Unbalanced.  Without roots.

I suppose this feeling could be attributed to the change in weather or lack of sunlight that is ubiquitous right now.  Or the looming holiday season ahead with all its accompanying busyness.  It seems that this time of year always has me feeling somewhat self-destructive.  I spend money I don't have on things I don't need.  I have no appetite and stop eating.  I sleep too much and then not at all.  I quit feeling any emotions and then grasp at anything that causes me to get the feels, however small or fleetingly, and then end up making bad choices.  In people, in words, in whisky, in general.

There is also a tiny bit of good that comes out of this time and that is a deepened sense of introspection. An increase of self-awareness.  But that, unfortunately, leads me to feeling even more off-kilter.

I'm keenly aware of how strange my life has become.

I was walking with a friend the other morning and I was trying to find a way to clearly express to her how I was feeling.  I searched for the words and found a few analogies that seemed fitting.  I told her to imagine what that it felt like if you had spent your whole life trying to put together a huge puzzle which you thought was a picture of a field of sunflowers but it was really a picture of a snowy mountain range instead.  All this time your were trying to use blue and white and grey pieces to make a yellow and green and brown picture and you were not even finished with the edges yet.  Or imagine if you tried to play Monopoly using only the CandyLand board and playing pieces.  Or think about trying to follow a recipe to bake a chocolate cake from scratch and the only ingredients you have in your kitchen are for making venison and vegetable stew.

That is how I feel.  

Like I'm ill-equipped to succeed in this world.  That my ideals and values are neither true or realistic.  I feel as if my life has been nothing more than a mirage.  An illusion of reality.  I feel as if I have been inadequately prepared for "the real world" and I'm too old to relearn what to do.

I mean, was there a class that I missed somewhere?  Did everyone else take this Real World 101 class and I was just building a rocket out of a large cardboard box because I tested TAG?  (This is actually a true event!)  Maybe I was reading a book during this particular class period?

It just seems like I'm the only person who cannot grasp the rules of life.  Everyone else is playing this game and I'm just standing on the sideline trying to figure out what the hell is going on.  What is the object of the game?  Where is the freaking ball?  Who is on which team?  Is someone keeping score?  Is that against the rules?  Do I need special equipment to play this game?  Am I being judged on my ability to play?  Does this uniform make my ass look huge?

Everyone else seems to get it.  And it's all foreign to me.

Just an Indentation.

I caught up on some yard work during the Indian Summer weather we were fortunate enough to have  a few weeks ago.  Pruned, replanted, tore out, weeded.  Just basic yard maintenance stuff.  I got pretty filthy and ended up with a few well-earned blisters on my hands.  Nothing a good shower and a thorough scrubbing of my hands with Lava soap couldn't fix.  And during that hand washing moment I noticed something.  There, on my ring finger, is the still-obvious ridge of where my wedding ring used to be.

I took my ring off a year after Bill died.  I wore it on a chain around my neck for a while.  I had his band re-sized to fit on my right hand a week after he died.  It will remain there.  But I'm not sure why I took off my own gold band.  Well, that's not totally true.  I removed it as sort of an experiment, trying out how it would feel to be naked of that symbol after so many years.  Probably a first step in living alone.  Or at least a first step in that direction.  There's a little more to this part of the story actually and I'm not up to telling it right now but trust me when I say that I took the ring off for the right reasons.

When I look at the indentation on my finger it makes me feel just how much being alone sucks.

Oh, I can be OK on most days.  I don't mind getting up in the morning by myself because Bill was only home in the mornings on the weekends.  There's nothing foreign to me about morning solitude.  And I can be pretty much alright in the course of the afternoon too.  I stay plenty busy at work or catching up at home.  I even do reasonably OK in the evening hours because prior to his death Bill had worked a strange shift that brought him home at night around 11:00PM.  Again, I was used to solitude in the evenings.  But, oh the nighttime.  Nighttime is a whole different story.

I don't think I will ever get used to it.

At the end of the day all the things I think of to talk about and no one here to listen to me.  No one to plan for the future with.  No one to dream up an adventure with.  No one to "remember when" with.  Hear a scary sound outside?  I'm the one who has to check it out now.  Make sure the fire is going, fill the coffee pot, set the mousetrap.  All me now too.

Sometimes I let myself remember a boring, typical evening from before.  But I quickly tuck it back away in my mind because the simple contentedness of such times makes my heart hurt.  When I absentmindedly go to twirl the ring on my finger (nervous habit) and realize that it's no longer there I am flooded with regrets and self-pity and hopelessness.  Funny how a little gold band (no diamonds for me--too high maintenance) can make me feel so helpless and sad.  Claustrophobic about life and choices and the future.

