Running out of Bullshit

Over the years, many of my friends, including most of the men I have been involved with in some way, have been alcoholics. I didn’t always know that. I didn’t always care. Along the way, I was hurt, by them and by myself. I made mistakes, bad choices, etc.

But I am learning. Since the early 1990s, I have come to know myself, and, most importantly, I have come to love who I am and what I believe in. I still have self-doubt, at times, but it is no longer my prevailing emotion.

I still have a difficult time saying “no,” especially to the people I care about, even when they don’t care about themselves, much less, me.

I have a friend, an old boyfriend, who has come in and out of my life for nigh about 16 years now, almost to the date. I have allowed him too close, close enough to hurt me, on too many occasions. I chose to keep trying, even though he would come and go in my life as if I were a vacation, and not me.

I haven’t seen him since November or December, even though he doesn’t live so far away from me anymore, maybe 100 or so miles. He wanted to come down this weekend and next week. I don’t know why. But, after have talked about it to another friend, I realized that I had two choices. Either I could “let” him come visit, thus opening myself up to whatever may happen, perpetuating a 16-year cycle of behaviors, and thereby potentially making myself into a victim; or I could speak my mind, “even if my voice” shook, and stop the cycle. So that is what I did. I emailed him this morning, and told him my position. I tried to be kind, but to remain steadfast in my values and what is important to me.

I can’t tell you how much better I feel. It is like sticking up for myself while preventing potential hurt and/or victimization. I actually made a conscious decision to stop harmful behaviors, and I feel downright gleeful – liberated, if you will. What a day!!

And thank you so much to my dear *****, for placing the glimmer in my mind, the notion that I have a choice in the way I allow the people in my life to behave and to treat me!

Here is what I said in today’s letter:

***,

I am tired. I am hurt. I am angry. Despite what I had said in my emails last fall. I don’t get people. Well, I guess I really don’t get alcoholics. As I have said before, I don’t like not getting it.

I thought that I was alright with you flitting in and out of my life over the years. After all, I don’t “need” someone else; I don’t need a man, to make me happy. All that is true, I don’t need another person to make me whole, but I want a person to share with, and you won’t even do that in our friendship. I don’t expect anybody else to make me happy. I am already happy.

Although my justification for thinking I could handle your moods and your needs was right on, as in I create my own happiness, I was wrong in saying that your comings and goings are okay. Every time you come into my life, seeking friendship or whatever, I think about things, I hope for more of a steady interaction. And then you start drinking, or you take off, or something…

What I want in life is, good friends to share time and activities with, and a man to share my life with. I don’t have to have those things; they are just what I would like to have. I spent so many years trying to please people, mostly alcoholics. I have spent way too long doing what I think I “should” do, in order to “make” them love me. I almost never say no, if I think that somehow my taking care of someone will make them better. But I cannot make anyone else better; I cannot make them do anything. Knowing that and continuing to try is tantamount to creating and recreating situations where I can be the victim of someone else’s alcoholism; especially now that I am aware that that is a choice that I make, and that it has little to do with the other person. And, so, I need to take a stand, make a decision, and set boundaries for myself and my life.

I can no longer allow myself to be caught up in doing what I erroneously tell myself that I should do. What I tell myself I should do, and what I really should do are two different things. I tell myself I should “let” you come down for a visit. Then I tell myself that, if you decide to come visit Monterey, I can’t stop you. But I think that those responses are what have been engrained in my heart and mind from so many years spent trying to please alcoholics and/or trying to get them to love me. For my own psychological convenience, I have claimed to do such things ‘because they are the right thing to do,’ or ‘because that person is my friend, and needs me.’ The fact is that nobody who cannot care about himself or herself can legitimately care about anybody else. I don’t think that you care about you, ***. And I think that is why you keep going back to alcohol, why you take off out of people’s lives for months on end, and why you work so hard at your job that you cut out anything else that is important in life.

I don’t want to be someone you turn to only when the chips are down, or when you’re lonely, or when you need help with something. But it seems like that has been the nature of our friendship. Real friendships need maintenance, ***, and that maintenance has to come from both sides. Just like an algebraeic equation, both people involved in a relationship need to act and react, speak and listen, teach and learn, in order to keep both sides of the equation in equilibrium so that it is balanced. Our friendship equation lacks equilibrium and balance.

I cannot consciously choose to remain in such a friendship. It hurts me. It makes me sad. It angers me. I don’t know how to deal with it. I can’t change you. I can only control myself, and am only responsible for and to myself.

And so, for one of the first times in my life, Tim, I have to say “no.” Under the circumstances of the past few months, I don’t want to visit, for a week, right now. If this is how you want to work it, if this is how you believe our friendship will be, then, I am sorry, but it just won’t work.

My favorite poet says it better than me,

“He said he’d call soon,
Soon’s all gone now."

**********

Your letter arrived this morning
Unexpected...and years too late

[…]

Damn you...Just showing up like this
uninvited...
indestructible...
unavoidable
to leave your droppings
on a linen page
inside my pocket...
Each time the phone rang
It was an insult
Forcing me to fall back to the first word
And climb the pages again...

And in a way I'm proud...
That you could keep me all these years
It brings back some half-remembered pride I'd felt
In knowing that I knew it all along...
We grow to deserve
What we need to believe...
Since I've known you
I've been careful not to pray out loud
Wishes have a way of coming true
When you least expect...but

Damn you...Sneaking in like this
Unannounced
Insatiable
Inevitable
And me… with just
A sense of humor
To hold back the sound
of your footsteps
climbing the stair
just outside the safety
of my home...

**********

It is not always the absence of love
That makes me seem alone.
Often it's been too much love
Given to me by the wrong people
For the wrong reasons
That keeps me here.
Gladly alone.
Rather than have the life sucked
Out of me by the violent needs
Of other minds and bodies.
That does not mean
That I'm not grateful
But I am sad.
Not to be able to put my arms
Around those who truly love me
And give them something more
Than polite indifference.
Oh, how I tried.
I think they should know
I tried.
And I choose to be alone
Rather than wrapped in arms
I could never need.

**********
In other words, ***, I can’t do this. I am not a victim. There comes a point when you have to take a stand in your life, and I am doing so.

I have been reading The Complete ACOA (Adult Children of Alcoholics) Sourcebook. I am not one for meetings, preferring to live a quiet private life, and not spending a lot of time with people I don’t know. And I have a hard time revealing myself to others. I have been to a couple of meetings over the years, but I prefer a quiet, personal introspection. It is much the same as how I am with religion. I have a very deep personal understanding of God and His role in my life, and a truly profound faith. But, I do not like to talk about it much. I only speak of certain specific events, and not of what I believe. That discussion is held for those most dear to me. I believe that belief is a private matter between a person and his or her God. So I believe for how a person deals with the demons in his or her life, such as alcoholism or drug addiction, depression or panic, or simply reactions to that type of thing in other people’s lives.

I have to say no, to your visit, to your absences, to your continuing impact on my heart. It hurts my feelings, and makes me sad, but I cannot be your friend if this is how it has to be.

I have to do what makes me happy. It does not make me happy to try to maintain friendships with people who flit in and out of my life and my world. I cannot be put on hold. That’s not what personal relationships, of any nature, are about; that’s not what life is about.

I have decided that I deserve the same things that everyone else deserves, and I am not going to continue making the same mistakes over and over again. This isn’t about you, it’s about me. It’s my turn to be selfish.

You were right, ***, it isn’t fair to infect my life with your stuff. Not if it’s a game, and that’s what it seems like to me. You are not a human yo-yo, and I am not going to just “take it,” anymore. Like they say in my second favorite movie, Network, “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore.”

