This afternoon, I experienced a mega epiphany. Still stressed out from yesterday's events & personal calamities, I was thrashing the events of last night & this morning out with John as we drove from Warminster to home. Was still stunned how EVERYTHING he did on Friday seemed designed to intensify, not lessen, my stress levels.
Amidst the barrage of justification was one comment, something said almost to himself, low & quiet - "Your stress stressed me."
WELL, if that didn't beat all!! He blamed ME for his callous disregard, he put it on me AGAIN, he made it MY fault. He never ever did anything to make difficult situations easier to handle, he never changed how he handled things, he never... EXCEPT, it hit me, he did. He HAD made changes in how he responded to things. When things go wrong, he doesn't say, "I am so stupid" or something similarly self-negating that sends his brain a negative message; now, he just says a fairly neutral, "Duh." That might not sound like much, but to me it is HUGE. Where he once really did always launch into some wild justification for why he did something that negatively affected me, now he just says, right off the bat, "I'm sorry."
Those are BIG steps. And I was being unfair in saying he'd made no progress.
I apologized.
What drove me nuts was John's INSISTENCE that if a similar situation happens again, he won't reflect my stress. Ha! Stress is involuntary. But he insisted that NEXT time...
About an hour or so later, it hit me that John is seriously unable to detach himself from my stress if I am wigging out. John may possibly always frazz when I'm seriously stressed & need him most - it's just not something he can offer. And that is perfectly okay. What drives me cuckoo for Coco Puffs is him insisting that he WILL, when experience shrieks the odds are against it.
A while later, a second epiphany struck - John has good company. Dad couldn't handle it when Mom got stressed either. On the other hand, I am likely to step back & look for context. Once I caught onto that - and the fact that John has GOT to stop assuring me that he'll respond differently next time when experience says it ain't going to be so - my upset ceased. It made sense, which is what matters to me. Understanding has always been my key to making sense & finding peace.
Which lead to my 3rd epiphany of the day - that quality of snapping out of the worst dark times when something goes from obfuscated to clear is one of the things that absolutely positively drives Mim around the bend. We share totally different ways of processing information & (more importantly) emotions. If she is distressed by something, it typically takes her a long time to process through from one side to the other. Not me - it can take just an instant to change from freaked out to "Oh, now I get it." That drove Mim bonkers - she could NOT accept that fresh new understanding could hit so swiftly.
For a day that started with me feeling still totally frayed from yesterday's baking misadventures & what felt like John's inexplicable behavior, it turned out to be a mega epiphany for me about how John ticks, for him that it's okay with him to be a virtually useless support in my times of stress (and, I suspect, serious illness) as long as he doesn't keep insisting that NEXT time h deliver the most healing support. Ain't going to happen - accept & deal with it. And I could understand anew how being me could drive Mim utterly completely intensely around the bend.
What a blessing to be able to welcome epiphanies when they arrive on my door step, even they show up lookng like a ruptured romance & mangled marriage.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
no, nay, never
My experience with my family was of being expected - without being asked - to be wherever I needed to be whenever I was wanted. It was most certainly Mom's expectation of me, especially when it was Mim who wanted the help. And the fact was that it was in me to be there. My challenge was that Mom could never, to her last days, understand the difference between need & want. To her last days, she was only - to the best of my knowledge - able once to put my own wants & needs before my sibs.
For years, I'd grouse that she expected me to be the rock for the rest of them ~AND~ for myself, since the rest of them seemed clueless about reciprocation. That would have been okay with me - some people are good at certain things, some aren't - IF Mom hadn't also acted like she/they had my back, too.
Never ever ever did I think those anguish-filled days before the light finally dawned would actually serve a vital use. Surprise! They are!
Yesterday, I was truly frazzed. Everything i was making for today's B.A. Bounty went wrong. The word for the day was S T R E S S. Which is why I asked John to be chauffeur for the night.
Big mistake.
Over the next four hours, he took my stress & zoomed it up into the stratosphere. Not going to record what he did, but each amazing moment was incredibly distressing.
This afternoon, he revealed the why - instead of kicking into support mode, my stress stressed him out, so instead of doing things that would help soothe me, he went off the deep end of driving me crazy.