This life I have right now is not the life I anticipated ever having to live.  It is a far, far cry from the life we built together.  My entire identity was woven with the threads of "us."  I know that "letting go" is my only choice.  But I just haven't quite figured out how to actually do that.  How do you choose what parts to let go of and what parts should remain?  Can any parts remain?  Lots to think about.

Just a tiny indentation but it represents an entire world.

Night Light.

When I was a little girl I made it a regular habit to get out of bed at night.  I don't remember if I was actually scared of the dark, which is likely, or if I just had to pee, which is also likely.  Either way, I would get out of my bed and go searching for the light.  That part I remember.  I would gather my blanket and a pillow and creep out of my bedroom into the hallway.  There was always a small ray of light that came in through my bedroom window from the streetlight outside and settled on the floor in the hall.  I think the patch of light was probably about a foot wide.  It was in that little area of illumination that I would spread out my blanket and lay down, my face always turned toward the light.  Only in the light could I fall back asleep.

I revisited this memory (or maybe the memory revisited me?) tonight when I got into bed.  There was the nearly-full moon, shinning in my window, lighting up a small space on my pillow.  Instinctively I turned my face to the brightness and felt the familiar comfort I had felt as a little girl.  Almost like deja vu.

Funny how something as small as this can bring such peace.

Love, Hate, and Indifference.

So, I had another epiphany on my run yesterday.

I was thinking about how people have moved in and out of my life.  That's a completely normal thing to happen so I'm not saying I'm worried about this.  It happens to everyone.  Sometimes it happens because lives go in different directions.  Sometimes it's because our commonality changes.  Sometimes our need for one another is modified enough that we go our separate ways.  And sometimes, sometimes we just no longer like each other.  And that brings me to my latest run-induced insight.

If I asked you to tell me what the opposite of love was what would you say?  Would you say "hate"?  I think most people would give me that answer.  But really, I think the complete opposite of hate is indifference.  Irrelevance.  Unimportance maybe.

You see, love is an emotion.  A sketchy, fickle emotion but an emotion just the same.  Love is full of ups and downs and those troublesome things called "feelings."  Love makes you feel good.  And sometimes it makes you feel bad for a while but probably so you can feel good when it resurfaces again. A cycle.  A cycle full of passion and depth and intensity.

And now let's talk about hate.  Hate is also an emotion.  It's just coming at us from the other end of the emotional spectrum.  Just like acids and bases are opposites on the pH scale but both have the power to dissolve and destroy objects, so it is with hate.  It has an equal amount of passion and depth and intensity.

Love comes barreling at us, full speed, from the left side while hate comes barreling at us, full speed, from the right side.  Makes sense, yes?

So I've realized that the opposite, contrasting feeling of love is indifference.  Within indifference there is the absence of passion.  There is the lack of depth and there is the void of feelings.   Complete disregard and uncaring.  Now that is the divergent sentiment to love.

I've come to believe that where hate exchanges places with love there is the presence of a deep anguish.  Maybe a trust has been broken or an expectation was not met.  There might be lies or cheating or cruel actions and words.  Hell, sometimes I think we might be so frustrated and guilt-ridden with our own actions that we project our self-hatred onto innocent folks.  But really it doesn't matter so much as to what took place or why.  The resulting hatred is a manifestation of unfulfilled expectations.  To ourselves or to others.

Where there is hate there is still fervor and feelings.  Where there is indifference, well, there is nothing left.  A void.  A vacuum.  And to me, that is a very scary idea.  When you arrive at that place I don't believe there is a return ticket back.

How To Choose

I went camping this weekend.  More specifically I went camping, with kids, by myself, at the end of a very curvy and steep (can you say cliff?) road.  Well, that's not a completely accurate statement.  I actually went camping with a load of very good friends but the driving part and the kids part is totally true.

 I detest packing and unpacking a car.  I stress over the planning of the logistics of a trip.  I don't really like traveling by myself.  I really, really dislike driving steep, cliff-edged roads.  Coordinating kids and their ensuing safety, eating, and sleeping needs whilst traveling causes enough anxiety to render me unable to enjoy myself.  And don't even get me started on the chaos that inevitably greets me once I return home.

But I did it.  I camped with kids and fed them football field nachos for dinner.  No one showered for days and I cannot begin to imagine how many cans of soda were consumed.  I drank beer in a parking lot and bourbon under the stars.  I even drove winding roads, albeit slowly, and got us where we needed to be.  In one piece!

I noticed on the way home that the vineys are starting to turn.  And I remembered how Bill would always find them at his job and cut several branches to bring home to me.  In fact, I don't think I considered Fall to have begun until he'd brought me home some of those maple branches.

Wham.  And the sadness slips in again.

A while back, I had someone send me a little blurb they'd found on Facebook probably.  Something about choosing a person who wanted to take care of you, not materialistically, but someone to take care of your heart and your soul.  Those maples made me think about those words.