Other things they say that seem applicable, if not always specifically accurate, here, include:

• I don't like the way this script of ours has turned out. It's turning into a seedy little drama.
• 'I'm a HUMAN BEING, Goddamnit! My life has VALUE!'
• Well, I'll tell you what happened: I just ran out of bullshit. Am I still on the air? I really don't know any other way to say it other than I just ran out of bullshit. Bullshit is all the reasons we give for living. And if we can't think up any reasons of our own, we always have the God bullshit. We don't know why we're going through all this pointless pain, humiliation, decays, so there better be someone somewhere who does know. That's the God bullshit. And then, there's the noble man bullshit; that man is a noble creature that can order his own world; who needs God? Well, if there's anybody out there that can look around this demented slaughterhouse of a world we live in and tell me that man is a noble creature, believe me: That man is full of bullshit. I don't have anything going for me. I haven't got any kids. And I was married for forty-three years of shrill, shrieking fraud. So I don't have any bullshit left. I just ran out of it, you see.

Last Weekend

Last weekend, my friend, Jen, Morgan, and I all went hiking at Andrew Molera State Park in Big Sur.

It was a beautiful day...

We saw a number of different kinds of bird... quails and vultures and pelicans, among others...

Withdrawing at School

The Complete ACOA Sourcebook: Adult Children of Alcoholics at Home, at Work, and in Love, also says,

Another problem at school was the inability to concentrate. Quite
often your thoughts were directed to the fantasies you constructed to make life
okay, or to stop worrying. [...]

You had learned to keep your feelings to yourself, perhaps not even acknowledging them to yourself. […]

After a while, you may have misbehaved or stopped going. [...]

If you withdrew, you knew you’d be left alone, because you were quiet and didn’t cause anyone any trouble. And the more you did this, the more alone you would feel and the harder it would be to do anything else.

For me, after elementary school, I started to withdraw. I saw myself as so completely unworthy that I dared not even speak. I believed that everybody else’s family loved and supported one another, like on the Waltons, or Happy Days. I thought my family life so abhorrent that nobody would believe it.

And so many people said that I lied, I figured I was best off not saying anything than saying things and getting into trouble for shaming the family by revealing the truth.

I didn't lie though. Not about what happened in that house. About that, I never lied. Sometimes I would lie in the house, to protect myself, but never about what was going on.

My sisters wound up withdrawing to the point that they withdrew from school completely. Quelle affaire!!

Nowadays, my Dad is different… a kinder, gentler version of the man he used to be. Not perfect, and we don't always get along, but more human, somehow... I still have difficulty relating to him. I have been able to forgive, for the most part, but not to forget.

It is so easy to slip back into the roles we played in my childhood. I don’t know that we will ever have the relationship I would have liked to have had. My fantasy will never materialize, since it only existed in my mind. I don’t even know that it will get any better than the way it is now, but at least I know now that my family was not so different from other people’s. Although I was alone in my isolation, shame, and fear, I was not alone in being alone. That did not help me then, especially since I did not know, but it a tiny bit reassuring now.

Maybe I wasn’t bad.

Maybe it wasn’t all my fault, after all.

THE BAGPIPE WHO DIDN'T SAY NO ~ Shel Silverstein

This is one of my absolute favorite poems....

It was nine o'clock at midnight
at a quarter after three
When a turtle met a bagpipe
on the shoreside by the sea,
And the turtle said, "My dearie,
May I sit with you? I'm weary."
And the bagpipe didn't say no.

Said the turtle to the bagpipe,
"I have walked this lonely shore,
I have talked to waves and pebbles-
-but I've never loved before.
Will you marry me today, dear?
Is it 'No' you're going to say dear?"
But the bagpipe didn't say no.

Said the turtle to his darling,
"Please excuse me if I stare,
But you have the plaidest skin, dear,
And you have the strangest hair.
If I begged you pretty please, love,
Could I give you just one squeeze, love?"
And the bagpipe didn't say no.

Said the turtle to the bagpipe,
"Ah, you love me. Then confess!
Let me whisper in your dainty ear
and hold you to my chest."
And he cuddled her and teased her
And so lovingly he squeezed her.
And the bagpipe said, "Aaooga."

Said the turtle to the bagpipe,
"Did you honk or bray or neigh?
For 'Aaooga' when your kissed
is such a heartless thing to say.
Is it that I have offended?
Is it that our love is ended?"
And the bagpipe didn't say no.

Said the turtle to the bagpipe,
"Shall I leave you, darling wife?
Shall I waddle off to Woedom?
Shall I crawl out of your life?
Shall I move, depart and go, dear--
Oh, I beg you tell me 'No' dear!"
But the bagpipe didn't say no.

So the turtle crept off crying
and he ne'er came back no more,
And he left the bagpipe lying
on that smooth and sandy shore.
And some night when tide is low there,
Just walk up and say, "Hello, there,"
And politely ask the bagpipe if this story's really so.
I assure you, darling children, the bagpipe won't say "No."

At School...

At school, the children of alcoholics generally fall into two categories, they're either over-achievers who are very responsible, or they are underachieving troublemakers. I was more of an overachieving troublemaker. I think that my reactions to my parents' problems was brought out in the form of causing trouble at school, and that I was just intelligent enough to get good grades, anyway. But, I got into fights at school and with my friends; I lost my temper and threw tantrums, and had a myriad of trouble, especially between first grade, when we moved from Kansas to Minnesota, and until fifth grade. My sixth grade teacher took a different approach with me, and achieved better results. The only thing I did that year that even remotely resembled a tantrum was kick Lenny Hubers in the knee. Unfortunately, Lenny Hubers passed away when we were in high school, not because of anything to do with me, though.

On ne cesse jamais d'être mère

L’autre jour je me tracassais pour ce qui se passe avec lui et mon manque de compréhension fue à mon ignorance à ce sujet qui m’occupe, ce qu'est une lacune qui squat dans ma tête et dans mon âme …

Ma mère a du souffrir des effets de l’alcoolisme pendant très années. Sous le règne de mon père, d’abord. Puis son second mari avait été alcoolique, lui aussi, avant de la connaître. Cela dit, je comprends bien que l’on ne se guérisse jamais d’une telle maladie, tout comme on ne se guérit pas non plus de la dépression, de la psychose, de l’autisme, ou bien de bien d’autres maladies psychiatriques. Alors, je devrais dire que son second mari a été alcoolique en guérison, ou quelque-chose de semblable. Mais, malgré le fait que lui et moi on ne se supportait que très mal, et que pour ma mère, il faut dire qu’elle était heureuse pendant la partie de sa vie qu’elle a passé avec lui, qu’ils s’entendaient bien, qu’il l’aimait très fort, et qu’il s’est dédié à elle lors de son cancer du sein, et encore plus ensuite lors de sa lutte contre la maladie de Charcot (SLA). Il ne s’occupait même pas assez de ses propres besoins tant qu’il s’occupait d’elle. Ce n’était pas la mère parfaite, comme tout le monde, elle avait des défauts, elle a commis bien des erreurs, elle n’a pas toujours fait de son mieux. Il n’y a pas d’excuses pour tout ce qui s’est passé. Et elle n’a jamais cherché à se faire excuser. Elle a seulement cherché à nous faire comprendre comment tout s’est déroulé pour elle, et ainsi, comment elle a pu devenir mère abusive, intolérante, même méchante et rancunière. Et, plus tard, elle a changé. Elle a appris comment son comportement a atteint la vie des autres, et surtout, celles de ses filles. Elle a compris les effets toxiques qu’ont ses manières et ce genre de comportement. Elle a cherché à se faire excuser, à se faire pardonner par nous trois, celles à qui elle a fait le plus de douleur, le plus de tristesse, le plus de larmes aux yeux, au cœur, et à l’âme.

