Thoughts on the extended family - Journal Entry

Original source Photo by Robert Tadlock. Used with permission.

When the deep melancholy of my soul demands my full attention. Lick this wound, it says, pick this scab. Wallow and whine. You have been hurt, it says. What hurts the most is seeming to be forgotten, not even missed. In retrospect, not forgotten, perhaps more like disregarded. For a long time I missed the family relationships I once had. I poured love into them because I liked them, loved them. I gave my hospitality and my heart. I helped them when they needed it, gave them a place to stay, showed them around tried, tried, tried like heck to build a family. Sometimes when they stepped on my toes I ignored it, because I had a hard time standing up for myself. I also feel everyone should have an occasional pass or two when they behave badly, so long as it's rare not habitual. When they kept stepping on my toes I finally had to say something. Ouch! That hurts could you please not do it again? I guess they like to step wherever they like with no regard to the toes of others, because when I mentioned it, they shut me out shut me down. And no matter what efforts I made to smooth things over and rebuild a relationship, to this day we remain estranged. And even from afar, when I have established a safe distance, they seem to continue to find ways to step on toes. I must conclude that they like stepping on people's toes. Why?
from 7/29/2011

What if I told you...?

What if I told you that someone very dear to me had congestive heart failure, and experienced symptoms of pain and breathlessness. Would you feel compassion for them? What if I told you my loved one had cancer. Would you find a way to show some moral support? What if I told you my family member was mentally ill and his/her symptoms are that of erratic and disturbing behaviour that is often emotionally hurtful to him/herself and others? What then would your reaction be?

In my family, there are those that completely cut themselves out of this person's life. I get that. Damage was done. And I actually don’t have a problem with that. My mentally-sick loved one has hurt every single person that has ever been close to him/her, or helped him/her. And the list of lies and betrayals is various and long. I guarantee that they have almost certainly hurt me and my family in greater ways many more times. Forgive me for getting testy with that last sentence, this isn't a contest of who has been hurt the most. I understand that everyone has to make the best choices they can for themselves. It’s a valid and often necessary choice to disengage from people that hurt and betray.

What has been most unfortunate and painful to me, is that this segment of the family seemed to go a step farther. They cut me and my family from their lives also. Presumably because we had chosen to maintain some relationship with the ill person, albeit a distant and limited one. We never insisted they maintain a relationship with our ill loved one after she/he offended them. We only kept the lines of communication open for ourselves. Without me getting too personal or specific, I will say that some relationships can be stronger than a Denali-sized heap of betrayal. Strong bonds such as a parent-to-child, can’t (or won’t) allow for ever giving up completely. And the offenses I speak of aren’t capital offenses, they are incidents of embarrassment, lies, unpredictable actions, things of that nature. I can't fully understand why they cut us off, I speculate that the inconvenience, messiness and stigma of mental illness is not compatible with their image of family life. It hurts to realize that the very people who distanced themselves from us, were among the same family members that we were supportive of while they went through their own struggles of a different sort.

Photo by smiteme. Permission granted under Flickr Creative Commons Agreement.

Illness is illness. I can't help but wonder that if said loved one had another kind of illness, she/he and we might not have been so summarily written-off, because other medical conditions garner more understanding and empathy. Mental illness is tricky. Just as we protect ourselves when a friend or loved on has a contagious illness, we often need to have some kind of protection with loved ones who have mental illnesses. Just as we adjust our expectations of what a physically ill person is capable of, we must have realistic expectations of what a mentally ill person is capable of. Education is a key factor, as is awareness. Then the necessary precautions must be taken. However, I chose not to abandon completely my mentally ill family member. I chose not to be embarrassed by, or unnecessarily cut off from them, after many painful and awkward starts and stops throughout the years. This didn't happen overnight, this was a process that happened over time, with many trials and errors, and educating myself as much as I could as I went along. Yes, my loved one is at times erratic, insensitive, and offensive. I wonder how much is within and how much is beyond their control due to their illness? I’m not sure. It is not easy, but it is possible to still maintain a loving and supportive relationship. Sometimes a glimmer of their old self shines through and it’s enjoyable. Sometimes it’s just letting them know that someone will be here for them. Sure, we have to be more guarded, and have to protect ourselves in certain ways, but at least our loved one has some knowledge that there are a few of us that still care.

I’m sharing this story in hopes that someone reading it may have a more compassionate approach to those with mental illness or those with loved ones who have mental health issues.

In the teachings of that divine and enlightened One, Jesus of Nazareth, He said, it’s easy to love those that love you. It’s easy to be good to those who are good to you. He exhorted us to be loving and caring toward those who are difficult and challenging(see here). So, I’m trying. I have to say, the shunning from my “healthy” loved ones hurts rather more than any of the things my unwell loved-one does or did.

from a journal entry 2009/10

10 Songs, Old and New(er)

Some days are like a dreamy purgatory, if I don't have enough solitary time, I know that it will not be good for me later. So please Do Not Disturb unless there is blood, vomit or a bump on the head. My Christmas tree is still up, the Three Kings have come and gone, and it isn't even losing needles and it smells good. Calvin stepped on my toe last night and I thought it was nothing much, but today the one that went weee, wee, wee is black and blue and broken(?).


Thank you "said the gramophone" for helping when I am stuck in a music rut. Leave feedback if you feel like it's the right thing to do. One more thing. Bleed is an incredible song, I never heard it before this week.

Random New Year Ramble

"Outside of a dog a book is man's best friend, inside of a dog it's too dark to read."