Maybe we should choose to have people in our lives who will take the time to cut the branches or pick the wild flowers just because they know it will make us smile.  And maybe we should choose the person who will bring us licorice or gummy bears just because they know it's our favorite candy.  Or the one who will sweep or vacuum the mess off the floor because they know how much it annoys you and prevents you from relaxing on the sofa.  The one who knows your favorite song and remembers the name of the dog you had as a kid.  We should surround ourselves with the people who just sit and listen to our talking because they understand that putting those words into the air takes away some of their sting.

I guess it all comes down to finding people who want to quietly bring comfort and kindness and happiness into your life.  With no agenda.  Just to see you happy.  It seems like a simple idea but I'm finding that it's rather rare to find people like this.  Seems like there's an awful lot of selfish, cold, blind folks who can't figure out why their lives are so empty and sad.

And I think about those words again.  Heart and soul.  Fill them up with unselfish love.    

I do believe I can find some of those vine maples to cut by myself.  And I'm pretty sure that this time I'll share them with someone else.

Cyclical

As I was driving home from dropping the kids off at school this morning I noticed a few leaves had begun to turn.  No longer were they the deep green, lush array of summer but instead they were looking drier and vaguely yellowish orange.  I suppose that Fall is on the way.  That’s the thing about seasons--nothing you do can stop them from cycling onward.  

When I saw those leaves this morning I have to admit that the first emotion I felt was a vague feeling of sadness.  Of hopelessness maybe?  And that got me thinking.  Why was that the first thing I felt with the realization that the summer was ending?  Why didn't I feel a spark of excitement with the approaching change of Fall?  Why?

I know that I’m not opposed to the comfortable assurance that a new season is always imminent.  There is definitely comfort in that truth.   And I know that I don’t feel this way because I favor one season over the others.  I believe that each season holds its own beautiful magic and is to be honored and celebrated equally.  

What I think is it’s the awareness that change, any change, reflects on us that time is passing.  And with the passing of time I suppose we have feelings of regret over time squandered.  Opportunities not taken.  Goals not accomplished.  Words not spoken.  So I guess that is called regret and maybe that is the reason I feel this indistinct sense of sadness. 

I know that I am not even afraid of the next season.  My melancholy is not the result of uncertainty or trepidation.  The changes that Nature creates challenge me to embrace the particular offerings of the moment.  Like I said before--each new season has it’s own magic to enjoy.  There is no room for fear in these moments.  Think about how New Year’s heralds in new calendars and new resolutions.  How Spring calls you to throw open the windows and clear away the stuffiness of winter and the arrival of flowers and gardens and warm breezes.  And remember how Summer offers warm, star-filled nights and plentiful fresh foods harvested from the garden.   And Fall causes us to feel the draw to go inside again, maybe creating new schedules and thinking about laying the first fire of the season on an especially mild evening.  Hmmm.  I like to think about the potential each moment provides.

But still the sadness persists.

Maybe it's also how the passing of time takes us farther away from our prior life.  There are plenty of things we want to leave behind us and move away from.  For sure.  But there are many things that we begrudgingly move beyond and I suppose that is why there is a gloomy, heavy-hearted sense to the awareness of time and the world moving onward.  It just takes me farther away from the happiness that gets smaller and smaller when I look at it over my shoulder.

And now, I think I'll go for a run and be glad that the cooler weather is just around the corner.

My favorites.

Hey, so how about we depart from the normal gloomy, whiney reflections about my life and do something way more fun?  Let's take a look at some of my favorite things!

I promise to get back to the deep stuff soon though.

Rodan and Fields!  I love this stuff.  It's the best skincare I've ever used.  A little pricey but it lasts for months and really delivers what it promises.  I think I actually save money in the long run because I don't wear foundation and I don't spend money on the latest skincare trend anymore either.  

I'm usually a Tide girl, though I will admit to bouts of making my own laundry detergent before.  Persil wins in the end.  It even gets rid of the sock funk from Jack's work socks.  And no one has broken out in a rash from it either, which happens regularly with my sensitive-skinned spawn.

WTF weather app.  This is the funniest app on my phone.  You can moderate the language if you choose.

Down Dog yoga app.  I use this yoga app several times each week.  You can choose your level of yoga-ness, length of time for the workout, and type of practice.  And it's free!

These are the greatest hair products that I have ever used.  And having done hair for a gazillion years I'm pretty sure I've used almost everything on the market so I am definitely qualified to make this claim.  My hair is fine, curly and frizzy, and color-treated and it still feels soft and healthy when I use this.  A little goes a loooonnnnggg way so my travel-sized bottles last forever.  

I had never shopped at Kohl's until a few months ago.  It's a great store!  I'm not much of a shopper really (unless you count Goodwill) but I have found some excellent deals and cute stuff at Kohl's.  And that Kohl's cash?!  Well, it's awesome.