L’autre jour ma fille m’a dit qu’il devait bien se soigner pour pouvoir ensuite bien m’aimer. Qu’il doit s’absenter du point de vue moral, et se concentrer sur sa guérison. Je sais ce qu’il a à faire pour lui, mais je ne peux qu’espérer qu’il arrivera à vivre notre amour, et sans alcool, un de ces jours. On verra bien. Dans l’entre-temps, je n’ai pas autant de confiance que ma chère petite.

Ensuite, elle m’a dit qu’elle m’aime, et que ma maman aussi, m’aimes beaucoup. J’étais déjà à côté de la plaque, quand elle a rajouté, « elle ne t’a peut-être pas toujours aimé, elle n’a peu-être pas toujours été une bonne mère, mais elle a fini par t’aimer comme il le faut, et elle a fini par être une bonne mère, et elle t’aime toujours et elle s’occupe encore de toi ». J’ai répondu en disant, du fond de mes larmes, que ma mère ne s’occupait pas du tout bien, étant donné la peine de laquelle je souffre actuellement. Et ma fille aimée m’a dit, « mais si, mais si, tu vois, elle veut qu’il puisse se guérir pour qu’il soit heureux et satisfait de lui-même, et ainsi, il pourra ensuite t’aimer bien comme il le faut, sans boire de l’alcool. Elle veut que tu puisses connaître de tel bonheur, toi aussi ». Bon, je ne sais pas s’il était ce qu’il me faut après sa guérison, ou même pas s’il sera ce que je veux dans ma vie. Mais ma Morgane a peut-être raison. Peut-être que ma mère veille à ce que je puisse me sortir enfin avec ma relation éternelle avec les alcooliques. Même s’il ne me revient jamais, même s’il en est pas capable, peut-être que ma mère a intervenu et pour l’aider à guérir, lui, et pour m’épargner enfin la douleur consommatrice, la peine profonde, et la tristesse absolue qu’est la vie vécue en compagnie d’alcooliques.

Je ne sais point. Je n’ai que des opinions, des hypothèses, mais peut-être qu’elle a bien raison, cette petite fille remplie de sagesse !

In Memorium

A year ago this past Sunday was the last time I ever saw her.

How could a year have already gone by? There are so many things I simply do not understand anymore. Even more, I never have.

Sometimes I wonder how we manage to go on in spite of everything...

To The Left

I like pelicans. there have been a lot around lately. Here is one flying toward my left, into the fog enshrouding downtown Monterey.

A Childhood That Wasn't

In the first chapter of The Complete ACOA Sourcebook: Adult Children of Alcoholics at Home, at Work, and in Love, it talks about when a child is not a child, saying, "other people saw you as a child, unless they got close enough to that edge of sadness in your eyes or that worried look on your brow."

In 1981, after many years of distress and thought, I "ran away" from home. I was put into foster care, where I remained until I graduated from high school on February 23, 1983.

In the spring of 1981, when I was in eleventh grade, and I remember this as if it happened yesterday, my ninth-grade English teacher, Mr. Mandli, commented that I had lost the look of a hunted dog that he had always seen in my eyes. I remember it still because it was such a telling statement.

Researchers into the affects of alcohol on children say that those children tend to assume certain roles in the household; roles such as, the remarkable, successful, overachieving child; or the family scapegoat, in trouble all the time; or the class clown, laughing on the outside, and crying on the inside; or the withdrawn child in the corner, never drawing attention to himself or herself. Growing up in my house, I was the family scapegoat.

"In general, one alcoholic environment is like another. The undercurrent of tension and anxiety is ever present."

To paraphrase, sometimes the alcoholic parent was everything you would like that parent to be, caring, interested, involved, etc., and you knew that parent loved you.

Other times, that wasn't the case.

While my other parent was not an alcoholic, chemical dependency, in the form of prescription painkillers and anti-anxiety medications, was an issue all the same. One that was so much like the alcoholism as to be its identical twin, or mirror image. And the toxins that are alcoholism and other addictions fed off of one another and grew and flourished, simultaneously defining and destroying what would have been my family, had I had one. All these years later, 30, 35, how many years has it been? How many years did it last? Do you start the count when the abuse first started, when you first became conscious of the existence of a problem, or when you finally escaped? I don't know. I don't even know if I remember when
it started; I have a vague recollection, more of an impression, really, of life before alcoholism, despair, and addiction. But part of me isn't even sure that that impression is real. Was there ever actually a time when I was happy? Or have I just convinced myself that there had to have been a happy time? Somehow, in the back of my mind, or at the bottom of my heart, where I haven't dared to visit for fear of what I would find; somehow, I can't help but believe that there were happy times, before the twins, before leaving Kansas.

I don't know, though. I have forgotten so many things. So much of my past, including most of my childhood, has been buried away somewhere. I have entire years, series of years that I have completely blocked out. I remember a few specific events... I remember crossing the street on Lido Boulevard to Jones Beach. I remember the grasshopper cage I made in Kindergarten. I remember the circular foyer in the Lawrence Memorial Hospital on the day that the twins were born. I remember my grandfather's basement, and the watch that he would "wind" by shaking it. I remember dance class in Kindergarten. I remember when my mother was pregnant with the twins, and I was no longer allowed to jump into her lap. That hurt me so deeply. I thought that she loved the babies more than me. I remember wanting a little brother who wouldn't steal my toys. Instead, I got two sisters, who did. And, not only did they steal my toys, but they were born with a built-in "partner," whereas I didn't have anybody. I remember reading in my parents' bed. I remember sleeping on the screened-in porch on Louisiana Street. I remember going to see the movie Run, Appaloosa, Run, with Stevie D. and his father. I remember throwing up in the middle of the classroom in first grade.

Other than that, and through to at least third grade, I don't remember much of anything at all. Maybe a few snippets here and there. I smell, or a warm breeze, or a moment of joy, but not much else of substance, that is, if you call the list I just made "substance."

I don't know.

Being home was how I imagined hell.

The tension was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. The nervous, angry feeling was in the air. Nobody had to say a word, as everybody could feel it. It was extremely tense and uncomfortable. Yet there was no way to get away from it, no place to hide and you wondered, Will it ever end?

You probably had fantasies about leaving home, about running away, about having it over with, about [...] becoming sober and live being fine and beautiful. You began to live in a fairy-tale world, with fantasy and in dreams. You lived a lot on hope, because you didn't want to believe what was happening. You knew that you couldn't talk about it with your friends or adults outside your family. Because you believed you had to keep those feelings to yourself, you learned to keep most of your other feelings to yourself. You couldn't let the rest of the world know what was going on in your home, Who would believe you, anyway?

Octopus Mosaic

Octopus Mosaic 009
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

My daughter did a project on ancient Greek art. She wrote about many things, including Octopus vases and mosaics. As part of the project, we worked together to make this mosaic of an octopus vase.

The original flask/vase we used as a "model" can be found described here: http://netra.glendale.cc.ca.us/ceramics/minoanoctopusvase.html

Morgan drew the vase and octopus, and then the two of us worked together, or in shifts, anyway, making the mosaic out of torn up magazine pages. I think she (we both) did a fantastic job!

Quand je me suis assez aimée

Quand je me suis assez aimée

J’ai commencé à aimer ma solitude
Entourée de silence
Éblouie par son sortilège
Écoutant l’espace intérieur.

J’ai pu voir que je ne suis pas spéciale,
Mais que je suis unique.

J’ai redéfini le succès, et la vie est devenue
simple.
Oh, le plaisir dans ça.

J’ai compris que je mérite
de connaître Dieu directement.