I get it. It's not an unusual response, especially with guys. But the thing that gripes my soul is that he insists that he will be there for me at a later crisis. He doesn't get that it's not going to happen. His response isn't voluntary, he doesn't choose to wig out in response to my stress. It happens. Accept it & let's move on. But to be that way & insist you're the opposite? Been there. Never again.
For years, I'd grouse that she expected me to be the rock for the rest of them ~AND~ for myself, since the rest of them seemed clueless about reciprocation. That would have been okay with me - some people are good at certain things, some aren't - IF Mom hadn't also acted like she/they had my back, too.
Never ever ever did I think those anguish-filled days before the light finally dawned would actually serve a vital use. Surprise! They are!
Yesterday, I was truly frazzed. Everything i was making for today's B.A. Bounty went wrong. The word for the day was S T R E S S. Which is why I asked John to be chauffeur for the night.
Big mistake.
Over the next four hours, he took my stress & zoomed it up into the stratosphere. Not going to record what he did, but each amazing moment was incredibly distressing.
This afternoon, he revealed the why - instead of kicking into support mode, my stress stressed him out, so instead of doing things that would help soothe me, he went off the deep end of driving me crazy.
I get it. It's not an unusual response, especially with guys. But the thing that gripes my soul is that he insists that he will be there for me at a later crisis. He doesn't get that it's not going to happen. His response isn't voluntary, he doesn't choose to wig out in response to my stress. It happens. Accept it & let's move on. But to be that way & insist you're the opposite? Been there. Never again.
Friday, May 30, 2014
One Book, One Family
Books
are a
recurring theme throughout my family experience. At Christmas, each
child, however old, always received a book & it was always one of
our favorite presents.
In our home, books were almost sacred. In 7th or 8th grade, my Christmas book was Gone With The Wind (I was a precocious reader) - my hands can still feel the sheer heft of the book, my fingers remember the sensation of turning the pages.
Mom loved to read to us. I remember having a terrible case of strep throat & Mom's constant presence by my bedside, reading reading reading. She loved to tell about reading The Birds' Christmas Carol to Peter when he was little & suddenly worrying that he might be distressed at how it ended. She came to the last part, doing her best not to cry. Peter looked up at her with a tear-stained face & asked, "Please, read it again." One of my brothers balked whenever it was his turn to do the dishes. Mom struck a bargain - she would read as he washed, then dried the supper dishes. Win-win.
Mom was a book druid - she couldn't bear to part with a book once it entered the house. After she was reunited with her O Best Beloved, it took four trips to BATS to clear out her book collection. If any book had page #s noted at the front, it was saved, along with her most dearly beloved. Had I enjoyed Rosamunde Pilcher, tracking down those pages & passages would have revealed just how clearly Mom saw certain people - on the other hand, how wondrous to find out after she was gone. Blessings from books, even after death!
There weren't a lot of things that connected us kids with each other, but books certainly did. We delighted in The Tale of Timmy Tiptoes (there was a period in Peter's very young life when he would only answer to Timmy Tiptoes), entertained by a baby elephant on the great grey green greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees, wept at the end of The Birds' Christmas Carol.
Our shared love of books, that experience of a mother who read to us, came into play four years ago.
Over the years, my brothers & sister had disappeared from my life. I missed being a sister, missed being their sister. But I was stumped on how to crack open the door to a possible new connection, whatever that might look or feel like. In so many ways, especially communication styles, my sibs & I are light years apart. How to approach people who are non-verbal, who seem more comfortable with easy disconnection than bonding?
Then, about four years ago, inspiration struck!
John & I were down in Philadelphia to hear Gretchen Rubin talk about her new book, The Happiness Project. On the drive home, I noticed banners hanging along Broad Street – One Book, One City. As soon as we got home, I did an online search.
One Book, One City dates back to 2003. The brain child of Stephanie Naidoff, its goal is “to promote reading, literacy, and libraries, and to encourage the entire greater Philadelphia are to come together through reading and discussing a single book.”
Hmmmm… What worked for the City of Brotherly Love just might work for my USA-based family!
Every other month, I picked out & shipped off a book to Peter in Pa & Mim in NJ (too $$ to include Mike in Australia), one carefully selected to catch their interest. Each was inscribed with “One book, one family” and the month & year. I did that for eighteen months, eight books & one dvd.
Friends thought I was bonkers. “Why spend money on three books & postage for two when they never even let you know they got them?” My friends meant well, but didn’t understand that this was the only thing I could do to try to forge some precious thread of healthy connection. I'd do it for as long as it felt right.