This is the herd share where I buy my milk.  Wonderful family and wonderful milk.  This is definitely worth the price!

Great recipes and beautiful photos.  And, I know the people who created this site!  I have not tried one recipe that I have not loved.  Even the paleo treats are excellent.  Visit Justin and Erica for some healthy eating inspiration.

I love my Vitamix.  I bought reconditioned off the Vitamix website and received the same warranty as if buying a new one.  I use this appliance more than anything else in my kitchen (except maybe my tea kettle).  Salsa, graham cracker crumbs, grinding spices, smoothies, milkshakes, margaritas, sorbet, the list is endless!  Buy one of these!

The Game.

*This was written for the boys and coaches and parents who were part of the MCGRA 7th/8th JBO team at the end of their 2017 season*

For those of you (are there any who are reading this?) who didn’t know Bill, let me just tell you that he loved baseball.  He loved it more than most people because I suppose he understood it better than most people.  He would speak about the magic of baseball and until now I guess I didn’t exactly understand what he was talking about.  

Let me try to explain what I mean.

The magic of the game is not tied to the superstitions of the game.  Things like wearing the same pair of socks during a winning streak or jumping over the baseline when taking the field instead of stepping  directly on it.  Or maybe walking onto the pitcher’s mound with the same foot with each approach.  It's not even with the elaborate rituals a batter goes through when steps up to the plate.  Superstitions and habits are not magic.

It’s not about the constancy of the positions regardless of the age or the team either.  No, second baseman aren’t always “failed” shortstops.  Closing pitchers are not always a little crazy.  Right fielders don’t always watch the clouds to find pictures in them instead of paying attention to the game.  First basemen aren’t always the coach’s kid who can’t play anywhere else nor are they always fat.  Oh, I think there’s a little truth to most of it but it’s definitely not magical.

I think what Bill meant was that there is something magical about the game itself, the subtleties and nuances of the game.  The way a field looks when it’s freshly mowed and the infield is drug until it’s smooth as silk.  It’s in the moment when the lights are switched on and a game suddenly becomes a night game.  It’s also in the moment when the dust settles and you can finally see whether the runner is safe on the bag or not.  In a perfectly executed double play or a bunt that is laid out right along the third base line.  The magic is in the smells and sounds of the game:  The sound of the ball hitting the bat (sometimes on the handle even!) or the way the leather of a glove sounds when a ball is caught.  The smell of dirt and grass and seeds.  

That’s what he meant, I think.  And he was right.

But I have come to think of it a little bit differently.  I think the magic of the game lies in the community created by those involved.  The players, the parents, the spectators, even the umpires.  The magic is that everyone, regardless of height, weight, age, color, sex, level of education or intelligence, socio-economic status, whatever, can gather to essentially become one crazy, diverse, extraordinary family.  

That’s my take on it.  There lies the magic.

Bill endeavored to teach kids enough about the game that they, in turn, could perpetuate their love of it to the next generation.  “It’s a simple game,” he’d say, “you only have to throw a ball and catch a ball.”  I’m certain that he would be proud of this team and he would feel relief that his influence and instruction would not return empty.  His legacy will live on every time one of these boys shares their love of the game with someone else.  More magic.

He’d also say that JD was safe on third.

A Lesson I've Learned. Or a Truth I've Accidentally Discovered.

I had a conversation with myself while running on the treadmill the other day that was prodigious.  (That's just a big word for eye-opening. I liked the sound of it.)  It's not unusual for me to talk to myself while running or doing anything else in all honesty.  But I seem to have much more clarity in my thoughts when I am in the throws of running and this was one of those moments when I finally understood something that I'd been pondering for a good while.

Here's what I discovered:  I'm no good at people.

I like people and everything, or at least most people, but I'm not so good at understanding them.  I figured out that I expect others to have similar thought processes and intentions as I do.  I believe that people are simple and straightforward and don't play games.

I believe this and that's my problem.

But how come I can believe so easily?

And that's when I realized the answer to my question.  It's because of my relationship with Bill.  I was so young (and had not learned to be cynical and suspicious) when we met.  I never had to mess with typical relationship crap.  Oh sure, there were times of teenage drama.  And there were times before we were married that we dipped our toes into that back and forth stuff.  Gosh though, it was so small-scale and silly that I never "learned a lesson" about relationships from it.  I was never seriously hurt by any of it.  Consequently I carry no suitcase loaded with emotional baggage around with me.

Naive?  Possibly.  But more like simple, honest, and uncomplicated.

You see, Bill was my best friend.  When I first met him we would spend hours just talking.  And fishing.  Always fishing and talking.  Even after all the years and the kids and the rough parts of life that we experienced we could still spend hours talking.  He was my favorite person and I know I was his.  I would talk to him multiple times throughout every day.  He was the person I never hesitated to call to complain or celebrate or cry to.  Naturally this went both ways as I was always, always ready to hear what he wanted to say.  We had no ulterior motives or methods of manipulation in our intent.  Nope.  We just really liked each other.