J’ai commencé à voir que je n’ai
pas besoin de
courir après la vie. Si je reste tranquille, la vie
me cours après.

J’ai laissé tomber l’idée que la vie est dure.

J’ai commencé à voir la peine émotionnelle
comme signale
que j’opère
en dehors de la vérité.

**********

When I loved myself
enough

I came to love being alone
surrounded by silence
awed
by its spell
listening to inner space.

I came to see that I am
not special
but I am unique.

I redefined success and life became
simple.
Oh, the pleasure in that.

I came to know I am
worthy
of knowing God directly.

I began to see I didn’t have to
chase after life. If I am
quiet and hold still, life
comes to
me.

I gave up the belief that
life is hard.

I came
to see emotional pain
is a signal I am operating
outside
truth.

Au bout d'un certain temps.

Au bout d’un certain temps tu comprends la différence subtile
Entre l’acte de tenir la main à quelqu’un et de lui enchaîner l’âme,

Et tu apprends que s’aimer n’est pas s’accoter
Et la compagnie
n’équivaut pas à la sécurité.

Et tu commence à apprendre que les baisers
ne sont pas de contrats
Et que les cadeaux ne sont pas de promesses,

Et tu commences à accepter tes défaites
Avec la tête haute et les
yeux ouverts
Avec la grâce de femme, et non pas le deuil d’enfant,

Et tu construis toutes tes routes sur aujourd’hui
Car la terre de
demain et trop incertaine pour les projets
Et les futures ont tendance à
tomber à terre en mi-vol.

Au bout d’un moment tu comprends…
Que même
le soleil brûle si tu en prends de trop.

Alors tu plantes ton jardin et
tu mets le décor dans ton âme,
Au lieu d’attendre que personne ne t’apporte
des fleurs.

Et tu apprends que tu tiendras le coup…

Que tu aies
de la force
Et que tu es bien valable….
Et tu apprends et tu apprends….
Avec chaque au-revoir tu apprends.

**********

After a while
you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't
mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the
grief of a child,

And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a
way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn...
That
even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and
decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure...
That you really are
strong
And you really do have worth...
And you learn and learn...
With every good-bye you learn.

Tears of Love

Il y a des larmes d'amour qui dureront plus longtemps que les étoiles du ciel.

There are tears of love that will outlast the stars in the sky.

~ Charles Péguy

Rainbows of the Soul

L'âme n'aurait pas d'arc-en-ciel, si les yeux n'avaient pas de larmes.

The soul would have no rainbows if the eyes did not have tears.
~ John Vance Cheney

Sometimes...

You plan things, and then stuff happens, and they never get done.
I don't want to run out of time. I don't want to miss a thing.
There are so many things left to do, and I just want the time to do them.
61 years weren't enough..............

Et Moi?

J’ai un peu de mal au cœur. Non, je ne suis pas malade, sauf qu’hier et avant hier j’avais de la migraine affreuse ! J’ai un peu mal au cœur parce que j’ai l’impression qu’il est si fragile du point de vue du bien-être émotionnel que je ne dois pas me comporter comme auparavant lorsque je suis avec lui.

Ah, que faire ?!

C’est comme ils disent, comme il a dit, il faut vivre tout cela qu’un jour à la fois ! Mais ce n’est pas bien évident, surtout la première fois !!!

Lui

Il est revenu du programme de réhabilitation de l’alcoolisme. Cet après-midi il m’a téléphoné. Je ne sais pas encore depuis combien de temps il est revenu, mais ce n’est pas cela le plus important. Il m’a appelé et puis nous sommes allés à la plage avec les chiennes. L’une des miennes a été malade juste avant de partir, devant la porte d’entrée, alors celle-là, je l’ai laissée à la maison. D’abord, il m’a emmené une bonne partie de ma vaisselle qui avait trouvé le chemin de chez moi jusque chez lui, mais non pas le chemin de retour. Ensuite, nous sommes allés à la plage où l’on s’est assis sur des pierres. Nous avons parlé une bonne demi-heure, mais sans vraiment dire grande chose. Je ne voulais pas qu’il se sente stressé, et je ne sais pas trop comment faire pour être une bonne amie qui le soutient, le respecte, et l’aime, mais sans pression et sans lui faire peur. Je n’ai jamais eu à faire face personnellement à l’addiction d’un être cher. Du moins, pas chez quelqu’un qui s’est assez aimé pour se faire soigner. Je ne sais pas à quel point il est fragile, ni rien. On verra bien ce qui se passe… prenons la vie comme elle vient, petit à petit, une journée à la fois, comme on dit ! Et d’ici là, on vivra dans l’entre-temps…

The Soundtrack of my Life

There are still things on my Things to do Before I Die list.
• Get a horse
• Share
• Live the love that I am, completely
• Hold babies
• Take more time

Stuff like that.

But, mine is a blessed existence, nonetheless; no matter the heartache, no matter the past, no matter the mistakes and missed opportunities.

I am of the most fortunate in that, not only do I live where I want to live, not only do I do work that thrills me, but my every day is full of poetry and song, literature and art. I observe the world from such a mindset that my every reaction is contextualized in the arts. I have the unique pleasure of living each day with a soundtrack playing in my mind. I look upon the life that surrounds me, thinking of lyrics to songs I have heard and loved, books I have read and learned from, paintings and sculpture, theater and cinema, etc.

In this, my only regret is that I do not have a tape recorder in my mind to capture and preserve the private soundtrack of my life.

"The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new."

Murphy
Samuel Beckett

Days of Miracle and Wonder ~ Paul Simon

A former student from the school where I work was killed in Afghanistan earlier this month.
I didn't know him. I have much about him in recent days. It may not be the most fitting of tributes, but his mother's plight and that of the others who loved him, touched me somehow, and the lyrics to this song keep running through my mind.

It was a slow day
And the sun was beating
On the soldiers by the side of the road
There was a bright light
A shattering of shop windows
The bomb in the baby carriage
Was wired to the radio

These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is the long distance call
The way the camera follows us in slo-mo
The way we look to us all
The way we look to a distant constellation
That's dying in a corner of the sky
These are the days of miracle and wonder
And don't cry baby, don't cry
Don't cry

It was a dry wind
And it swept across the desert
And it curled into the circle of birth
And the dead sand
Falling on the children
The mothers and the fathers
And the automatic earth
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is the long distance call
The way the camera follows us in slo-mo
The way we look to us all
The way we look to a distant constellation
That's dying in a corner of the sky
These are the days of miracle and wonder
And don't cry baby, don't cry
Don't cry

It's a turn-around jump shot
It's everybody jump start
It's every generation throws a hero up the pop charts
Medicine is magical and magical is art
The Boy in the Bubble
And the baby with the baboon heart

And I believe
These are the days of lasers in the jungle
Lasers in the jungle somewhere
Staccato signals of constant information
A loose affiliation of millionaires
And billionaires and baby
These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is the long distance call
The way the camera follows us in slo-mo
The way we look to us all
The way we look to a distant constellation
That's dying in a corner of the sky
These are the days of miracle and wonder
And don't cry baby, don't cry
Don't cry

ALS, illnes, caring, and caregivers

I was just reading on the ALSA's Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis Association) website (for work, mind you!) about ALS' effects on family members, etc.

In Messages From Barbara Dickinson, I read:

People that you think you could count on are going to disappear, and other people are going to come from nowhere and help you out with this.

I think that that is important to keep in mind when facing illness, yours or someone else's, no matter its nature.

