I've finally reached the penultimate in selfishness. In conducting a Google search for an old friend...I came across a reference in the records that he now has a wife. Like a bullet through my flesh. A WIFE. The burn through the tissue...the searing sensation...the shock - the dismay...and why? I myself am a wife. Married to a good husband. Mother to wonderful children. With a beautiful, full life.
I should be happy for him. As I expected him to be for me. He is my friend, and I am his. And always will be, to some extent, I hope...no matter how many years or miles or relationships separate us.
Am I hurt because he didn't tell me? Am I bothered because I found out in this removed fashion? This feels deeper. I can't even think about it...
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Friday, September 23, 2005
My son has a knack...
I’ve always felt that my son (my firstborn) has had a particular awareness about him. I know we all cherish our children, and know that they are special and gifted in some way…but something about his presence and how others react to him has always been quite remarkable. The awareness I mentioned, is not only in regards to how he interprets living beings, but I’m pretty convinced that it’s more than that – that he can connect with more than just the visceral world. He is currently 4 years old.
The first set of significant experiences that made me raise an eyebrow or two was when he was about 15 months old. We were living on the west coast, but then were called back east because of a death in our extended family. My husband couldn’t get off of work, so we traveled without him. I wasn’t quite sure how I would handle my baby at a large, conservative, Catholic funeral (the faith and culture of the deceased, but not of our own), but what was important was that we were there. At the funeral home, the tone, was, as expected, somber and silent. But my son seemed to understand that this was not a place for frolicking, and was surprisingly respectful of the situation. Of course, there were a few moments of giggles and laughter – when prompted by others who joined us, but for the most part his behaviour was appropriate for the time. At one point, he approached the casket, stood up on the small kneeling step, and stretched up high on his toes trying to see the deceased. It brought a smile to some faces there and he came back over to me where I sat. He looked at me and said “Okay, Mommy, Okay”. I assumed at the time, it was his method of comfort of some type – he was only 15 months old and perhaps he heard it from around the room. As the mourners approached the casket he watched them, yet seemed to be watching someone else, just behind them all. When my stepmother and the husband of the deceased kneeled at the casket, my son joined them, put his hands on their backs and said, “okay…okay”.
He made it through the funeral at the church with a demeanor impressive of any adult – which took me by surprise and much to my relief. This was a simple church, and the power of the moment, I suppose made an impression on him. He fell asleep on the way to the cemetery, and slept through the internment. The rest of the day went on as usual.
The next day I returned to the cemetery to visit some graves of some other relatives that I had not been to in a very, very long time. The cemetery is absolutely beautiful – so diligently cared for, and a lovely place for repose. It’s quite vast and isolated, so I gave my son the run of the place as I searched for the markers. As he skipped through the grass he would stop sometimes and say “Hi!” and then move on, rolling down a hill, thumping himself down and giggling. He stopped a few times before he finally came upon the marker of my great-grandmother. The grave that I had yet to find. He put his hand on the stone and just smiled at me. I was speechless.
Through the months (as he’s not really old enough yet to refer to time in years), he’s demonstrated some behavior akin to felines…when people joke that they are speaking with fairies. Just little moments few and far between where it seems as though he’s connecting to something – sometimes with words, sometimes not. Then you tap him on the shoulder and he comes back and moves on with life. I spoke with his pediatrician about it, and there seems to be no cause for concern – not that I really was, but it made my mother feel better.
But tonight really made me catch my breath. We went out to dinner at a new restaurant down the road a bit from our home. (We’re in a new development in what was rural Florida, so everything is a “bit down the road”, but development is encroaching bit by bit every day). My husband had come in a separate car and he left as such and took our daughter with him. We needed to pick up some milk so we stopped at the 7-11 which is adjacent, got out, got back in the car and went on our merry way. But before I pulled out of the driveway and into the street he said, “Over there, Mama, over there – look at the ghosts!”,
and I replied, “Where, honey?”
“Over THERE”
As I was driving and he was behind me I couldn’t see to where he was pointing, so I asked, “Outside the car?”
“No, inside the car,”
“In the car?”
“Yes, Mommy, next to you.”
“Is it one ghost or more?”
“Two”
“Can you tell me what they look like? Man? Woman?”
“Both. But they’re little ghosts – a boy and a girl…”
“Are they sad? Are they happy?”