And that is why I assume everyone else lives this way.

I am learning that most people have been hurt and betrayed by some person or situation and cannot let their guard down anymore.  Where there was once trust and openness has now been replaced with reservation and suspicion.  And often times I'm seeing that those betrayals cause us to adopt self-sabotaging behaviors too.  Maybe the hurt makes us feel like we're never going to be enough?  Or that we don't deserve something better?  Either way, we end up packing our bags with sadness and padding it all with a whole lot of self-preservation.

I'm not sure that there is a solution to this.  We all have to carry different bags filled with different burdens through the wanderings of our lives.  Some people get fancy, flashy bags that hold glittery problems while others get plastic Walmart bags filled with garbage.  Some carry veritable trunks filled with all different kinds of troubles, both big and small.  Personally, I like to think that the people who we find (or who find us!) are put on our paths to help us carry the load.  So maybe that is the solution:  we can only be relieved of our burdens when we trust another to share the weight.  Each time we relinquish an item from our bag our life becomes a little brighter, a bit less oppressive.

But to trust enough to allow such a thing, well....  that's a hard one to conquer.

Mowing the Lawn

Disclaimer:  This will be a depressing post filled with a fair amount of whining.  There could be some swearing too.  Just a little heads up for you more sensitive snowflake types.

I cry when I mow the lawn.

There.  I've admitted it.

This is not an occasional truth, for it happens every time I start up the mower.  It is, though, a rather recent phenomena.

I've been spending a fair bit of time pondering this development and I'm starting to grasp why a crying jag might accompany my yard work.  And as often as I mow the yard it's a damn good thing I'm getting it figured out!  There's still 3 more months of weekly mowing to consider and I think I could get dehydrated.

I used to like mowing the lawn.  It was a chore I could complete with little interference from any children and once it was finished no one could mess it up.  I liked the sense of accomplishment I felt when I finished.  It was a break from the regular house stuff I was always doing and a way to get outside and use a few muscles.  I really did enjoy it.

But now, now it feels like one more task that needs to be checked off my never-ending list.  It's an unwelcome burden now.  That, then, is the first reason I cry.  Mowing has become just another detail that I must attend to and I'm tired.  In my world the more tired I am the better the chance for emotional incident.

Another thing I used to like about mowing the lawn was how the monotonous nature of the task gave me ample time to think about life.  My life, Bill's life, the kids' lives, the neighbor's lives--you get the idea.  I would use the time to consider my options about any upcoming decisions I might need to make.  Or I would think about rearranging or redecorating a room (I was always having babies during this time so I was pretty much always in need of reconfiguring space!).  I even planned meals and vacations and running routes while I mowed.

To put it simply, I think when I mow.

Aha!  And now when I think, I think of crap.  What should've.  What could've.  How I need to.  These thoughts chase me around the yard like a pesky May fly, torturing me with their persistence and never letting me forget their presence.  So there's the next reason I cry--just thinking about how much my life has changed and how much I dislike it.

Now, before anyone starts lecturing me about needing to have a better attitude and, my all-time favorite, "getting over it"  let me tell you a few things.  And this might read offensively or harshly.  Yeah, but I don't care.  There is no getting over it.  Doesn't matter if I'm talking about my shit show life or your divorce or disappointment or job loss or death or illness.  Doesn't matter at all.  You never (and I do mean never) get over any of it.  You just assimilate.  You just figure out how to do the next thing.  You don't forget or "move on".  What the hell does that even mean anyway?  Move on to what?  Where?  Who?  You just get up and do the next thing.  Notice that I didn't mention anything about happiness or cheerfulness or gratitude.  Sure, I think those things probably come around eventually.  But it's mostly bullshit to expect anyone to follow a prescribed pattern of understanding exactly how to function after a traumatic upheaval in their life.  Is there a chart somewhere that I've not had access to?  Something like this:

Death:  16 months to get over it
Disease:  6 months  to get over it
Job Loss:  3 months to get over it
Divorce:  12 months to get over it

Time, people.  What everyone needs is time.  Plain and simple.

And your time is probably different than my time and neither one of us is wrong.  To judge a person on their walk through life is not only mean, it's also the worst example of arrogance.  Is one person so omniscient that they can command another how to "get over it" or when to "move on"?  Judging feels that way to me.

Circling back around, I do know that I won't always cry when I mow the lawn.  With time, it will just be another task that I complete.  I might even like it again.  I see it, albeit far away, but I do know it's waiting there for me somewhere down the road.  Until enough time passes I guess I'll just embrace the tears and feelings and let them do their thing.  God knows that ignoring them or pushing them away does not work.