Kerfany-sans-Pins

The area of the village where my Dad has a house is called Kerfany-les-Pins, which means Kerfany-of-the-Pines. In 1987, there were hurricane-force winds in a storm in October, which destroyed much of the Breton forest. It would have been officially called a hurricane, except for that, technically, hurricanes do not occur in that part of the northern Atlantic. After the storm, I took to calling the area by my Dad’s house, Kerfany-sans-Pins, or Kerfany-Without-Pines.

Morgan at the Beach, Part Trois

Friday Afternoon 026
Video sent by NanaP0722

Morgan at the Beach, Part II

Friday Afternoon 025
Video sent by NanaP0722

Morgan at the Beach, Part I

Friday Afternoon 024
Video sent by NanaP0722

Waves Mosaic

Waves Mosaic
1. Sunday Evening on 'Our' Beach 022, 2. Sunday Evening on 'Our' Beach 027, 3. Sunday Evening on 'Our' Beach 029, 4. Sunday Evening on 'Our' Beach 025, 5. Sunday Evening on 'Our' Beach 032, 6. Sunday Evening on 'Our' Beach 024, 7. Sunday Evening on 'Our' Beach 026, 8. Sunday Evening on 'Our' Beach 023, 9. Sunday Evening on 'Our' Beach 028
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

I love to walk the beach, taking pictures of waves. I enjoy watching them move, watching people interact with them, and wishing I were on them...

And/or a horse...

Maybe someday!

Slowing down

When I loved myself enough
I felt compelled to slow down
Way down

And that has made all the difference.

Lorsque je m'aimais assez
Je me sentais obligée de me ralentir
Beaucoup

Et cela en a fait toute la différence.

The gift of life

When I loved myself enough
I began taking the gift of life seriously and graciously.

Lorsque je m'aimais assez
J'ai commencé à prendre au sérieux et avec reconnaissance le cadeau qu’est la vie.

Goodness

When I loved myself enough
I came to know my own goodness.

Lorsque je m'aimais assez
J'ai connu ma propre bonté.

Settling

When I loved myself enough
I quit settling for too little.

Lorsque je m'aimais assez
J'ai cessé d’accepter moins.

Loving Myself Enough

I have what Deepak Chopra called "a beautiful, simple book that illuminates the important things in life." It is called, When I Loved Myself Enough, by Kim McMillen, with Alison McMillen, and is truly a treasure. I am going to use parts of it to guide my blog entries, in English and in French, over the next couple of whiles.

J'ai un livre merveilleux, qui m'inspire, et qui me calme quand je me sens troublée. L'auteur, Kim McMillen l'a écrit, avec Alison McMillen. Au cours des journées à venir, je vais m'en servir, autant en anglais qu'en français, pour guider mes notes de blog.

Introduction

For many years I lived with a guarded heart. I did not know how to extend love and compassion to myself. In my 40th year that began changing.

As I grew to love all of who I am life started changing in beautiful and mysterious ways. My heart softened and I began to see through very different eyes.

My commitment to follow this calling grew strong and in the process a divine intelligence came to guide my life. I believe this ever present resource is grace and is available to us all.

For the past 12 years I have been learning to recognize and accept this gift. Cultivating love and compassion for myself made it possible.

The following steps are uniquely mine. Yours will look different. But I do hope mine give voice to a hunger you may share.

For me, this process began when I was about 36, and it continues to this day.

Introduction

Pendant de nombreuses années je vivais, le cœur circonspect. Je ne savais pas comment m’étendre l’amour et la compassion. Dans ma quarantième année ça a commencé à changer.

Au fur et à mesure que j’arrivais à m’aimer entièrement, la vie se transformait de façons belles et mystérieuses. Mon cœur s’est adouci et je commençais à voir de yeux très différents.

Mon engagement de suivre cet appel s’est renforcé et en cours de route, une intelligence divine est venue pour guider ma vie. Je crois que cette ressource omniprésente est la grâce et est disponible à nous tous.

Depuis 12 ans j’apprends à reconnaître et à accepter ce cadeau. La culture de l’amour propre et de la compassion envers moi-même me l'ont permis.

Les pas suivants me sont uniques. Les vôtres ne seront pas pareils. Mais j’espère que les miens donneront de la voix à une faim partagée.

De ma part, cette transformation merveilleuse a commencé plutôt vers l’age de 36 ans, et elle continue…

Ever Really Loved a Woman? ~ Bryan Adams

To really love a woman
To understand her - you gotta know her deep inside
Hear every thought - see every dream
N' give her wings - when she wants to fly
Then when you find yourself lyin' helpless in her arms
Ya know ya really love a woman
When you love a woman you tell her that she's really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she's the one
'Cuz she needs somebody to tell her that it's gonna last forever
So tell me have you ever really - really really ever loved a woman?

To really love a woman
Let her hold you - 'til ya know how she needs to be touched
You've gotta breathe her - really taste her
'Til you can feel her in your blood
N' when you can see your unborn children in her eyes
Ya know ya really love a woman

When you love a woman you tell her that she's really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she's the one
Cuz she needs somebody to tell her that you'll always be together
So tell me have you ever really - really really ever loved a woman?

You got to give her some faith - hold her tight
A little tenderness - gotta treat her right
She will be there for you, takin' good care of you
Ya really gotta love your woman...

For kicks and giggles...

...I just took an online personality test.

It found me to be of the INJF type of personality, that is, introverted, intuitive, feeling and judging. According to what I have read, as reprinted below, that is a fairly accurate assessment of my personality!

My personality type?

INJF
Introverted
Intuitive
Feeling
Judging

The Counselor Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in reaching their goals, and directive and introverted in their interpersonal roles. Counselors focus on human potentials, think in terms of ethical values, and come easily to decisions. The small number of this type (little more than 2 percent) is
regrettable, since Counselors have an unusually strong desire to contribute to
the welfare of others and genuinely enjoy helping their companions. Although
Counsleors tend to be private, sensitive people, and are not generally visible
leaders, they nevertheless work quite intensely with those close to them,
quietly exerting their influence behind the scenes with their families, friends,
and colleagues. This type has great depth of personality; they are themselves
complicated, and can understand and deal with complex issues and people.

Counselors can be hard to get to know. They have an unusually rich inner
life, but they are reserved and tend not to share their reactions except with
those they trust. With their loved ones, certainly, Counselors are not reluctant
to express their feelings, their face lighting up with the positive emotions,
but darkening like a thunderhead with the negative. Indeed, because of their
strong ability to take into themselves the feelings of others, Counselors can be
hurt rather easily by those around them, which, perhaps, is one reason why they
tend to be private people, mutely withdrawing from human contact. At the same
time, friends who have known a Counselor for years may find sides emerging which come as a surprise. Not that they are inconsistent; Counselors value their
integrity a great deal, but they have intricately woven, mysterious
personalities which sometimes puzzle even them.

Counselors have strong empathic abilities and can become aware of another's emotions or intentions -- good or evil -- even before that person is conscious of them. This "mind-reading" can take the form of feeling the hidden distress or illnesses of others to an extent which is difficult for other types to comprehend. Even Counselors can seldom tell how they came to penetrate others' feelings so
keenly. Furthermore, the Counselor is most likely of all the types to demonstrate an ability to understand psychic phenomena and to have visions of human events, past, present, or future. What is known as ESP may well be exceptional intuitive ability-in both its forms, projection and introjection.

Such supernormal intuition is found frequently in the Counselor, and can extend
to people, things, and often events, taking the form of visions, episodes of
foreknowledge, premonitions, auditory and visual images of things to come, as
well as uncanny communications with certain individuals at a distance.

Mohandas Gandhi and Eleanor Roosevelt are examples of the Counselor Idealist (INFJ).

**********

Beneath the quiet exterior, INFJs hold deep convictions about the
weightier matters of life. Those who are activists -- INFJs gravitate toward
such a role -- are there for the cause, not for personal glory or political
power.