After the 7th book & no word from either sib, my attempt to literally put us on the same page wasn’t having its hoped for effect. They were being received – praise be for tracking mail! – but not acknowledged. It felt good to know I’d shot my bow; if the arrows missed their target, at least I’d tried.
Without a hint of regret, I informed John that my ninth choice would be my last.
My last choice was given extra special consideration. My goal was to find a book that was too spot-on with both of them to NOT elicit at least a short “Got it.” The choice revealed itself to me as I was driving, listening to George Dohrmann being interviewed on NPR about his book, Play Their Hearts Out, A Coach, His Star Recruit, and the YouthBasketball Machine.
Eureka!
The story was sure to connect – “Following a team of pre-adolescents from its humble origins through national championships and high school, PLAY THEIR HEARTS OUT exposes a shady system in which talent is a commodity even before puberty and where big business rules the day.”
And it did. Mim let me know she received it. Just one line, a few words, but to me it was the BEST thing I’d read in years! And, together, from that beginning we’ve built a connection. We send things to each other through the mail – she sends me clippings, I send off whoopie pies & magazine articles – and occasionally talk on the phone.
Through Mim, Peter & I reconnected. He sends me clippings, too, and I send him notes & cards.
It is a connection that seems to work for all of us. They don’t let my irksome ways get on their nerves & I don’t go batty with their triangulated communication style. We step lightly, but I like to think tenderly.
Thanks, Stephanie, for the great idea. Thanks, Philadelphia, for over a decade of following through on her inspiration. Thanks, George, for the book. And thanks, Mim & Peter, for the reconnect.
One book + one family = bliss.
In our home, books were almost sacred. In 7th or 8th grade, my Christmas book was Gone With The Wind (I was a precocious reader) - my hands can still feel the sheer heft of the book, my fingers remember the sensation of turning the pages.
Mom loved to read to us. I remember having a terrible case of strep throat & Mom's constant presence by my bedside, reading reading reading. She loved to tell about reading The Birds' Christmas Carol to Peter when he was little & suddenly worrying that he might be distressed at how it ended. She came to the last part, doing her best not to cry. Peter looked up at her with a tear-stained face & asked, "Please, read it again." One of my brothers balked whenever it was his turn to do the dishes. Mom struck a bargain - she would read as he washed, then dried the supper dishes. Win-win.
Mom was a book druid - she couldn't bear to part with a book once it entered the house. After she was reunited with her O Best Beloved, it took four trips to BATS to clear out her book collection. If any book had page #s noted at the front, it was saved, along with her most dearly beloved. Had I enjoyed Rosamunde Pilcher, tracking down those pages & passages would have revealed just how clearly Mom saw certain people - on the other hand, how wondrous to find out after she was gone. Blessings from books, even after death!
There weren't a lot of things that connected us kids with each other, but books certainly did. We delighted in The Tale of Timmy Tiptoes (there was a period in Peter's very young life when he would only answer to Timmy Tiptoes), entertained by a baby elephant on the great grey green greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees, wept at the end of The Birds' Christmas Carol.
Our shared love of books, that experience of a mother who read to us, came into play four years ago.
Over the years, my brothers & sister had disappeared from my life. I missed being a sister, missed being their sister. But I was stumped on how to crack open the door to a possible new connection, whatever that might look or feel like. In so many ways, especially communication styles, my sibs & I are light years apart. How to approach people who are non-verbal, who seem more comfortable with easy disconnection than bonding?
Then, about four years ago, inspiration struck!
John & I were down in Philadelphia to hear Gretchen Rubin talk about her new book, The Happiness Project. On the drive home, I noticed banners hanging along Broad Street – One Book, One City. As soon as we got home, I did an online search.
One Book, One City dates back to 2003. The brain child of Stephanie Naidoff, its goal is “to promote reading, literacy, and libraries, and to encourage the entire greater Philadelphia are to come together through reading and discussing a single book.”
Hmmmm… What worked for the City of Brotherly Love just might work for my USA-based family!
Every other month, I picked out & shipped off a book to Peter in Pa & Mim in NJ (too $$ to include Mike in Australia), one carefully selected to catch their interest. Each was inscribed with “One book, one family” and the month & year. I did that for eighteen months, eight books & one dvd.