Time.  It is the only healer.  It is also the only equalizer that captures us all eventually.

A List

I haven't done a list in a while.  Lists are kinda fun.  Here's a list of some interesting things I've learned or observed in the past while:

1.  Pigs really do fly.

2.  Audible books make car drives or housecleaning just fly by.  They do not, however, speed up treadmill time.  I think that treadmill time is lost time, like when you get abducted by bigfoot or aliens.

3.  Broken bones are a nuisance but definitely NOT a reason to stop doing things.  Like driving.  Or traveling.  Or working.

4.  Despite the feeling that this season will never end (both figuratively and really) the next season will always come.  But it cannot be rushed.

5.  Boundaries keep good things safe and bad things out.  Always set boundaries. With people, with gardens, at movie theaters.

6.  People who post too much stuff on social media are a) insecure as hell and looking for validation, b) playing a make believe game of grownup, c) searching for attention.  I suspect if you were really as happy as you'd like us to believe you wouldn't be posting every annoying detail of your life.

7.  There are many, many children who are masquerading as adults.

8.  Trying to recreate a lost or ruined opportunity is like trying to unbake bread.  It cannot be done.  You'll just end up with a soggy, inedible mess.  Move forward to the next good thing.  It might be a different thing but it might also be a better thing.

9.  Time is the great equalizer.  It cannot be fooled.

10.  If it looks like sh*t and smells like shi*t it's definitely still shi*t.  Try to dress it up and cover it up anyway you like but no one will really be fooled.

11.  People lie.  A lot.  People are also mean.  A lot.

12.  People are self-centered and will throw you under the bus without so much as a backwards glance.  They will use you and pretend you do not exist.  Learn from this and do not treat others the same way.

13.  Words are not always true, actions are often temporary, but patterns cannot be denied.  Think about that one for a while.

How To Live Without a Heart.

I'm pretty sure I no longer have a heart.  I mean I can still feel it beating in my chest but I think it quit working.  I think it completely shattered when Bill died but it still lay there in pieces, probably waiting to be slowly put back together with time.   There were a few pieces that seemed to still fit together, not neatly like the pieces of a puzzle, but more like the rough, irregular pieces of a mosaic.  Lots of cracks and empty spaces but still held together in the the shape of something recognizable.

And then it got broken some more and that's why I think it's beyond repair now.

It's funny to have this awareness.  It's like I know I'm alive because I breathe and move and function.  But I do it all without feeling.  Well, if indifference can be considered a feeling then I do have that.  I just don't care.  Those pieces of my heart are lost or don't fit together and aren't able to create a vessel to hold feelings anymore.  It's empty.

But I'm indifferent to it now.  I can watch myself like I'm outside my living room, looking in through the window and observing what's going on.  And my mind can tell my outside self (let's call her my representative) what I should be doing and I just kinda autopilot things.  Get out of bed and make breakfast.  Check.  Go to work or work at home.  Check.  Laugh at a funny story told by a kid.  Check.  Feel empathy for some one's sad story.  Check.  Drink water because it's good for me.  Check.  Try to have a hobby and appear normal.  Checkerooni.  I totally do it all but I don't feel any of it.  Weird.  But yet fascinating.

I'm not sure why I'm sharing this thought.  It's kind of more than I usually like people to know about me.  But I figure that if I'm trying to write with honesty then this is brutally honest for certain.  Plus, maybe I'm not the only one who feels this way and my confession will give someone else the words to explain their own feelings.  Or maybe not.  Maybe it's just me who is deranged enough to admit it.
Either way, it's the truth.  Ugly as it sounds, it is my truth.

No Adulting Today, Please.

I'm done being an adult and doing adult things.

Really, I would love a day where I did not have to do anything adult-like.  No cooking or cleaning or working or anything where I was responsible for another living thing.  A day where someone else had to take care of me.

And then I realize who I am.

Just for the day I don't want to worry about a failed furnace.  I don't want to shop for a new wood stove or place an ad on Craigslist to sell the old one.  I don't want to talk to repair people or salespeople or Craigslist people.

I don't want to be the only person in my house to remember that the toilet paper is almost gone or that there is no more bread.  I want someone else to worry that it's 6:00PM and no one has eaten dinner.

Just for the day I don't want to sweep the floor after someone tracks mud in, wipe the toilet seat because some one's aim was off, or pick up a pair of boots that are blocking the door for the 100th time.

I want to wake up to a warm house, one where there's already a fire burning.  And a wood box full of dry wood that I did not have to split and haul by myself.  And a cup of coffee would be nice too.

For just one day I don't want to worry about things like braces and baseball cleats and retirement accounts.  I don't want to think about leaking roofs or incompetent math teachers.

I don't want to spend my day driving people around.  Or trying to remember when and where everyone is supposed to be.