Groucho Marx said that. Yesterday I asked my Siri to search the web for a book, and "she" quoted that. It made me laugh. I am on a modified version of the Master Cleanse Fast (you can google if you're curious). Big Daddy and I try to do some sort of special fasting and prayer at the onset of the new year, as an act of reverence toward God. It's a time of sober reflection, thankfulness, and seeking His will and direction for the new year. I find today difficult, but yesterday was not. I was awash with inspiration and ideas yesterday. Today I feel sluggish and have a headache (caffeine withdrawal, I suspect) and I am distracted by the macaroni and cheese the kids had for lunch. But it's just today, and a little challenge, and it will pass and I am sure tomorrow will be better.

Ice, Ice Maybe

This was originally written 5-31-11

I cannot get enough ice lately! So I googled and discovered that anemic individuals often report a craving for chewing on ice! Since I have dealt with anemia on and off all my adult life I am taking my supplements now more than ever! Then I talked to a good friend who has been dealing with Lyme disease has also been craving and chewing on ice because she also has anemia. Her doctor recommended a slow-release iron supplement, hope it helps.
Since writing that I have been taking a SlowFE supplement and it's working.


Our oldest child will graduate from high school in about a week. Then school will be out for summer. It's been busy and stressful with all of that, and we have a pretty full summer this year.



Sweet Leaf now (see above), Sweet Leaf 25 years ago. It made me laugh when I thought of that while purchasing and trying Sweet Leaf Iced Tea when it was on a sale promotion. Thank you Jesus for the change!



I have been thinking about forgiveness and love, what with visiting that Love Hurts, God Heals post and how the parable of the Prodigal Son and all Jesus' other teachings on the subject. Can there be forgiveness without fellowship and restoration? Can I truly forgive those who hurt me if I don't wish to be around them or have much to do with them? I suppose I think if I were to be around them I would only be hurt further. Particularly when they refuse to acknowledge and accept responsibility for their own part in the strain, or have some sort of changed "fruit" in their life? I have forgiven, prefer to keep my distance though, and have felt lately other people seem to be pushing for more contact than I think is helpful or necessary. What do you think?

Diary of a Poor, Sad White Girl - Or Why Keeping a Journal Helps

photo by Paul Worthington
Madeline L'Engle writes this in the forward to A Grief Observed by C.C. Lewis

"...It is alright to wallow in one's journal; it is a way of getting rid of self-pity, self-indulgence and self-centeredness. What we work out in our journals we don't take out on our family and friends." A Grief Observed is the journal Lewis kept after the death of his wife, and he wallows better than anyone I have ever known, and in so doing, left something helpful to the world of grieving loved ones."

Grief is not my really my topic today. Though surely grief is a factor in my situation, the grief over my Dad’s long and arduous misfortune and then his abrupt and unexpected passing away is the great tragedy of our family. It influenced me in profound ways, and journaling through that was a healthy coping mechanism, whereas other methods of grieving were not so productive. I should have journaled more. Journaling is my subject today, and how immensely helpful it can be for all the reasons L’Engle stated above. Our lives are comprised of good and bad days, and in between days. In one’s journal the heartbreak of the awful day(s) can be recorded in the livid detail and all the ferocious ugliness that often seethes beneath the surface of our pain. (It’s not a pretty sight and there is a good argument to be made for keeping some of it private.) Conversely, our joy can be multiplied and our progressive steps can be plotted and charted. Our journal is our journey.

Even now as I use this blog as a sort of journal I have at times kept some of my entries private because on further reflection and revisiting, I declared them too much of a personal wallow, still others made the cut because I felt that the transparency and confession could be good for myself and hopefully another soul who may be struggling similarly.

Have you ever known someone who’s hurt and pain is so obviously raw that nearly every time you see them the cause of their hurt is constantly and ever present in conversation? I have, and I fear there were some times where I was that person. Sooner or later it wears on their hearers - the friends and family with whom they converse. There comes a time when our genuine concern over our pain-obsessed friend becomes a little exhausted as the same topic is revisited again and again. We want to be a patient and compassionate friend but it is difficult. Those three “self” issues L’Engle mentioned in the above quote factor in. Though we might have the brotherly love of Jonathan and David and the patience of Job, there are times when we ourselves would appreciate a modicum of concern and some sort of friendly reciprocation from our hurting friend. Rubbing to long and too hard in one place creates a blister, and journals can be a helpful way of alleviating blisters.

Keeping a journal works for me.

Just to underscore the title may I recommend: Diary of a Mad Black Woman and Poor Girl by X.

The Test Came and Went

I'm not saying I'm there yet. I'm just saying that I'm doing better. I have been pretty exuberant lately because I have just been feeling so productive, making time to do my little drawings, and feeling good about it and proud of myself. Everything is going fairly well. Not that it's all roses and sunshine, but it's pretty darn OK. It's easier to keep up with the positive steps I'm taking in my life when things are like this. But we all know life is not always easy, and of course, I was due for a storm. I got a double whammy of bad and troubling news other day. Without going into detail, one of the situations is very sad and worrisome, and the other is something that frankly ticked me off. I think both situations will be ongoing, and are far from being resolved. In the past I would find a way of avoiding, and not being productive. I would stew and steam as I obsessed over the problems or bad news. Instead I sat at my drafting table and drew and listened to music and cried. But it was OK. (I'm not emo, I'm peri-menopausal.) I kept up my life and my routine, I prayed (of course!), I did the opposite of what I used to do when I was a dried up co-dependent sad sack with a clutter-procrastination-creative block problem. So the test came and went and I passed. By God's grace, I passed. Because I sure could not do it on my own.