Friends thought I was bonkers. “Why spend money on three books & postage for two when they never even let you know they got them?” My friends meant well, but didn’t understand that this was the only thing I could do to try to forge some precious thread of healthy connection. I'd do it for as long as it felt right.
After the 7th book & no word from either sib, my attempt to literally put us on the same page wasn’t having its hoped for effect. They were being received – praise be for tracking mail! – but not acknowledged. It felt good to know I’d shot my bow; if the arrows missed their target, at least I’d tried.
Without a hint of regret, I informed John that my ninth choice would be my last.
My last choice was given extra special consideration. My goal was to find a book that was too spot-on with both of them to NOT elicit at least a short “Got it.” The choice revealed itself to me as I was driving, listening to George Dohrmann being interviewed on NPR about his book, Play Their Hearts Out, A Coach, His Star Recruit, and the YouthBasketball Machine.
Eureka!
The story was sure to connect – “Following a team of pre-adolescents from its humble origins through national championships and high school, PLAY THEIR HEARTS OUT exposes a shady system in which talent is a commodity even before puberty and where big business rules the day.”
And it did. Mim let me know she received it. Just one line, a few words, but to me it was the BEST thing I’d read in years! And, together, from that beginning we’ve built a connection. We send things to each other through the mail – she sends me clippings, I send off whoopie pies & magazine articles – and occasionally talk on the phone.
Through Mim, Peter & I reconnected. He sends me clippings, too, and I send him notes & cards.
It is a connection that seems to work for all of us. They don’t let my irksome ways get on their nerves & I don’t go batty with their triangulated communication style. We step lightly, but I like to think tenderly.
Thanks, Stephanie, for the great idea. Thanks, Philadelphia, for over a decade of following through on her inspiration. Thanks, George, for the book. And thanks, Mim & Peter, for the reconnect.
One book + one family = bliss.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
wrapping in hugs
Over the decades, certain words from each of my surviving family members helped illuminate what to expect from each of them.
From Mom - "I thought I could. I can't."
From Dad - "Kay, I'm only taking her at her word. She said she didn't care if she went trick or treating on Halloween."
From Peter - "How could anything I did cause YOU any harm? I wasn't in your life enough to cause harm."
From Mike (in a letter to Mom) - "If you are doing this (seeking a clearer sense idea of who SHE was) because it makes your children happy, it doesn't."
From Mim - "I bet you think that I talk to Mark (her psychologist) about you a lot. I never talk with him about you."
ONE of those defining statements infer an appreciation of healthy adult attitudes. Dad's - god bless him!! Someone in the family had some expectation, however fleeting, of adult behaviors from the rest of us. Even in 6th grade, I got it & appreciated the lesson.
Way over a quarter century later, Peter would - in a blessed 60-minute joint session we shared with a counselor - point to that very statement as a primary example of what an atrocious father we had, while I experienced it, even at the time (!), as the gold standard of good solid parenting. Oh, I wept & wailed & begged Dad to let me go out on Halloween. Mom beseeched him - "Pete, she's just a little girl." But Dad held firm - he took me at my word.
In 6th grade, I learned the lesson to be careful what I say, because people will take me at my word.
So, a big high five & hug to Dad! Wrapping each of the others in a tender hug - it wasn't easy having me for a baby sister, perhaps especially after Ian died. Because they had difficulties with my who & how, Mom did too. Or maybe she considered me as UN as the rest. Poor woman, trying to create a placid family life when how we saw & what we sought from life was so wildly different.
How luscious to be 62, looking back & seeing only love & learning. Taking a moment to hug myself!!!
From Mom - "I thought I could. I can't."
From Dad - "Kay, I'm only taking her at her word. She said she didn't care if she went trick or treating on Halloween."
From Peter - "How could anything I did cause YOU any harm? I wasn't in your life enough to cause harm."
From Mike (in a letter to Mom) - "If you are doing this (seeking a clearer sense idea of who SHE was) because it makes your children happy, it doesn't."
From Mim - "I bet you think that I talk to Mark (her psychologist) about you a lot. I never talk with him about you."
ONE of those defining statements infer an appreciation of healthy adult attitudes. Dad's - god bless him!! Someone in the family had some expectation, however fleeting, of adult behaviors from the rest of us. Even in 6th grade, I got it & appreciated the lesson.