My mind needs a break from identifying "teachable moments" for my kids and being the only person to implement appropriate discipline for their crap behavior.  I'm tired of worrying about not having control of my family or life (I'm not entirely sure that's true but someone said that to me and now I'm paranoid other people think that as well).

I want a day where someone else pays the bills and worries about money and the future.

I know that I'm an adult and that I really cannot pretend otherwise.  I know that responsibilities are just a part of life and they are completely unavoidable.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I got it.  But being an adult is so much more fun when you're adulting with another adult!  It's nice to have someone to complain to.  It's nice to have another person to share these responsibilities with.  It's nice to know someone else is worrying about the same things that you are.  And it's just nice to know you're not alone in this life.

Another Year.

Dear Bill,

Well, it's been another year.  I'm not going to write this letter on "the day" because I really don't think it's a good idea to recognize a date like that with too much attention.  First of all, if you do something more than twice it becomes a tradition of sorts and I don't want anything associated with this to become a tradition.  Second, I don't want the kids to feel this foreboding sense of dread that sneaks up on them as the date approaches.  Personally, I start feeling doomed near the end of November and it doesn't let up until baseball season begins.  No one needs to suffer along with me.

The past year was far worse than that first year without you.  I spent most of the first year in a state of shock and bewilderment.  And then slowly I started to "feel" again and along with the discovery of some nice, happy feelings I was also slammed with a confusion and emptiness that I did not expect.

In the last year I learned that people lie to each other.  So very easily and with little remorse.  And that people are selfish and self-serving.  I learned that people who you put your trust in can abandon you without even a glance backwards.  I learned that respect and commitment are just words that carry little meaning.  I also learned that people can just be plain cruel and then try to make you feel responsible and stupid.   I think you ruined me.  I trust too easily because I trusted you.  I don't lie because I had no reason to deceive you.  You were committed to me even when you probably didn't want to be.  You listened to me, you accepted me, and you respected me.  Always.  That's the only way I know and it is, unfortunately, not the way of the "real" world.  I was lucky and now I'm handicapped by my own experience.  You should not have left me to learn this lesson.

Ok, but on the other hand, I have learned about acceptance and friendship.  Yes, I've definitely learned about that!  I have baseball friends and school friends, football friends and neighbor friends, running friends, old friends, young friends, serious friends, goofy friends.  I have had some unlikely folks love me and the kids with no judgements or motives.  Just plain old love and acceptance.  That has been the bright part of the past year and I am so thankful for those people.  No one can take your place but it helps to know that there are a handful of good people who understand me enough and who are willing and able to walk beside me.  I have a hard to finding the right words to explain to you how amazing these people are, Bill.  You would love them though.  And you'd want to tell them how much you appreciate them loving the kids and I.

Parenting by myself is hard, Bill.  Really hard.  The big kids are getting older and more independent but their problems and obstacles are exponentially harder to parent.  It makes potty training look downright easy!  I'm trying--and failing, not doubt.  But I'm still showing up and trying to be that steady, consistent presence in their lives.  And the little kids are growing and changing every day I swear!  I just wish I had some help teaching them all the stuff that YOU were supposed to pass along.  Gosh, I try, really I do, and you would not believe some of the stuff I have had to do by myself!  But bottom line is you would be proud of them all and what they're accomplishing and who they're becoming.  They're good kids and I see glimpses of you in each of them every day.  You really would be proud of them.  And please know that I am trying my hardest.

Another thing I have learned in the past year is that you won't actually die from drinking Gatorade or eating Doritos.  I have found that the world will not stop spinning if the gutters don't get cleaned out or there is a sink full of dirty dishes left unwashed overnight.  No one will die if they cuss.  There is no shame in having cereal and scotch for dinner (no scotch for the kids--I have some scruples.)  Spending money on frivolous or unnecessary things does not make me a bad person either.  I have found that an unweeded garden can be just as productive as a perfectly tended one.  There's a lot of old, silly ideas that I have found to be untrue and unnecessary and letting them go feels so good.  Don't think that I'm forgetting my true values and ideas about life because I'm not.  I'm just learning that there is beauty in imperfection and that not fighting the changes that life presents me are both inevitable and to be appreciated.  It's all about the process and I'm trying to live it every darn day.  But still, the irony of eating $11/gallon raw milk on Captain Crunch is definitely not lost on me.

I sat at a basketball game the other night and despite being surrounded by hundreds of people I felt totally isolated and alone.  No one there, not one person, could understand me like you did, and the thought of that made me sad.  I don't want to turn into a cynical, untrusting person but I'm afraid that is the direction I'm headed right now.  That thought makes me sad too because that is so contrary to my personality.  The magic I once could so easily see in the world has disappeared almost completely and that makes me saddest of all.  I saw one of those sunrises this morning, all pink and orange and full of light, and the little bit of joy it gave me just seemed to slip away before I could grab on to it.  I think that's a good description of how I feel now.