My Life in Titles

What Falls Away, How Stella Got Her Groove Back. These are titles to movies and books that caught my eye. Don't think of the plots or story lines of those books because I am not even going there. This is personal. I'm making this post about how a title grabs you because it's clever, interesting AND somehow applies your own self. For some reason I read more Sunday newspaper book reviews than I read of the actual books reviewed in the paper, and on the bestseller list. Don't get me wrong, I love to read, I just don't read as many books as I read about books. Occasionally as I do this I have come across titles that just resonate - but I haven't read the book, so I adopt them in my own silly mind. I have written before of the title 'How Stella Got Her Grove Back' because all those years ago, I was immediately stuck by the notion that my groove was [also] gone, or rather misplaced, and I knew that like Stella, I needed to find it and get it back. Of course, Stella's grove and mine represent different aspects of our lives, but the need to get back in the flow - on your game - recapturing a 'Joie de Vivre' - whatever you want to call it - I needed it. "What Falls Away" is another post for another day.

It took awhile, but I found it and I now say, "Welcome home groove." I've missed you. Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be.*
On a side note, my memoir might be titled, "She Came Late (and Left Early)."

~?~So I ask you, Dear Reader(s), because I'm curious, have you ever read a title and thought - "Well, why didn't I think of that for my autobiography!?" If so, would you like to share about it a little? I would love to hear your titles.

Black sheep bio., part 2

...continued from the earlier post...

I never fit in with the popular people in high school and I never wanted to. I just feel like I never completely fit in in any way or anywhere. Even my geeky tendencies aren't full blown - I was never quite smart or bookish enough. I was a Star Trek and Star Wars fan, but not someone who dressed up or learned Klingon jargon, though I might have enjoyed that. I'd read some Ayn Rand, but lacked brain power to engage the super smart set. My enjoyment of all that though, kept me from being absolutely a part of the fun-loving and lighthearted party people. I did hang out our at our school's smoking area (can you believe that a high school had a smoking area for students?), because I had been smoking since age 11 or 12 (another Baaalacksheep thing -cough). The smoking area was greatly populated by the stoner clique. So, I had a reputation as a stoner, when in fact, I never smoked pot or did drugs while at that school. I did smoke clove cigarettes, and maybe that confused some people. I was variously too rich, or not rich enough, too slutty, not slutty enough, too dumb or too smart, you get the picture.

The little hardcore punk scene in our city/town, was where all the punk misfit kids from various high schools came and hung out. It was often fun - we went to concerts (shows), wild parties, and did petty crimes (think grafitti, putting soap bubbles in fountains, borrowing golf carts), all in the name of our generation's brand of fun and teen rebellion. Big Daddy recently chatted with an old friend from those days and his friend said, we were like pirates - doing what we wanted, taking what we wanted, it was crazy. No one backed down from a fight, and there was plenty of brawling. They spray-painted graffiti on police cars right under the cops' noses. We were crazy, wild kids. We really did trash houses, hotel rooms, etc., and we weren't rock stars, we were hardcore. I remember feeling a strong affinity for the 'straight edge' movement, but never fully committed myself to that. Still, I embraced vegetarianism, eschewed my former promiscuity, protested racism, joined greenpeace. I fell in love with someone, and never would have thought that lasting real love was possible for people so young, but it was. A rift began to emerge within the little hardcore scene. As I understood it, a number of the kids were leaning towards white-supremacist beliefs and becoming more involved with all of that. At the time it seemed like some of the people I knew could overlook the racism because of the other things they had in common like the love of the music, shows and hanging out. I (We) just couldn't abide that, so I excused myself. But while it lasted - before those dark things crept in, it was wonderful, and I felt some kinship. Again these are the impressions of one person, and my own experiences. High school was ending, anyway, and people were naturally growing up and moving in different directions.

I spent a couple of years at community college before I went to Art School. Art school is a haven for black sheep. Need I say more? Probably not, but I will. It was great with free-spirits of all stripes and individuals of all types in abundance. I was beyond expressing myself through my appearance and sowing bunches of drunken wild oats, as some of my peers were, because I had already done so much of that when I was very young. I was in a stable, long-term monogamous relationship at a time and place where most people were growing up, falling in and out of romances, sensing freedom, partying and dating. My class was a very unique and varied group of complete individuals, each one of them like an interesting novel. We had some older classmates and some fresh out of high school, it was an interesting mix. Imagine the entire class as a a small library of great books. To be around all the talent of my peers and our instructors was incredible. It was a great time in my life.

Then my family began going through a crisis, a legal and criminal trial, and my parents wanted everything hushed, so I couldn't even really talk about it with people who were my friends, except my boyfriend. He became my fiance, he is my constant (hehe Lost reference) and my friend, and the guy I married and now call Big Daddy. While my art school peers were concentrating on learning and education, which what we were there for, I was torn apart by a family situation. It was a tragedy and a scandal, and it really affected me during my time at college and my work output. The trouble began my first year, and seemed to be minimal, but it escalated each year and by my final year, I felt I was a wreck in many ways. I never really shared it or could tell the entire thing to any of my peers, but I know I did talk a little about it with my roommate. My work and education suffered because of it. There were good times even in the midst of the trouble though, and our marriage happened during this time.

I became disillusioned with so many things. If innocent people could go to prison, if people who I thought were my parent's family, friends and colleagues could do such evil and underhanded things over greed, what was sure in this life? Not much. My family suffered though this crisis and the fallout took years and had a myriad of results. I feel like I slogged through that last year of school and graduated with my nerves frayed just to the point of splitting. I ran from art, piling on excuses about why I keep from doing it, and am only now regaining that part of myself. Other members of my family seemed to act out in other ways. Some never fully rebounded, while still others seemed to find a granite-like strength and resolve.