INFJs are champions of the oppressed and downtrodden. They often
are found in the wake of an emergency, rescuing those who are in acute distress.
INFJs may fantasize about getting revenge on those who victimize the
defenseless. The concept of 'poetic justice' is appealing to the INFJ.
"There's something rotten in Denmark." Accurately suspicious about others'
motives, INFJs are not easily led. These are the people that you can rarely fool
any of the time. Though affable and sympathetic to most, INFJs are selective
about their friends. Such a friendship is a symbiotic bond that transcends mere
words.

INFJs have a knack for fluency in language and facility in communication. In addition, nonverbal sensitivity enables the INFJ to know and be known by others intimately.

Writing, counseling, public service and even politics are areas where INFJs frequently find their niche.

Functional Analysis:
Introverted Intuition
Introverted intuitives, INFJs enjoy a greater clarity of perception of inner, unconscious processes than all but their INTJ cousins. Just as SP types commune with the object and "live in the here and now" of the physical world, INFJs readily grasp the hidden psychological stimuli behind the more observable dynamics of behavior and affect. Their amazing ability to deduce the inner workings of the mind, will and emotions of others gives INFJs their reputation as prophets and seers. Unlike the confining, routinizing nature of introverted sensing, introverted intuition frees this type to act insightfully and spontaneously as unique solutions arise on an event by event basis.

Extraverted Feeling
Extraverted feeling, the auxiliary deciding function, expresses a range of emotion and opinions of, for and about people. INFJs, like many other FJ types, find themselves caught between the desire to express their wealth of feelings and moral conclusions about the actions and attitudes of others, and the awareness of the consequences of unbridled candor. Some vent the attending emotions in private, to trusted allies. Such confidants are chosen with care, for INFJs are well aware of the treachery that can reside in the hearts of mortals. This particular combination of introverted intuition and extraverted feeling provides INFJs with the raw material from which perceptive counselors are shaped.

Introverted
Thinking
The INFJ's thinking is introverted, turned toward the subject.
Perhaps it is when the INFJ's thinking function is operative that he is most
aloof. A comrade might surmise that such detachment signals a disillusionment,
that she has also been found lacking by the sardonic eye of this one who plumbs
the depths of the human spirit. Experience suggests that such distancing is
merely an indication that the seer is hard at work and focusing energy into this
less efficient tertiary function.

Extraverted Sensing
INFJs are twice blessed with clarity of vision, both internal and external. Just as they possess inner vision which is drawn to the forms of the unconscious, they also have external sensing perception which readily takes hold of worldly objects.
Sensing, however, is the weakest of the INFJ's arsenal and the most vulnerable.
INFJs, like their fellow intuitives, may be so absorbed in intuitive perceiving
that they become oblivious to physical reality. The INFJ under stress may fall
prey to various forms of immediate gratification. Awareness of extraverted
sensing is probably the source of the "SP wannabe" side of INFJs. Many yearn to
live spontaneously; it's not uncommon for INFJ actors to take on an SP (often
ESTP) role.

Famous INFJs:
Nathan, prophet of Israel
Aristophanes
Chaucer
Goethe
Robert Burns, Scottish poet

U.S. Presidents:
Martin Van Buren
James Earl "Jimmy" Carter

Nathaniel Hawthorne
Fanny Crosby, (blind) hymnist
Mother Teresa of Calcutta
Fred McMurray (My Three Sons)
Shirley Temple Black, child actor, ambassador
Martin Luther King, Jr., civil rights leader, martyr
James Reston, newspaper reporter
Shirley McClain (Sweet Charity, ...)
Piers Anthony, author ("Xanth" series)
Michael Landon (Little House on the Prairie)
Tom
Selleck
John Katz, critic, author
Paul Stookey (Peter, Paul and Mary)
U. S. Senator Carol Moseley-Braun (D-IL)
Billy Crystal
Garry Trudeau
(Doonesbury)
Nelson Mandela
Mel Gibson
Carrie Fisher
Nicole
Kidman
Jamie Foxx
Sela Ward
Mark Harmon
Gary Dourdan
Marg Helgaberger
Evangeline Lilly
Tori May

**********

Introverted iNtuiting Feeling Judging
by Marina Margaret Heiss

INFJs are distinguished by both their complexity of character and the
unusual range and depth of their talents. Strongly humanitarian in outlook,
INFJs tend to be idealists, and because of their J preference for closure and
completion, they are generally "doers" as well as dreamers. This rare
combination of vision and practicality often results in INFJs taking a
disproportionate amount of responsibility in the various causes to which so many
of them seem to be drawn.

INFJs are deeply concerned about their relations with individuals as well as the state of humanity at large. They are, in fact, sometimes mistaken for extroverts because they appear so outgoing and are so genuinely interested in people -- a product of the Feeling function they most readily show to the world. On the contrary, INFJs are true introverts, who can only be emotionally intimate and fulfilled with a chosen few from among their long-term friends, family, or obvious "soul mates." While instinctively courting the personal and organizational demands continually made upon them by others, at intervals INFJs will suddenly withdraw into themselves, sometimes shutting out even their intimates. This apparent paradox is a necessary escape valve for them, providing both time to rebuild their depleted resources and a filter to prevent the emotional overload to which they are so susceptible as inherent "givers." As a pattern of behavior, it is perhaps the most confusing aspect of the enigmatic INFJ character to outsiders, and hence the most often misunderstood -- particularly by those who have little experience with this rare type.

Due in part to the unique perspective produced by this alternation
between detachment and involvement in the lives of the people around them, INFJs may well have the clearest insights of all the types into the motivations of
others, for good and for evil. The most important contributing factor to this
uncanny gift, however, are the empathic abilities often found in Fs, which seem
to be especially heightened in the INFJ type (possibly by the dominance of the
introverted N function).

This empathy can serve as a classic example of the two-edged nature of certain INFJ talents, as it can be strong enough to cause discomfort or pain in negative or stressful situations. More explicit inner conflicts are also not uncommon in INFJs; it is possible to speculate that the causes for some of these may lie in the specific combinations of preferences which define this complex type. For instance, there can sometimes be a "tug-of-war" between NF vision and idealism and the J practicality that urges compromise for the sake of achieving the highest priority goals. And the I and J combination, while perhaps enhancing self-awareness, may make it difficult for INFJs to articulate their deepest and most convoluted feelings.
Usually self-expression comes more easily to INFJs on paper, as they tend to have strong writing skills. Since in addition they often possess a strong personal charisma, INFJs are generally well-suited to the "inspirational" professions such as
teaching (especially in higher education) and religious leadership. Psychology
and counseling are other obvious choices, but overall, INFJs can be exceptionally difficult to pigeonhole by their career paths. Perhaps the best example of this occurs in the technical fields. Many INFJs perceive themselves at a disadvantage when dealing with the mystique and formality of "hard logic", and in academic terms this may cause a tendency to gravitate towards the liberal arts rather than the sciences. However, the significant minority of INFJs who do pursue studies and careers in the latter areas tend to be as successful as their T counterparts, as it is *iNtuition* -- the dominant function for the INFJ type -- which governs the ability to understand abstract theory and implement it creatively.

In their own way, INFJs are just as much "systems builders" as are INTJs; the difference lies in that most INFJ "systems" are founded on human beings and human values, rather than information and technology. Their systems may for these reasons be conceptually "blurrier" than analogous NT ones, harder to measure in strict numerical terms, and easier to take for granted -- yet it is these same underlying reasons which make the resulting contributions to society so vital and profound.

Copyright © 1996-2005 by Marina Margaret Heiss and Joe Butt

It Matters

"Whatever it is, it matters, and most of it is true.
I loved every one of them, and all of them, were you."