“They’re sad. Both of them are very sad. And they’re right there, Mommy, and sad.”
I continued on down the road. When I turned into the entrance of the development he said, “they’re gone now Mommy. The ghosts are gone. They’re aren’t any ghosts in Florida (he thinks our development is Florida – and hasn’t quite yet grasped the concept that Florida is a state and how big it is).
What made the experience so remarkable was that just last week, our community experienced the loss of a middle-school age boy who shot himself, and a kindergarten age girl who died suddenly of, as yet, unexplained causes…in the parking lot of that 7-11 in her mother’s arms. As far as I am aware, he does not know about these events – he was not with me when I found out about them, nor have I discussed it around him. I suppose it is possible that he may have heard something at pre-school…but the events are so recent…I don’t know, it seems like a stretch. Four-year olds are not that prone to gossip as of yet – though I suppose the teachers may have discussed it just as news among themselves.
So that’s it. There’s my experience as of late, or rather, my son’s. The Splendor of Light…his name means, as it turns out. I didn’t even realize it at the time – it wasn’t part of the process of putting his name together. But coincidentally, my daughter’s name means the same thing. I suppose that’ neither here nor there, but it was a realization I made just a few months ago. And the name of the town we now live in seems derived from Litha, - which I just found out about last week – the whole light and life abundant, the Sun God reaching the peak of his strength. A town that we decided to move to, on a complete lark, in the middle of nowhere (at the time), 3,000 miles away from a place we adored. Again, maybe all of that means nothing…
But there it all is for what it’s worth. I just wanted to put it all out there – to perhaps someone of an open mind who might at least respect the story…thanks for your time.
The first set of significant experiences that made me raise an eyebrow or two was when he was about 15 months old. We were living on the west coast, but then were called back east because of a death in our extended family. My husband couldn’t get off of work, so we traveled without him. I wasn’t quite sure how I would handle my baby at a large, conservative, Catholic funeral (the faith and culture of the deceased, but not of our own), but what was important was that we were there. At the funeral home, the tone, was, as expected, somber and silent. But my son seemed to understand that this was not a place for frolicking, and was surprisingly respectful of the situation. Of course, there were a few moments of giggles and laughter – when prompted by others who joined us, but for the most part his behaviour was appropriate for the time. At one point, he approached the casket, stood up on the small kneeling step, and stretched up high on his toes trying to see the deceased. It brought a smile to some faces there and he came back over to me where I sat. He looked at me and said “Okay, Mommy, Okay”. I assumed at the time, it was his method of comfort of some type – he was only 15 months old and perhaps he heard it from around the room. As the mourners approached the casket he watched them, yet seemed to be watching someone else, just behind them all. When my stepmother and the husband of the deceased kneeled at the casket, my son joined them, put his hands on their backs and said, “okay…okay”.
He made it through the funeral at the church with a demeanor impressive of any adult – which took me by surprise and much to my relief. This was a simple church, and the power of the moment, I suppose made an impression on him. He fell asleep on the way to the cemetery, and slept through the internment. The rest of the day went on as usual.
The next day I returned to the cemetery to visit some graves of some other relatives that I had not been to in a very, very long time. The cemetery is absolutely beautiful – so diligently cared for, and a lovely place for repose. It’s quite vast and isolated, so I gave my son the run of the place as I searched for the markers. As he skipped through the grass he would stop sometimes and say “Hi!” and then move on, rolling down a hill, thumping himself down and giggling. He stopped a few times before he finally came upon the marker of my great-grandmother. The grave that I had yet to find. He put his hand on the stone and just smiled at me. I was speechless.
Through the months (as he’s not really old enough yet to refer to time in years), he’s demonstrated some behavior akin to felines…when people joke that they are speaking with fairies. Just little moments few and far between where it seems as though he’s connecting to something – sometimes with words, sometimes not. Then you tap him on the shoulder and he comes back and moves on with life. I spoke with his pediatrician about it, and there seems to be no cause for concern – not that I really was, but it made my mother feel better.
But tonight really made me catch my breath. We went out to dinner at a new restaurant down the road a bit from our home. (We’re in a new development in what was rural Florida, so everything is a “bit down the road”, but development is encroaching bit by bit every day). My husband had come in a separate car and he left as such and took our daughter with him. We needed to pick up some milk so we stopped at the 7-11 which is adjacent, got out, got back in the car and went on our merry way. But before I pulled out of the driveway and into the street he said, “Over there, Mama, over there – look at the ghosts!”,
and I replied, “Where, honey?”