Many people come to Christ and have a religious experience and awakening when they are at a low point in their life. Though I had some troubles due to my family's legal burdens, in most other ways I was quite happy when I became a Christian. Again I was different from the deathbed and jail house converts, and I don't mean to lessen those amazing transformations, but I was like, ummm my life is pretty good but still I feel like there is something missing and wrong. I just always had a sense that something was missing in my life - it dogged me, and that is why I write it in bold italics. When I started believing in Jesus and looking into all of that, it was as if I found what I was missing, just like the old song, "I once was lost but now am found." I tried to fit in as a Christian - to become very conservative and traditional - but I'm never quite as conservative as the other Christians and I'm too Christian for my un-Christian friends. I threw myself into friendships with some of my husband's family members - because they were also Christians. I had some commonality with them at the time, like being parents of young children. In retrospect I see these were people with whom I had very little in common with other than that, and I can see now the friendships were now rather unadvised, probably for both of us. I really gave 'fitting in' a good shot but it didn't exactly work out. Still, I learn from all these experiences, I try to anyway.

Now I'm a minister's wife, so I am either put on a pedestal or sized up and found lacking. Some of our dear church people even call me 'first lady' which is sweet, but very weird to me, some think I can do now wrong and must be kept at a saintly arm's length. Still other people view me under a magnifying glass looking for every flaw to prove I'm not holy enough and just another hypocrite.

So all of this biographical blather began as I thought about that blog post at Tamera Out Loud. All I can say is that I am mostly at peace with being a black sheep nowadays. This is what I wrote under a reply over there:

The only place where I have ever felt I totally fit in with anyone are a few transcendental moments where, for one reason or another, I felt a tangible presence of God and His Fatherly love. That experience messed me up in a good way and carries me through. Carries me through what, you might ask? Everything. Now, there are times when my my husband comes so close – with this wonderful simpatico kind of lovely friendship-passion soul-mate thing we have.

I suppose that coming to God, believing in Christ and all of that - Christianity, being saved, having a spiritual awakening, all those kinds of names we call it, well, that is the circumstance and encounter within my life where I have felt truly and utterly 'home' and accepted and loved and understood. Being accepted by Him, now has been enough for me, so that when I feel misunderstood or lonely as I still often do, I know there is One loves me 'just as I am.' Baaaaa!

Work Space - Before & After

Part of my problem is that when my family went through what it went through, I chose a coping mechanism that is no longer helping me cope and certainly isn't productive. I have really been trying to break through and overcome that, and I cannot stress enough that it's by God's grace and help. This is my story and He's an essential part of it, so I cannot shy away from that aspect. If you aren't a Christian and are reading this, just bear with me and maybe I can explain it. Many people believe in coincidences but I do not, I believe they are "God things" - something He sends your way to get your attention. It can be a gentle reminder OR a kick in the butt to get on the path you're supposed to be on. God sent me these messages variously and in other ways, but the three that apply to what I am thinking about today are my being introduced to The Artist's Way, Geninne's Art Blog and the TV show Clean House. These are tools and things that woke me up and got me moving when I was finally ready to change.

I have always been a bit messy. When I was going through situations with my family, my father's sad and unfair circumstances, the raging and erratic addiction(s) of other loved ones and all the pain and turmoil these circumstances caused, I was trying to cope and be strong on the outside. My messiness got out of control. On the inside I was hurting, and as best as I can see it from my own armchair psychological diagnosis, I let the interior of my home just grow with clutter and messiness that was sort of a manifestation of all the confusion and mess I felt about the situations that were hurting me. But I could always clean up my home, I could not clean up any of the messes that my family was in, those were beyond my control.


I still mopped, vacuumed and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom, generally kept house, but I let stacks of things pile up and overtake areas of my home. I also couldn't part with things, no matter how unsentimental, or unusable they were. I had a 'I might need it someday' mentality. You can imagine how I did not part with sentimental and personal things if I was holding on so strongly to the unsentimental things. I never refused anything people gave me, whether or not I liked it or could use it. It was one of my ways of avoiding things within myself, because I couldn't let myself take the time to do art or anything 'for me' if my house needed serious attention. There is a hierarchy of things that need tending to in my life. The house came after my family, and I don't need to tell you that there is always plenty to do to take care of family first. Then of course, we are in the ministry, so any type of ministry and doing good for others ought to come before anything I might want to pursue. My little mania and foolishness (as Neicy on Clean House calls it) became crystal clear when I moved here, and was on a steady (albeit slow) path of emerging from this stuff that was blocking me. I set up an art space in my room and repeatedly began to let thing pile up on and in front of it rather than use it. I was blocking myself.



I still struggle, I'm not going to say otherwise. I thank God I am not where I used to be, even though I am not exactly where I'd like to be. I'd like to be as productive as someone like, say Geninne (see above link) or my friend E. who is a working jewelry artist. I used to let my dissatisfaction over what I was not doing paralyze me from what positive steps, however small, I was actually taking. Now I celebrate the small victories and don't agonize over the setbacks in the same unproductive way. I still have a long way to go, but I want to show today how things are. Things are looking up.

Black Sheep, a biography of sorts, part 1

"There's a lot of things about me you don't know anything about...things you wouldn't understand, things you couldn't understand. Things you shouldn't understand. You don't want to get mixed up with a guy like me. I'm a loner... a rebel."