Visit

****** and I had a good visit with ******. Actually, it was the best visit with him, ever. I had been apprehensive, as he and I often clash after a couple of days, him thinking that we are equals, now that he is an “adult,” and loosing his temper when he thinks he isn’t being treated with the respect he purportedly deserves. Sometimes he can be rather rude and inconsiderate, which kind of comes with the territory when you are the mother of a 19-year old boy like him. I don’t tolerate rudeness or disrespect, especially in my own home, but as a general rule, as well. In any event, this time around he was a) taking his anti-depressant, which makes all of the difference in the world as far as his abilities to control his temper are concerned; and, b) feeling pretty laid back and happy after the Harmony Festival. So we had a nice visit. There were a couple of rough spots, but nothing unusual or particularly stressful, and what minor conflicts there were were of the normal sibling variety.

The night that he got here from the festival, he was rather under the influence. Now, on the one hand I am glad that I know of his partying ways, in that, if anything ever happens, I will at least know what’s going on in that respect. But, sometimes, I wish to God I wasn’t the “one Mom out of all of his friends’ parents,” whose child feels comfortable enough to tell the truth. In some respects, I would rather be happily oblivious than aware of the lad’s partying ways. I didn’t say anything on Monday night when ****** got here, but I spoke to him about it, or sort of, on Tuesday when we was sober. I told him that I don’t drink or do drugs, and that I don’t like people doing so around me, and that I won’t tolerate such behaviors, especially on his part, in my home. He kind of balked at what I said, in that he was surprised that I could tell how high he was, or that he was high at all.

I didn’t get into it with him, just told him like it is. I think he was so taken aback by my awareness (though the kid couldn’t have been more obviously high) that he only made a half-hearted attempt to save face, saying “what do you mean?,” and the like. When I simply repeated what I will and will not put up with in my house and around ******, he said, okay, and didn’t try any arguments or debate. For that, I was happy and relieved.

Sometimes it can be a tad difficult to live according to my value system and to guide my children in accordance therewith when other people drink so much, around my son, and sometimes with him, when they’re in France, and when his own father not only drinks with the boy, but also smokes with the kid!! But I am rather stubborn in nature, and I continue to insist that people treat me with respect and that they behave in a certain manner when they are in my home.

Fortunately, that was the only difficult conversation we had to have, except for the “don’t talk like that to your sister” kind of thing. I wound up letting him take both my best suitcase and one of my computer bags along with him to*********. I love the suitcase, but it is a bit big and on the heavy side as far as suitcases go for shorter trips. I got it when I was going back and forth to********* every month to spend time with my Mom while she was sick and dying. Often enough, I would bring ****** with me, or would stay for a week at a time, so the bigger suitcase came in handy then. Nowadays, when I have to travel for work, I don’t care to encumber myself with large suitcases, and I don’t have any long involved trips in the planning right now. Actually, I got that suitcase at Christmas, 2004, and I want to get another one in the same line, only smaller.

Since ****** is leaving for a year in France within 2 or 3 weeks, for a year, I figured he could make good use of the suitcase. Plus, my Dad, who ****** is with most of the time he isn’t at school, or whose house he is in, anyway, is an interestingly odd sort of guy, and that’s being VERY kind, who hates to pay full price for anything, ever, so who insists on buying suitcases at garage sales, many of which aren’t the greatest suitcases in the world, or are well past their prime. My Dad is a funny one in things like that. He was born in April of 1944, in rural Brittany, which was never very modern to begin with, and still isn’t, and that, at the time, was still significantly under the influence of World War II and its devastation and restrictions. “Still,” of course, is relative, when you consider that the war wasn’t over yet! Anyway, when he was a young boy, he, and his brother, *****, would literally each be given an orange for *****tmas, and that was their only *****tmas gift. They didn’t have electricity or indoor plumbing. Brittany is an area that is much like Ireland in its history and geography, it rains and rains for months on end; it is relatively far north, and so, in the wintertime, the sun only comes out from about 9 or 10 until sometime between 3 and 4. That makes for an interesting place to live, as far as depression is concerned, and I am certain that that is why Brittany has such a high rate of alcoholism. Nowadays, they have electricity and indoor-plumbing, and the like, but that doesn’t change how long the sun is out. So my Dad’s childhood memories were literally memories of darkness and hunger, much like the conditions described in Angela’s Ashes, by Frank McCourt.
On an aside, the cool thing about living at that latitude is that, in the summertime, the sun is up between 4 and 4:30, and doesn’t set until well after 11 at night. It is so much fun to go to the summertime folk festivals, and to have it be light out that late. I have such wonderful memories of summer in Brittany, and I am sure that he probably does, too.

So, anyway, because of the austere conditions of his early life, I think that ‘having things’ makes my Dad feel secure. He will buy things at the store, just because they’re on sale, and buy pretty much anything he sees at a garage sale if he thinks it may come in handy someday. He then puts all that stuff away, and never touches it or uses it, again, except maybe the suitcases. I remember him owning will over two dozen garage-sale toasters a few years ago. I think that my Dad’s girlfriend sold a lot of his stuff at a garage sale when he was in Europe for the summer a couple of years ago. If you don’t do it in front of him, he doesn’t really notice when his stuff disappears.

I can’t believe I have just spent almost a full two pages' worth of blog space writing about suitcases!

Lonely, but not Lonesome

The TV program I am watching, Cold Case Files, just had a line that struck me. A girl said that she was often, “lonesome, but never lonely.”

And so I looked the words up on Dictinary.com, and found the following:

lone·some ( (l n s m)adj.
1. Dejected because of a lack of companionship. Producing such dejection: a lonesome hour at the bar.
2. Deserted; unfrequented: a lonesome valley.
3. Solitary; lone: a lonesome pine.

lone·ly (l n l )adj. lone·li·er, lone·li·est
1. Without companions; lone. Characterized by aloneness; solitary.
2. Unfrequented by people; desolate: a lonely crossroads.

And so, I must respectfully, differ from the woman in the show. As for my heart, and me we are lonely, but not lonesome.

After the Show

Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Ahava, Morgan and Jana, after the Christmas show.
Starlets Dance Company
At Northfield Middle School
Northfield, MN, USA
December, 2000

Lighting the Way

After Swimming Lessons

Originally uploaded by NanaP.

This was taken when my daughter, Morgan, was just 5 or 6. She was such a cutie!

Crossings

I liked the criss-crossing waves in this picture.
If you go to see the shot's page on my flickr site, and look at the larger sizes, there's even a sailboat on the water, which gives me warm fuzzies... like a hidden treasure, it is, that sailboat!

A Girl and Her Dog

At Del Monte Beach in Monterey, CA, USA
Friday Evening
June 16, 2006

Randomness

Morgan Playing With Maddie

Morgan Playing With Maddie
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Three

Three
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Chanel Looking

Chanel Looking
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Ears

Ears
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

A Daughter's Safety is Tantamount

I hope that someone can understand the extent of my horror and fear for my little girl, not to mention my hurt, at what she has told me, *****, my mother, and people at her school, about what **** has done to her. What she said, and what he himself has said to me, and done, starting the day he and ***** went to ********, when ****** was 20 days old, are extremely serious problems. I am sure that, not only would **** never be willing to admit what has happened, given the severity of what I have been told, and the severity of the consequences of such actions and behaviors; and given the amount of shame and guilt that appear to govern his life, as they should, based on what I have been told; but that he would also go to extremes to hide and cover up what happened, etc.

I am shaking just writing this, as this has been so extraordinarily painful and upsetting for me.