“Over THERE”
As I was driving and he was behind me I couldn’t see to where he was pointing, so I asked, “Outside the car?”
“No, inside the car,”
“In the car?”
“Yes, Mommy, next to you.”
“Is it one ghost or more?”
“Two”
“Can you tell me what they look like? Man? Woman?”
“Both. But they’re little ghosts – a boy and a girl…”
“Are they sad? Are they happy?”
“They’re sad. Both of them are very sad. And they’re right there, Mommy, and sad.”
I continued on down the road. When I turned into the entrance of the development he said, “they’re gone now Mommy. The ghosts are gone. They’re aren’t any ghosts in Florida (he thinks our development is Florida – and hasn’t quite yet grasped the concept that Florida is a state and how big it is).
What made the experience so remarkable was that just last week, our community experienced the loss of a middle-school age boy who shot himself, and a kindergarten age girl who died suddenly of, as yet, unexplained causes…in the parking lot of that 7-11 in her mother’s arms. As far as I am aware, he does not know about these events – he was not with me when I found out about them, nor have I discussed it around him. I suppose it is possible that he may have heard something at pre-school…but the events are so recent…I don’t know, it seems like a stretch. Four-year olds are not that prone to gossip as of yet – though I suppose the teachers may have discussed it just as news among themselves.
So that’s it. There’s my experience as of late, or rather, my son’s. The Splendor of Light…his name means, as it turns out. I didn’t even realize it at the time – it wasn’t part of the process of putting his name together. But coincidentally, my daughter’s name means the same thing. I suppose that’ neither here nor there, but it was a realization I made just a few months ago. And the name of the town we now live in seems derived from Litha, - which I just found out about last week – the whole light and life abundant, the Sun God reaching the peak of his strength. A town that we decided to move to, on a complete lark, in the middle of nowhere (at the time), 3,000 miles away from a place we adored. Again, maybe all of that means nothing…
But there it all is for what it’s worth. I just wanted to put it all out there – to perhaps someone of an open mind who might at least respect the story…thanks for your time.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Storms blow.
I've tried to keep this all pretty generic in ideology and concept and all that...but I can't anymore. I never wanted to call anyone out in particular or bring myself down to the level of those I most oppose. But I can't keep quiet about this one anymore...entirely. Well, I'll try to do this as politely as I can, and discreetly...just to ensure that I am not to be included in the ranks and like as this individual.
There is a particular County Commissioner here who has just got to go. She needs to step down and save what's left of her soul and try to find it again. She needs to stop claiming that she represents me in any way, shape, or form, or all of the people of her "constituency". I know, I get it - yeah, yeah, yeah - she's our elected official from this very district - unfortunately.
I'll even admit that I voted for her, and follow with noting that was simply a vote of ignorance on my part. I didn't investigate her, I didn't know much about her opponent, and it was truly a vote of convenience...one less thing to think about. How disappointing I was.
She's a megalomaniac of sorts really, wielding this uber-conservative club in the name of Christ, and swiping down anything that could possibly be construed as controversial, free, democratic, or American.
Her vision of values is so blinded by the right-wing rhetoric (her own included) that she can't even see the gross injustice she inflicts on others personally and politically.
She just needs to go. Back to her homestead and get a hobby. Maybe learn to knit.
Maybe to South Carolina. Join the Christian Exodus movement that's pointing towards there...she'd be quite happy among those folk, among the least truly Christian people I've ever heard of.
And her fellow Commissioners, save one, are her dutiful sheep, following her ridiculous, discriminatory, and immature rants and elevating them into "law". I think they fear her wrath more than anything else. I find it hard to believe that they all honestly agree with her on everything. But I do believe she'd crack your jaw with a sound wallop. I wouldn't put it past her.
I can't even go on anymore. I just get too upset. And I'm not one to rattle easily. Really, I'm not. But please, Ronda, just go away...silently, peacefully, with whatever little scrap of respect and/or dignity you might possibly have left.
I'll even put it in prayer form, so you can appreciate it better. Oh, God...please let Ronda realize the err of her ways and let her set her sights on something more appropriate for her skills and personality, like amateur wrestling.