The above quote is from Pee-Wee's Big Adventure and for me it has always been somewhat of a signature. *I think* am all of those things (except that I am a girl not a guy) wrapped up into one kind of nerdy, geeky person. If you know about Pee-Wee Herman, then you know he is not what your mind conjures up when you first think, "REBEL." The Sons of Anarchy are rebels, the Lone Biker of the Apocalypse is a rebel, those are some dangerous characters. James Dean, Marlon Brando, Cyndi Lauper, Jane Fonda, Patti Smith, Dorothy Parker - all pop-culture rebels of one kind or another (we're not talking Che Guevara, MLK or Ceasar Chavez here). I was never that cool, (or that righteous). I concede I was a little cool, just a tad, as my Mom would say, not about my coolness but when she wanted a little more martini from the shaker, or a little more lasagna from a pan. I was never the coolest person you knew, or I knew. Anyway, I'm writing about this because I read and entry called The Parable of the Black Sheep over on the Tamara Out Loud blog and she ended with the question, "Have you ever felt like the black sheep?" (Girl, don't get me started!) "Where have you found people or places that you fit in?" She got me started. Rather than hijack her replies I felt like elucidating (Read: BLATHERING on) about this subject because it's one of those journaling and working through my stuff things, and after all, that's why I started this little corner of the internet. So here this goes, it's long it's personal and it just might bore you to tears, and believe it or not, this is the edited down version.

Why do I think I'm a black sheep, loner and rebel? I just don't feel like I have ever fully fit in anywhere. For starters, I was adopted. So, from the very beginning of my life I was a little different from everyone else among my family, friends and peers. Other people made some kind of note of that fact, usually positive, and my parents always made me feel special, loved and wanted. They were a wee bit older than most of my friends' parents, another distinction, but not radically so. I was blessed with great parents. They sent me to very good schools and provided for my brother and I many good things, experiences and lessons. I'm just talking now of the factors in my life that I believe contributed to my being different but believe me, my life was far from negative.

A couple of years ago it dawned on me how often we moved as my Dad climbed a corporate ladder and followed his career path. I lived in three different states, I went to eight different schools, lived in five different houses and three different condominiums. We also had a small and cozy summer place near a lake in Pennsylvania, which became a blissful haven for me as one unchanging little nook in the midst of all our moves. I had a good friend that lived nearby, and plenty of woods and the lake to explore. It was a favorite place until my family finally sold it. Our many moves took place all through my schooling years (kindergarten-high school). I was the new kid more times than I care to remember. I never really fully fit in, though I did make some good friends along the way, but people already had established friendships before I came along to whatever school, neighborhood or group. And they had those same kinds of friendships after I moved away, and when you move away, no matter how good your intentions, contact tapers off and the close relationships aren't quite the same, and that's also true of my extended family.

I began acting out in my pre-teen and teen years, some of that could have been from the moves, but I can't say for sure. Some of it was due to other darker things that I don't need to go into, but those things had an affect on me. I was sort of a poor little rich girl, or more accurately a poor little upper middle class girl. I began getting into the usual troubling things that sidetrack or derail teenagers, looking for some kind of comfort. I can see now in retrospect it was a spiritual search within me as well, but at the time I didn't realize that. It was also that garden variety teen angst that hits almost all of us in some form, along with the colliding of the culture and politics of the day: growing up, waking up, flexing the muscles of independence and person-hood. I fell in love with music even more, and found some comfort and solace within the heavy metal and punk rock genres that were emerging in sight of my affluent middle class radar.

Then I found the hardcore music scene of the early-to-mid-80s. That was definitely one of the places where I felt I fit in better than anywhere else. By the time I got to my 3rd and final high school, I was the first person with a notable punk rock look. At the time, that school was in a semi-rural, agricultural area of the state. So I was not lovingly embraced by the locals. I spent the previous semester at another high school on the east coast, and it was a dreadful time for me, in some ways a rock bottom. Right before that I went to school in the San Francisco Bay Area of California. I loved and missed that place, but mainly my old life there and some very dear friends. It was a difficult time for me with that move.

In my new school, it was culture shock for me (and them). I was no Lisbeth Salander-style punked-outcast by any stretch, but I was odd and different for that time and that place. I was treated with some disdain by all but a handful of people, at first. Things did get better though. I made some friends - and even found some that embraced punk, together we discovered the hardcore scene and a larger group of punk/hardcore people from various high schools around our county and the neighboring ones, I found a little niche for awhile. That's probably where I felt most "at home" but I still was kind of an outsider, a late-comer, and never 100% fitting in. I was the weird girl who liked Fleetwood Mac and Black Flag, I remember catching a little flack for it. I think living near beautiful San Francisco for several impressionable years, and the 70s era I grew up in, probably influenced this huge soft spot I have for hippy culture and values - and I lean that way in some respects. That was a little incompatible with some aspects of the hardcore scene at the time. Remember - punk and hardcore were a reaction to the kind of music, lifestyle and ideas that came before each respective genre. Hardcore itself was a reaction to punk, but you didn't come here for a mini-music history lesson (or did you?). Back then, punk and hardcore music were the antithesis of hippy music culture. My Allman Bros. affection and Stevie Nicks admiration were under wraps when I ran with certain crowds, except with the most trusted and open-minded of friends.
to be continued...

I nearly lost him last week...

...and it would have crushed me, literally, it makes me feel more weird than I can put into words (and not the good weird). Big Daddy is learning SCUBA, and there was a malfunction with the equipment. Mercifully, it was during a learning dive and his instructor was nearby. He's fine, physically, but mentally and emotionally it gave us a hard shake. Is this the year of realizing we are mortal or what? So much death and loss, and I shudder to think that Big Daddy was so near it himself. A facebook acquaintance, a vibrant young woman with a young child lost her young husband recently, and a friend of a friend from our old hardcore/punk days also died that same week. So, how do we react to these regular reminders of our very impermanent lives? I can only say what works for me: First, I pray for the comfort and strength for those whose lives are most affected by the loss. I reflect on Our Maker, look to Jesus, make sure my soul is in its right perspective and position, I like these steps to peace with God. Then, I make sure I am a little kinder, a little more gentle with my significant people. The bible says to not let the sun go down on our anger, meaning literally not to go to bed still angry with someone. I try to take that a step further when I'm able and to make things right a.s.a.p., even with just the regular kind of nagging and fussing that goes with kids and life and marriage. It doesn't hurt to take a little time to just be kind and part on a positive note, even if we're just leaving for school or work or the corner gas.