I'm not going to list the details of everything I did last year.  I don't want to think about a lot of that stuff anymore.  I just want you to know that I miss you and hate trying to do this life stuff by myself.  It was always so much more fun with you--even the bad stuff we were able to make fun.  All I know is that you took care of me and made sure to protect me and now I have to face the ugliness with no shield or filter.  I pretty much think that I just want to hide for the next 40 years.  I wish I could ask you what I should do and I wish you could laugh at my stupidness and tease me about how I over think everything.  I would give anything to be able to have the one person who I could always trust hear what's really, truly in my heart and know that my words would be understood.

I suppose that now I'll just wear overalls and rubber boots and have a handful of cats--all with special
names.  I'll be oddly eccentric and smell like chocolate chip cookies and lavender.  I'll probably talk to myself in public and drink whiskey out of a mason jar every afternoon at 5:00.  Little kids will be warned to stay away from "that crazy Widow Pennick."  There will be no sparkle left in my eyes and that is why they'll think I'm crazy.

Life Lessons for an 18th Birthday.

Dear Jack,

I remember the morning you were born.  It was cold, like REALLY cold, and I was sure your Dad would slide off the road as he drove us to the hospital.  And then he passed the cop doing 95 and I told him not to slow down or you would be born along the side of Highway 22. You were born quickly and with little effort on my part but you weren't real happy to be crossing over into this world.  Took you a while before you settled in and found your place.  But you did and you grew and you loved trucks and your hammer and tightening loops.

I wish things were different for you (but really that's not for me to decide) and you had someone better equipped than me to help you navigate your life.  I'm not so good at trucks and engines and smelly socks.  I can't play catch with you anymore and you know how afraid I am of driving up on logging roads.  I can't teach you to fly fish and I'm not a very good shot with a shotgun.  I get confused between a log loader and a shovel (is there a difference?) and the maintenance of power saws is beyond me.  Oh sure, I've spent many an hour around 18 year old boys, but that's kinda the problem--I remember all too clearly what you guys are all about.  Your Pop broke me in on all things boy.  And I'm still scared by y'all.

But I can share with you a few lessons I've learned about life:

1.  Don't be an asshole.  To anyone--animals, little kids, stupid people, old people, people who truly are assholes.  Treat everyone (everyone) with respect and kindness and take any opportunity that presents itself to do something nice for another person.  No good deed goes unnoticed by the universe.

2.  Know your boundaries.  And stick with them.  Don't let anyone else determine your path or your value.  Know when you need to walk away from situations or people who don't want to understand you.  Those are the kind of people who only listen to you to reply not to truly comprehend you.  Your values and ideals belong only to you and as long as you don't hurt anyone else with your choices, stick by them and know where your margins are.  Keep those boundaries well-defined.

3.  Take the time to have fun.  You have the rest of your life to adult.  Life is about the memories and experiences you have by yourself and with others.  I know your Dad always wished that he would have played more baseball and went on the hunting trips and stopped to fish the little streams along the way.  Take all the opportunities for fun that present themselves.

4.  Be a good friend even when it's hard.  Put your friends before yourself.  Remember who was there for you when things were rough and try to do the same.  Those folks are your people, your tribe.  Cherish them.

5.  Work hard and always do things the right way.  Don't be a half-asser.  If you commit to doing something follow it through to completion.  Even when it totally sucks.  Remember Grandpa Bill's words of wisdom:  "What we have here is a half ass job."

6.  Be patient.  I'm still learning this one and it's hard.  But don't rush things or accept less than you deserve out of impatience.  What is supposed to come to you will come in the right time.  Sit back and trust the process.

7.  Clean up after yourself.  If you get something out, put it away when you're done with it.  Replace what you use up.  Fix what you break.  Wash what you make dirty.  Try to leave things nicer than you found them.

8.  Never underestimate the power of a few honest, well-chosen words to make some one's day brighter.  And never forget that everyone appreciates a special little treat once in a while.  That's why your Dad always brought me a Skor bar when he came home from the grocery store.  It wasn't so much the candy as it was the thought and effort that went into it.  Listen closely to people's words and remember those little things for down the road.  (I gave someone some Clorox wipes one time bc they said they made life easier for cleaning up a boys' bathroom)

9.  Never stop learning new things and never be unteachable.  You will never be too old to learn something from another person.  Be open to those opportunities.  And don't let pride get in your way either.

10.  Remember that you were created to be on this earth by something bigger than yourself.  Be humbled by that thought but always remember that you were created to be the only you, and you are here for a definite reason.  I'll say it again--be humbled by this thought.

I'm sure there's a few more I could tell you but these 10 will have to do for today.  I love you, bud, and I know you'll make your Dad and I proud.  Happy birthday!

Love, Mom