Was that petty? Sorry, I meant that.
There is a particular County Commissioner here who has just got to go. She needs to step down and save what's left of her soul and try to find it again. She needs to stop claiming that she represents me in any way, shape, or form, or all of the people of her "constituency". I know, I get it - yeah, yeah, yeah - she's our elected official from this very district - unfortunately.
I'll even admit that I voted for her, and follow with noting that was simply a vote of ignorance on my part. I didn't investigate her, I didn't know much about her opponent, and it was truly a vote of convenience...one less thing to think about. How disappointing I was.
She's a megalomaniac of sorts really, wielding this uber-conservative club in the name of Christ, and swiping down anything that could possibly be construed as controversial, free, democratic, or American.
Her vision of values is so blinded by the right-wing rhetoric (her own included) that she can't even see the gross injustice she inflicts on others personally and politically.
She just needs to go. Back to her homestead and get a hobby. Maybe learn to knit.
Maybe to South Carolina. Join the Christian Exodus movement that's pointing towards there...she'd be quite happy among those folk, among the least truly Christian people I've ever heard of.
And her fellow Commissioners, save one, are her dutiful sheep, following her ridiculous, discriminatory, and immature rants and elevating them into "law". I think they fear her wrath more than anything else. I find it hard to believe that they all honestly agree with her on everything. But I do believe she'd crack your jaw with a sound wallop. I wouldn't put it past her.
I can't even go on anymore. I just get too upset. And I'm not one to rattle easily. Really, I'm not. But please, Ronda, just go away...silently, peacefully, with whatever little scrap of respect and/or dignity you might possibly have left.
I'll even put it in prayer form, so you can appreciate it better. Oh, God...please let Ronda realize the err of her ways and let her set her sights on something more appropriate for her skills and personality, like amateur wrestling.
Was that petty? Sorry, I meant that.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Why is this so difficult?
People really don't listen. They don't want to listen. It drives me crazy. People can't seem to understand how one can be anti-war and pro-troops. Like the logic is wrong. They get all crazy trying to reconcile the situation. And they get so flustered you can't even explain it to them. So here goes...
I hate the war. I hate war. I won't go into why or how, I think that's abundantly clear. No one likes war. Except maybe Lockheed Martin, but that's another story.
I love humankind. Troops are people too. Responsible people (for the most part) who are doing the job they committed to do. They don't necessarily like it, or agree with it, but they know it's their duty - it's their part of the deal, and they won't reneg even at "this juncture".
Why are those two things incompatible? I support our troops, of course I do. I don't support what they're doing. I don't support the decisions that their employers have made. But I support and respect my fellow citizens on principle.
I'd rather they be home - with their husbands, their wives, their children, their parents, their lovers, their friends.
I'd rather they be home - helping America out as productive and responsible citizens.
I'd rather they be home - alive and well.
I hate the war. I hate war. I won't go into why or how, I think that's abundantly clear. No one likes war. Except maybe Lockheed Martin, but that's another story.
I love humankind. Troops are people too. Responsible people (for the most part) who are doing the job they committed to do. They don't necessarily like it, or agree with it, but they know it's their duty - it's their part of the deal, and they won't reneg even at "this juncture".
Why are those two things incompatible? I support our troops, of course I do. I don't support what they're doing. I don't support the decisions that their employers have made. But I support and respect my fellow citizens on principle.
I'd rather they be home - with their husbands, their wives, their children, their parents, their lovers, their friends.
I'd rather they be home - helping America out as productive and responsible citizens.
I'd rather they be home - alive and well.
Sunday, February 06, 2005
A Prayer
Don’t discount my faith, brother.
I’ve probably got more faith in the human spirit than you’ve got in your whole book.
And it’s far less conditional.
Don’t threaten my faith, sister.
I know at the end of my life I will have tried my best to be my best.
And I didn’t have to rely on anyone to teach me that.
Don’t pity my faith, father.
My strength comes from deep down inside me.
And I take full responsibility for my choices, both good and bad.
Don’t belittle my faith, mother.
My membership is to the congregation of the world.
And its house of worship is both simple and magnificent.
Please understand my faith, child.
But if you don’t agree, I won’t expect you to follow.