Finding comfort and sense when it's scarce...
Well, sometimes it can't be found. So I just try to do all the little things I ought to do and I don't let myself wallow for too long. Today the windows are open and I am listening to relaxing classical tunes on grooveshark. And it helps a little.


And for my Polish readers, I learned this proverb:
Dobry człowiek nawet w tawernie nie będzie zepsuty, zły nawet w kościele nie naprawią drogę (ale zawsze jest nadzieja dla grzeszników: Jezusa).

Ode to an Addict

I think of you every time I watch Anthony Bourdain, Iron Chef and Good Eats on TV. I probably wouldn't have taken more than a passing interest in those shows if it weren't for you, but your influence got me hooked on them. I used to look at some of the comments you'd make, the songs you would link on your FaceSpace page. Many of them the tunes we grew up listening to on the am/fm radio of some huge Oldsmobile or Cadillac. I think of the song lyrics we changed and made into dirty and funny jokes between us. My mind wanders and I think, we could be a normal family, we could be sitting together eating macaroni and cheese or tortellini in cream sauce and watching those shows or listening to those tunes as we joke and laugh. We could be really real. It makes me miss you. Few families are perfect and 'normal' is subjective - but any semblance of genuine family interaction cannot happen because you don't live a real life, you live a double life. You might talk about those warm memories from good days-gone-by on the one hand, but the other side of you lies and scams people, abuses yourself and others. You use porn and talk to young Indonesian girls over the internet rather than the actual people in your life who (would) really care (if you let them). You tell your elaborate lies for as long as you can and when you're found out, you move on. I used to be left with the fall-out from that, the calls from concerned and angry people. Do you know how much you hurt? Notice I didn't say "hurt others?" You hurt. You are hurting. It's never to late to get help and change. You're worth it. I miss you.
~


I was upset, hurting and missing my loved one when I wrote this. I still hold out hope because I have faith and pray and believe in a living, miracle-working God.


Photo by Boskizzi

How Wendy Reads

I have been wanting to write down this brief journal entry for almost a year now. It' a short one, about a single little memory and impression regarding my friend Wendy*. We went to a "girl's jamboree" event with our daughters and their friend. We spent a couple of nights in a dorm room, her bed was next to mine. I was restless, fighting a cold and not sleeping well. I remember dozing off to sleep in the near dark of the room, watching Wendy, because I am a side sleeper. She was quietly laying on her back in the bed across from me. She had a large book, roughly the size of a three ring binder resting across the length of her stomach. The book was face up and open. Her fingers glided in gentle, flowing horizontal lines across the pages, her head resting on her pillow and her face toward the ceiling. As I recall her hands and arms moved with the fluid grace of a dance movement. She was reading in the dark as we all slept. I have never seen anything like that before and it was lovely to behold. I believe she was reading the book of Jeremiah, or another prophet.

Photo by Abigail Parker, used with permission.

Lolita's Daughter

There was a time within my generation (X) and the generation previous (BabyBoomers) where the sexuality and promiscuity of young girls was touted and celebrated. Now the cultural climate is less inclined to do so, even within the art and intelligence minded community. Lolita was published in the 50s and shocked the culture, but we were swayed by the elegant prose, and the insight into that doomed world. Such brilliant words, so elegantly written made the story of something selfish, horrible and pathetic seem almost noble in it's broken and twisted sort of way. If a life such as Lolita's were visited upon someone we knew and loved, and I mean really loved (think platonic or family love, NOT an objectifying sexual obsession), we would be devastated. In today's culture young girls (and boys) are still sexualized, but it's not as openly accepted as high art as it seemed to be back a decade or two ago. These days 'art' like that is most often frowned upon and criticized. Of course, there is internet porn and pedophilia, more prevalent than ever for sure, but not socially acceptable and artfully or openly celebrated as it was in the late 60s-70s-early 80s. If anything, it's considered exploitation and a plague on society, and rightly so.

You might not recall Brook Sheilds' & Nastassja Kinski's early careers, but I do. Girls like them made life for men like Roman Polanski possible. I was among their era and found myself awash in similar but less overt circumstances in those times. We were the willing nymphs in our own de-flowering, but we were too young and too naive to realize it. We were the immediate beneficiaries of the sexual revolution, and we reciprocated in kind. It was a heady time. There was great freedom but very little responsibility and when you don't have both, someone gets hurt.

And really, the down side to the Sexual Revolution, which is now only fully realized in retrospect, is the sexual part of it. The civil aspects of it, equal pay for equal work and equal rights - were the crux of it, and the noble and best part of That Revolution. Sadly that is where our society still lags behind. But we have all sorts of sexual freedom and we have the diseases, the guilt the broken relationships and every ill-gotten aspect of it. We are free to indulge in every dimension of sexual freedom, and I don't think we as individuals, or society is any better or happier for it, in a general sense.