I am sure that the other members of her family all look forward to spending time with ******. Whether **** does or not is beyond my comprehension. Every moment I even think about him seeing her and about his being alone with her is heartrendingly difficult for me. I have never tried to deny her a relationship with him, but I am angry and hurt by what she told us he has done and by my fears of such things happening again.

I don't want to go into the details of what ****** has said happened like this. So I will just say that the types of abuse that have taken place, as far as what she has told people, include emotional and psychological abuse and manipulation, and stem from the more serious actions and behaviors of sexual abuse. Between what ****** has told me and other people, certain behaviors she has displayed, and what **** has said to me, himself, added to his sexually deviant behaviors in CA and when we were married, I am terrified and horrified at the thought of her ever being alone with him.
This is why I insisted that ****** not stay at ****'s home for two years of the time we lived in MN. That was based on *** ********'s suggestions, trying to protect ******, while still allowing her a loving, nurturing relationship with her father’s family.

I do not believe that he is necessarily continuing the things that he did, but I don't know. ****** never says anything like that anymore, not since he has been married, and not even for most of the time we have lived here in CA. But that is also the rationale for my not sending her back to WI from CA for a while when we first moved here. That is why I fight every visit, even though I know that she loves all of them. That is why I am so hurt and upset by all of the other things **** fails to do, like pay child support or get a job that would allow him to pay the paltry $254 a month that he is supposed to pay, not to mention the almost $11,000 that he still owes me.

I don't "love” *********, but ****** does, and I respect ********* as a person. I feel threatened by ****'s trying to make ********* ******'s "mother," but that, too, is based on my fears for ******, and what he has done, and not on anything to really do with *********.

I do not care for *******, mostly because ****** doesn't think that ******* likes her. But, that is not relevant to her visits with the rest of the family, and so I do not say anything. But, even the fact that ***** did not mention *******'s children in the list of ******'s cousins who look forward to seeing her was hurtful. However, although I do not like it, I would not allow that to prevent ****** from maintaining a relationship with her family.

It does not matter that ****** has not spoken of anything during recent visits. The fact that she started cutting herself just before visiting him, and her behavior whenever she comes back from spending time with him, cause me ongoing concern. I do not necessarily think that he is actively sexually abusive toward her at this time. I want to believe that ****** would not let such a thing occur now that she is older, and that she would tell me, or her grandparents, or even *********, who ****** believes genuinely cares for her, if it did. However, that doesn't make it any better. I still live in abject fear of what he has done, what he has said, and what could happen, especially now that she is developing and maturing physically.

In addition, the seriousness of what she did say happened, even if she has repressed it, and the seriousness of what he has said to me, her mother, are to the extent that it would not be reasonable of me to act or even feel any different than I do.

I honestly believe that **** should be in prison for what has happened, or at least be required to undergo extensive psychiatric treatment. I wish to God that I had never allowed ****** to ever return to Wisconsin to visit, but I kept trying to make things better. I may have not taken the right approach, I may have been absolutely wrong in many things, but I am doing my damnedest to raise ****** right, and to protect her from undue damage, even from ****.

I have spoken to attorneys, guidance counselors at ******'s schools (when she has acted up or out, or when something else has happened that seems to trigger difficulties for her), therapists, etc. I don't know how else to protect her without taking legal action, so I just continue doing what I have been and praying that it works.

But, when ****** starts having trouble, like now, then I become extremely concerned. The past few days she has been overly sensitive, constantly seeking reassurance, repeatedly telling me that she loves me and making sure that she is loved, apologizing for minor things, crying, talking back, having bursts of anger for reasons that I do not understand, saying that she is afraid that her brother doesn't like her or thinks that she is dumb, that ******* doesn't like her, that she might have done something wrong the last time she was there, which might have made ********* mad, etc., etc., etc.

As her mother, I want to protect her. I want to make all of this and all of what happened to cause this, go away. I want regular child support, and not to be owed $11,000. I want a normal, regular relationship between ****** and her father's family. I want her to have a normal, safe, nurturing relationship with her father, but I do not believe that is possible. I can only do my best, based on the information that I have, to raise her right, take care of her, and protect her.

If it were up to me, ****** would never be in a room alone with ****, ever again. If it were up to me, if she visits Wisconsin, she would never stay in his home. If it were up to me, any and all contact between them would be supervised by authorized and educated child protection officers.
But not everything is up to me. I can only control myself, and I am only responsible for myself. One of my jobs is to take care of ******, and that is what I am trying to do.

On the Beach Tonight

Light and Water at Play

Light and Water at Play
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

This is one of my favorites!

It's my life in an image, spots of light and gleaming, in an overall feeling of calm and peace, but with a few ripples on the surface...

Light

Light
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

More Light and Water

More Light and Water
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Stone Trinity

Stone Trinity
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Pebbles in the Sand

Pebbles in the Sand
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Light on Water

Light on Water
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Beautiful Light

Beautiful Light
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Cool Waters

Cool Waters
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

...a piece of seaweed, and a toe or two!

Water Movement

Water Movement
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Circles....

Clear Waters

Clear Waters
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Small Shell

Small Shell
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

... and my feet!

Rock Prints

Rock Prints
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Uh oh! She hates to get wet!!

Uh oh! She hates to get wet!!
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Chanel Playing

Chanel Playing
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

She is very afraid of water, so this was quite the feat for her!

Washed Ashore

Washed Ashore
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Tuesday Beach 154

Tuesday Beach 154
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

People boogie boarding... it looked like so much fun!

Three

Three
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Tuesday Beach 156

Tuesday Beach 156
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

De l'eau, de l'eau, toujours de l'eau...

La mer chez nous est toujours froide. Il y a une fosse sous-marine, qui est plus profonde, voir plus grande, que le Grand Canyon, dans la baie de Monterey. En plus, c’est l’océan pacifique. Entre ces deux faits, il y a comme résultat, le fait que les eaux de la baie de Monterey ne se réchauffent jamais.

The end of a beautiful afternoon

The end of a beautiful afternoon
Originally uploaded by NanaP.

Yesterday ~ My Mother

I miss my mother. Since we had been able to work through our ‘stuff’ from the past, I would have liked to have been able to have a different relationship with her. Now, I only have memories, and a good 35 or so years’ worth of those memories are not so good. I wish that we had had more good time together. Not having had that time is another thing that I regret, although I understand that there was nothing that I could have done differently. That we had the time that we did, and the talks, the understanding, the touching of one another’s soul, were more than a lot of people I ever have. It is more than I will ever have with my father, and more than I will have with my sister, *******. But I still miss my Mom. I miss having a Mom.

Losing my mother has significantly contributed to my fear of getting close to anybody else. I do not want to let anyone in, only to lose them. Or, I didn’t. Now, I may be willing to do so, if the right one(s) came along... whether as friends or lovers, old or young, male or female... (Not all of the combinations of those characteristics would be possible. For me, female lovers aren't really my thing. That said, I think my message is clear. Life, and, therefore, love, is not determined by the nature of the friendship, by age, or by gender. If life is love, then all love is, by definition, life.

The combination of losing her and meeting you is what drove me to want to enjoy my moments with you, to nurture and thrive in our friendship, and to let whatever happens, happen, in its own time, without being forced in one direction or another, and without being artificially constrained. This is why I find myself listening to that Aerosmith song over and over. In my life, and in my friendship with you, in particular, I don’t wanna miss a thing.

Knowing my mother hurt me.

Having her for a mother hurt me.

Working through the issues of our past hurt me.

Losing my mother hurt me more than almost anything else, ever. It’s painfully real and irrevocable. And it doesn’t ever stop.

It is reflecting on that loss, on loss, in general, and on the story of my life, that is, what has made me, me, that I wrote the poem, I Was Wrong.