I just hope I’ve given you the confidence to find your own.
I’ve probably got more faith in the human spirit than you’ve got in your whole book.
And it’s far less conditional.
Don’t threaten my faith, sister.
I know at the end of my life I will have tried my best to be my best.
And I didn’t have to rely on anyone to teach me that.
Don’t pity my faith, father.
My strength comes from deep down inside me.
And I take full responsibility for my choices, both good and bad.
Don’t belittle my faith, mother.
My membership is to the congregation of the world.
And its house of worship is both simple and magnificent.
Please understand my faith, child.
But if you don’t agree, I won’t expect you to follow.
I just hope I’ve given you the confidence to find your own.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
The Fork Fiasco
My son and daughter were eating dinner yesterday, sitting side by side at the kitchen table. My son is three years old and is sitting on the left, mind you now sitting in a regular chair, since he has deemed the booster seat too juvenile for him, and my little girl, all of 15 months old, perched on the booster seat, thrilled with herself to be out of the high chair, as they eagerly awaited their spaghetti.
Each child had a green plate. Supposedly, unbreakable, however, my wee one managed to shatter a bowl made of the same material, but its better than my china, and sturdier than paper. Each child had a fork. My son, the green handled one that matches the plates, and my daughter, a regular cake fork from my everyday flatware set.
Boy, she really wanted the green handled one.
But she didn’t grab it away, or holler, or whine, or lunge at her brother. She had other plans.
After quite a few bites of spaghetti, my son tired of his fork wrangling and decided it would be much easier to eat with his hands. My daughter watched as he placed his fork next to his plate, on her side, but not too far away from his setting. He picked up a piece of pasta and put to his mouth. Then another and another. She waited for her moment...patiently.
And then it came.
My son grabbed a large handful of spaghetti and shoved it into his mouth, but needed both hands to manage the spilling pasta. My daughter made her move. But not in haste; she was entirely calculated. She slowly moved her left hand toward the prize, while at the same time, began moving her right hand over, whilst holding her existing fork. Her unsuspecting brother looked over once and she paused, long enough to laugh at and with him. When he resumed his pasta frenzy, she continued on her quest. That left hand, on a sure path to success, found its prey and her tiny fingers wrapped around the handle, and she quickly darted her old fork over to replace her new found utensil.
Her pride was immense. But short-lived.
My son realized what had happened, and before his sister could plunge the fork into her spaghetti, he swiftly moved to right the situation, and brusquely grabbed the green handled jewel back from her.
She looked so sad, even if only for a moment. She worked so hard, and was so cunning. She was calculated. She was keen. I was proud. My baby girl had, for a moment, won. There will be more wins for her in the future. You can count on it.
Each child had a green plate. Supposedly, unbreakable, however, my wee one managed to shatter a bowl made of the same material, but its better than my china, and sturdier than paper. Each child had a fork. My son, the green handled one that matches the plates, and my daughter, a regular cake fork from my everyday flatware set.
Boy, she really wanted the green handled one.
But she didn’t grab it away, or holler, or whine, or lunge at her brother. She had other plans.
After quite a few bites of spaghetti, my son tired of his fork wrangling and decided it would be much easier to eat with his hands. My daughter watched as he placed his fork next to his plate, on her side, but not too far away from his setting. He picked up a piece of pasta and put to his mouth. Then another and another. She waited for her moment...patiently.
And then it came.
My son grabbed a large handful of spaghetti and shoved it into his mouth, but needed both hands to manage the spilling pasta. My daughter made her move. But not in haste; she was entirely calculated. She slowly moved her left hand toward the prize, while at the same time, began moving her right hand over, whilst holding her existing fork. Her unsuspecting brother looked over once and she paused, long enough to laugh at and with him. When he resumed his pasta frenzy, she continued on her quest. That left hand, on a sure path to success, found its prey and her tiny fingers wrapped around the handle, and she quickly darted her old fork over to replace her new found utensil.
Her pride was immense. But short-lived.
My son realized what had happened, and before his sister could plunge the fork into her spaghetti, he swiftly moved to right the situation, and brusquely grabbed the green handled jewel back from her.
She looked so sad, even if only for a moment. She worked so hard, and was so cunning. She was calculated. She was keen. I was proud. My baby girl had, for a moment, won. There will be more wins for her in the future. You can count on it.
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