When I was the child, it seemed a good thing to forge ahead into every experience I could imagine and had read about. When I was an adult with children of my own at the very same age as I was when I tried such things, I had a crystal-clear picture of how unready and ill-prepared I really was. It is the height of selfishness for an adult to coerce a child into adult practices of any kind. We realize now that our thinking and decision making brain-parts are not fully formed until our mid-20s. Yet common sense in such matters took a huge slide around that time (70's/80's), and many adults, gladly encouraged the promiscuity of very young people for the sake of freedom. It was not unheard of for some adult within ones sphere of acquaintance to provide the very under-aged with drugs, alcohol and art, either real or questionable, in the form of literature or movies. In times past, it would not have been so widely accepted, and now since that era, it has fallen out of favor. I don't necessarily think all of these 'Svengalis' were purely evil and out to harm, I do think some were naive themselves, still navigating the new cultural and artistic freedoms without the benefit of hindsight. Some were simply misguided, and still some were just sick and perverted.

It has taken me a long time to fully recognize and understand this. When I was a girl, it seemed very hip and very romantic to have the attention of older men. When I was a girl I thought the parents of my friends who permitted them to get drunk and high were wonderful. Still I retained a slight uncomfortable notion, about it. Those situations could be scary and out of control and they could very likely lead to complicated consequences. For me, it has been years of processing all of those things, and dealing with the issues they caused in my life.

Exploitation of all kinds is worse now, with human trafficking and slavery global and more widespread than ever. Yet there are subtle differences. I don't think a movie like Pretty Baby could be made today, or at least have the same kind of universal praise for it's controversial subject, which titillated more than it shone a light on the ugly underbelly of prostitution. There is a great collective frown nowadays from a wide swathe of the population when the underage pretty young stars of our day get too adult and sexy. It seems to hurt their careers rather than help them (Remember Miley and the pole dance, anyone?). Roman Polanski's career has been greatly overshadowed by his controversial illegal activity regarding this subject, and that has probably limited him a great deal, no matter how brilliant a director he is. Brooke Shields disclosed she's on anti-depressants, particularly needing them during postpartum. She has spoken frankly about her body image issues, and one wonders that she might not have had such pronounced issues if she had not been placed on a pedestal of sexual desirability before she was even in high school. Just speculating. It's just not as socially acceptable for kids to have the same kind of early career as she and Nastassja Kinski had. I often wonder how Nabokov's Lolita, if she lived, would have fared in the years after her life with Humbert, and what her opinion and evaluation of her life would be, at different times say in her 20's, 30's 40's and beyond. But of course, Lolita is fiction, and the best kind of fiction in the salacious and seductive world of under-aged sex-goddesses - she died young and stayed pretty and never became a fully grown and fully realized woman.



Above picture by Pink On Head.

More Tragedy Than Usual

I love my new home of these past two and a half years, however there seems to be more tragedy than usual around. The preschool/day care where I recently worked, and still occasionally substitute, is a prime example of that. Since I have been in the school's employ and aware of circumstances there, three separate parents of three different school students committed suicide. Another student was violently assaulted and raped by other children in their neighborhood. The most recent tragedy happened a few days ago when a 3 year old accidentally drowned. This is all in one school, not happening at the school itself, mind you, but in the home lives and families of school students. This is not including other situations that don't directly relate to that school. There have been other sad tragedies in the community and within our church family. I know I recently resolved to keep this online journal equal parts cheerful and melancholy, but perhaps this will give you insight into why melancholy is my near companion. On the front lines of ministry as my family and I are, I suppose we are more vulnerable to these most difficult times within families and communities. But really now, I could use a few more marriages and baby dedications to balance out the funerals and sorrowful events.

So, I'm mourning with those that mourn, ya'll (see here). I'm hugging my own family a little tighter and I'm realizing that you never know when your time might be up, and it wouldn't hurt to mend a few fences and (re)build a few bridges and most importantly "not let the sun go down on your(my!) anger" particularly with those who share one's address, and even over seemingly small and insignificant quarrels. It also doesn't hurt to make your peace with God, a.s.a.p., see here for details.

Say a prayer for us here in this community, please.

My hope:

"And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” Then He who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” And He said to me,“Write, for these words are true and faithful.”
-Revelation 21:4-5

Photo by The Doctr.

A Misty Morning - journal entry

This morning I awoke to a wet mist. A definite smell of salt, ocean and mangroves invaded my nostrils, and filled the air with a tangible dampness. Reminding me of something old and familiar, yet undefinable: a goodness I associate with being at or near the ocean. I am blessed to be where I am, on a little island. I realized that I had not been outside for a substantial amount of time in a few days. That old enemy, depression, was lurking about and I'd better do my best to make myself inhospitable to him. I need some Sonlight in my soul, I must read the Word, and I need sunlight by going for a walk.

Ch, Chh, Chh, Changes....

A recent post over at MMI had me thinking about change. MMI was discussing change in churches, but I am thinking of it generally as it relates to every facet in life. I have gone through more changes that you can count, and in so many ways. I think that I am one person who is not immediately adverse to change, but rather accepting of it. I'm not sure how I came to be that way but I suspect it was because my family made many moves when I was a child and two of them were major, cross-country moves. When we considered our last major change, about 2 years ago when we moved down here, my mother was very concerned about how the move would affect our oldest child who would begin his sophomore year of high school in our new home. I reminded my mom of all the moves they dragged me through, I went to 3 separate high schools, and it was halfway through my sophomore year that I settled into the high school I would graduate from. Change was very difficult and even painful for me back then, but I became grateful for it, and I believe that it only enriched my life. Nothing in this life ever stays the same. Everything changes, and yet nearly everyone I know is so resistant to it. Why is that?

Journal entry: When people show you who they are, believe them

This is a journal entry from some months ago. It's very personal stuff, might not be everyone's cup of tea. Winter/Spring 2010

photo by Paul Worthington

"When people show you who they are, believe them."
- Maya Angelou
quote from Batman Begins:
"...it's not who you are underneath, it's what you do that defines you."

