Public Service Announcement

So I feel like I need to make a public announcement regarding myself.  It has been brought to my attention (over and over ad nauseam) that there has been speculation about 1) my sanity,  2) my lifestyle,  3) what/who I'm talking about,  4) who I'm spending time with,  5) my devious plans to reek havoc amongst the living.

Now excuse me whilst I fall over, clutching my stomach and laughing hysterically.

I will not offer explanations (or excuses, so I'm told) about anything.  I don't have to and here's why:

My world is small.  I basically just get up, go to work, take care of my family, occasionally spend some time with a few (very few) well-chosen and well-trusted friends, and generally keep to myself.  I prioritize my children above all else and that easy choice leaves precious little time for anything more.  Certainly not ample enough time to plot and deceive or live in debauchery.

I'll say it again:  my world is small.

I don't trust very many people these days.   I divulge very little to anyone because I don't have much confidence in any one's ability to hold my information without speculating and using their own perceptions to make unjust conclusions.  Best to keep quiet and smile I'm finding.  Hell, it seems that I can't even go to the grocery store anymore without some sort of unwanted fallout.  Ridiculousness.

Rest assured, dear reader, that any words that come out of my mouth are probably something similar to, "Did you put away your laundry yet?" or "Would you please quit making slime."  It is highly doubtful that I am speaking with malicious intentions about anyone or anything else.  Except my car--I  freaking hate my car and will talk smack about that POS any chance I get.  The older I get the more I surmise that you should only believe half of what you see and nothing of what you hear.

My inappreciable free time is not spent with corrupt, depraved people or wicked pastimes.  High school sporting events can be sketchy places, as can 4-H meetings.  I know.  But we try to keep the immorality to a minimum at these places.  Kids being present and all.  *insert eye roll here *  I do imbibe regularly and there are, gasp, beer bottles or cans and a few bottles of whisky in my home but the last time I looked at my driver's license I was well over the age of 21 so I think this is not a problem.  And the unscrupulous act of knitting, well, I just will have to accept that it will never be a decent activity for some people.  And don't even get me started on my dubious yard work habits or my contentious running practice.

My sanity is the same as it always has been.  Moderately questionable but definitely intact.  What I want to know is how come people say you're crazy simply because you do something differently than them?  Or you make a choice that is not the same as what they'd make?  I just call that different not crazy. I mean if you don't like donuts (you're stupid) and I love them does that make you insane?  If you think football is torturous to watch but I spend my Sundays in front of the TV binging on the grid iron should one of us be considered deranged?   You say tomatoe, I say tomato.

Yeah, so that's my announcement.  If you are not a part of my world that's OK.  I still hope for peace and happiness for you.  All I ask is that I am allowed to be left alone by those who choose not to be a part of my sphere.  Please let me have some quiet and stillness.

hurt

cause mental pain or distress to (a person or their feelings).

"she didn't want to hurt his feelings"

synonyms:

distress, pain, wound, sting, upset, sadden, devastate, grieve, mortify; cut to the quick "his words hurt her"

Today

I miss you.

Every day.

Nothing of the past three years should be part of my story.

You should be here with us.  You would make it all go away.

Jack

I'm listening to the wind howl around the house today and I'm thinking about the morning you were born.  It wasn't windy then.  In fact it was bitterly cold.  Cold and clear and still.  Kind of the opposite of today's weather.

Kind of the opposite.  My life's story......

You were not an easy baby.  I mean, you weren't colicky or anything like that, but after how easy of a baby your sister was, well, you seemed kind of hard to us.  You didn't like to sleep until you were ready and you were stubborn about nearly everything.  You were happiest with your hammer and a length of rope or chain.  You could watch John Deere tractor videos for hours and you loved going to work with your Dad.  I'm sure I read the book "100 Trucks" to you at least 10 times every day.    That's how I know the difference between a backhoe and a front end loader to this day.  You spent hours outside, no matter the weather, playing with your trucks in the sandbox and creating high-lead logging sites with the clothesline, the swing set, or the maple tree.  I think we went through 3 or 4 toy power saws during this time too.  And then you figured out how to use Dad's hand saws and all of the trees (and patio supports and arborvitaes) ended up girdled with saw marks.  You would only wear a few well-chosen outfits but suspenders were always the accessory of choice.  That and your hard hat.  Fast forward a few years and I can picture you, same clothing choice, with your saw, hand cutting firewood to sell in Virginia.  By the time we moved away our woods were definitely thinner.  During this time you learned to appreciate history and watched all those history movies with your Dad--especially the Civil War ones.  Baseball became your sport of choice and your Pop taught you how to fix, maintain, and build saws.  It was then that you started to amaze us with your analytical ability as a mechanic.  While other kids were playing video games you were fixing motors.  You spent your hard earned money on saw parts and axes.  Once we moved back to Oregon you moved on to Big Red and any other motor you could get your hands on.  Your stubbornness became apparent again as no one, and I mean no one, could persuade you to do something that you didn't want to do. Ahem.

You've had a pretty eventful 18th year.  You finished your schooling (can I get a "thank God"?).  You had a stellar year in baseball and earned all-league accolades.  And you started working full time as a timber faller.  Yep, you were lucky enough to have the opportunity to do exactly what you've always wanted to do.  Not a lot of people can do that.  But I figured you would find a way to make it happen so I'm not surprised really.

I'm pretty sure your Pop would be proud of the man you're becoming.  He would tell you how proud he was of your hard work.  He might critique you're falling, but that wasn't exactly his way either, so maybe he wouldn't.  I know he would be envious of your mechanic ability--he hated working on stuff.   I know that he would love your pickup.  He was always a Ford guy.  He would have loved to have you as a hunting partner.  And he would have loved to spend a weekend at Marion Lake with you too.  Probably eating those nasty toasted tuna sandwiches that he loved to cook over a fire.

Sometimes I worry that you've had to take on a role that you aren't ready for.  Losing your Dad and being the oldest son is a heavy burden to carry and you haven't had a lot of guidance and support these last few years.  I'm thankful for the lessons and habits that your Dad was able to instill in you but I still worry that I've failed you.  A Mom can't take the place of a Dad.  There's just too much that I don't get about boys and men.  I try but I know I fall short and that makes me sad.  I've had to stand back and watch some cruel, heartless things happen to you and I haven't been able to make any of it better.  I hate that.

I hope your 19th year is a good year.  One filled with new experiences, good people, and nice timber.  Keep working hard and forget about shitty people and the shitty things they do (or say).  Be honest and kind to everyone, whether they deserve it or not.  Brush your teeth and wear your retainer.  Keep your sock drawer filled with good socks and change them often.  Pay for a girl's dinner but don't get fooled by a gold digger.  Treat all girls respectfully and remember that often times girls are lacking self esteem so give them a sincere compliment.  Be the kind of guy who makes people feel good when they think of you.  Wear your tin hat and chaps when you're working.  Always.  Empty the sawdust out of your pockets before you wash your work clothes--your washing machine will thank you.  Never buy cheap laundry detergent or cheap toilet paper.  Trust me on this.  Always take the time to ask people how they're doing and never miss an opportunity to hold a baby.  Put the bathmat up after you take a shower so it will dry and not get mildewy.

No matter what, I'm always going to be your Mom.  I can't promise that I'll support you in every choice you make but I will always be honest with you and try to help you.

I love you, J.  Happy birthday.

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.