About twelve years ago someone recommended the book "Boundaries" by Doctors Cloud and Townsend. In it's own way, you could consider it the Christian version of "Co-Dependent No More" which is the self-help bible for those in close relationships with addicts or abusive people of one kind or another. Besides the Bible, I think it is the book that most changed my life for the better. I had trouble with a variety of my relationships, let me just say that alcoholism was a factor in some of the relationships, though there were other factors as well. I was a doormat. I was loathe to say no to people when they asked me to do things for them, even things they shouldn't have asked, or things that most people wouldn't dare to ask. I would put up with rude comments without complaint or acknowledgment. Instead of expressing my thoughts and feelings in a healthy way, I would internalize it and have a lot of seething anger and resentment. I believe God sent those books into my life as a supplement for the way He was changing me, helping me and growing me as His child and follower. So with much prayer I went forward and those books helped me to implement healthy tools and ways of coping with not only difficult people, but every person in my life.

The amazing thing was, when I began setting the healthy boundaries my relationships with a few people improved! However, the improvement wasn't until after an initial difficult period of time. The transition was uncomfortable. Some people didn't want to respect my healthy boundaries at first. Eventually they did, though, and then our relationship grew and flourished. A new, improved relationship was built out of the ashes of the old one. There was more respect and honesty. It was/is great.

I thought that because I experienced this good growth and change in a few relationships, that all my relationships would be that way! Boy, was I wrong! And I say that with wide eyes and a smile on my face, even though it's sad to lose friends. I don't think I consciously believed that, or even thought much about my new boundary changes bringing healing and good in my all relationships in those specific terms. I think it was more of me just not realizing that simply because I was ready for health and change for the better, everyone else would be as well. Do all of us have a tendency to automatically view people from the filter of our experience, rather than realizing that every single individual has a different perception and perspective on life? I am guilty of that. I think sometimes because I try to be a loyal friend and have an open heart everyone else is basically that way, but they are not, no more than everyone loves dark chocolate and Monty Python like I do. Surely some people want a friend who is a doormat. They aren't interested if the rug they wipe their feet on is ready to be wall tapestry. Some are not out-and-out users, to be sure, but they simply don't want the slightest change at all.

I found this particularly hard to accept in my friends that were confessed Christians. I know we are not to judge, lest we ourselves be judged. I do know that we are permitted to "inspect fruit," as another pastor's wife so succinctly put it. All I can observe is how these individuals treat me, my family and others. I cannot look into their heart and mind to see whether or not their soul's anchor is in Christ, and I know with certainty that I am not better than them or anyone else. All I can do or say is that that their treatment and actions toward me and my family was not kind or biblical. That threw me for a loop, when we subscribe to the same faith, and all the ethics and values that entails.

This got me thinking about something else recently, the basics of Christianity. Call it Jesus 101. The two great commandments Christ gave, the second one being the golden rule. If people don't love themselves, how can they love others? I'm not talking about narcissistic dysfunction and over-inflated self love. I'm talking about basically liking themselves and being comfortable with themself. Have you ever been so unhappy with yourself that you obsessed and criticized many things about yourself or others? Maybe you haven't been that way but maybe you know someone else like that. The phrase low self esteem, is tossed around so much, but I am pausing and thinking about what those words really mean. Low self esteem rears its ugly head in a variety of ways. Some internalize and some externalize. If you don't treat yourself well how can you treat others well? I am realizing that some people are just not happy with themselves, on the most basic level. Their unhappiness seeps on to those around them, sometimes it's mild and sometimes it's brash, sometimes it's subtle and sometimes overty. Just my own thoughts as I work through life.

That Old Thing

The Thing*, the sad thing, the semi-tragic thing, which cast a dark cloud over my family appeared on the horizon again recently. It's a dark cloud. So many years have passed now that I often see it as a simple shady puff of remembrance, that blows in now and then, and then blows off again. However, and variously through other loved-ones, it threatened to cast a grim shadow, and anchor itself down. I will not tolerate that, and I will fan it away.

I am thinking of this because I reconnected with an old family friend who also went through that same situation. This thing* affected both our families. The course of our lives and my family's trajectory was profoundly changed and altered in so many ways. I remind myself that not all of the changes are bad. Things were lost and things were gained. We all tried to make the best of it.

We were confused, hurt, utterly naive and ill-prepared for what happened to us. Our families' connection grew apart because of the circumstances, and decisions we made while in the midst of it. I suppose there have been suspicions over the years, I know my emotions and thoughts have followed various rabbit trails regarding the situation. I suppose it is common to consider that irrational notion that if our (relative's) paths never crossed none of this would had ever happened. That whole, 'I rue the day we met' kind of notion. Then there is the basic, human, self-preserving feeling that if those persons, places or things that remind us of the pain can be avoided so we'll be reminded less, avoid we shall. It's nothing personal it's just what our hearts need to do to survive at the time.

Anyway, all of that must fall away. Time has been served and the past should stay there in its rightful place. I don't want to nurse even the slightest negativity or lack of compassion toward those who were very similarly affected by The Thing*. Time does bring a resolve and an acceptance. I know the pain of the circumstances and what was lost: the dignity, the relationships, and many other things. So much hurt fell upon both our families. I have said it before and I will say it again, as a mantra to myself and a testimony to the only sure truth I have ever found, life hurts but God heals.

-------

So, I wrote that today. As I was looking for a Flickr Commons photo to illustrate (clouds) the entry, I thought to listen to Joni Mitchell's Both Sides Now, as I browsed, because of the clouds. I did not realize the outcome, and I find myself crying, ugly and bitterly because I am missing my father very much. I like Judy Collin's version of the song better.
Then, I thought of the Faulkner quote, "The past is never dead. It's not even past."
This thing is mostly past, I think.


Photo by eye of einstein.