Way over a quarter century later, Peter would - in a blessed 60-minute joint session we shared with a counselor - point to that very statement as a primary example of what an atrocious father we had, while I experienced it, even at the time (!), as the gold standard of good solid parenting. Oh, I wept & wailed & begged Dad to let me go out on Halloween. Mom beseeched him - "Pete, she's just a little girl." But Dad held firm - he took me at my word.
In 6th grade, I learned the lesson to be careful what I say, because people will take me at my word.
So, a big high five & hug to Dad! Wrapping each of the others in a tender hug - it wasn't easy having me for a baby sister, perhaps especially after Ian died. Because they had difficulties with my who & how, Mom did too. Or maybe she considered me as UN as the rest. Poor woman, trying to create a placid family life when how we saw & what we sought from life was so wildly different.
How luscious to be 62, looking back & seeing only love & learning. Taking a moment to hug myself!!!
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
whiz bang awesome
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
What jubilation to realize that I'm not just the luckiest Lockhart - feels like I'm the most blessed, too.
Someone mentioned that my life seemed to have been upended by "much younger child" syndrome. And it struck me how right she was. It was a condition that affected everyone in the family; in many ways, me least of all.
Well, jubilation T cornpone if that ain't right!! Which would I rather be - me or them? Myself, thank you. And here's to each of them preferring to be exactly the way they are rather than like me or anyone else. Safe & snug in their own skin.
Everything around me feels whiz bang awesome!!! And that ain't no secret!!
What jubilation to realize that I'm not just the luckiest Lockhart - feels like I'm the most blessed, too.
Someone mentioned that my life seemed to have been upended by "much younger child" syndrome. And it struck me how right she was. It was a condition that affected everyone in the family; in many ways, me least of all.
Well, jubilation T cornpone if that ain't right!! Which would I rather be - me or them? Myself, thank you. And here's to each of them preferring to be exactly the way they are rather than like me or anyone else. Safe & snug in their own skin.
Everything around me feels whiz bang awesome!!! And that ain't no secret!!
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
the stuff that dreams are made of
In the wee small hours of this morning, side-by-side dreams garnered several AH HA! moments.
Twice I had dreams about fathers of children in classes that got monthly delivery of my baked goodies. Both asked, "Why does the American Beef Council have you (me) do that for our kids?"
Both times, I answered, "I am the American Beef Council."
In the dreams, both dads looked at me, disbelieving & wondering why I'd make nibblings for their kids over the years & say I was doing it on behalf of a corporate entity. Both times, I shared my experience that others found it easier to accept that an impersonal business group would sponsor it than someone with no personal ties & little money.
The American Beef Council bit was totally the fluff & fiction of dreams, but the rest has been - over many, many years - my experience. People DO tend to find it weird that I do things for kids with no connection to me other than breathing on the same planet at the same time. Ditto for adults I barely know, for olders with no other connection than holding my respect.
No one has summed up my WHY better than a young friend, long ago. In my B.C. years - before cats - I'd often hold creativity workshops for kids at my home. No charge, no kidding. Gray was a regular. One time, he brought a friend. This young boy seemed a bit uncertain of himself. Finally, he came over to me & asked, "Why do you do this if you don't charge any money?" He couldn't figure out what I got out of the deal.
Before I could respond, Gray looked over at him, rolled his eyes, and responded, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, "Because she loves us."
He said it all. All of "us" ~ whoever "us" might be at any given moment. Wholly & completely & blissfully.
In my experience, Gray represents the teeny percentage of people who get it. Most are like the friend, wondering what I get out of the deal. Most would find it easier to buy a cover story like the American Beef Council underwriting such efforts than an occasionally financially-challenged individual doing it for the love of life & living.
When I woke up this morning & shared the double dreams with John, it made me recall - who knows why - the scathing response of numerous GOP pundits to the hashtag #bringhomeourgirls. What does it say about them that they don't get wanting to do something, anything, even if it mere symbolism of drawing together over a massive grievous wrong? What do we get out of the deal of taking a picture holding a placard? What does it say that they don't get that there are times that resorting to symbolism is all you can do when you're powerless - for so many reasons - to do more? They ridicule FLOTUS holding up the hashtag, not getting that it didn't originate with her but that she was showing solidarity with the thousands of Nigerians - women & men - grieving their stolen girls. What does it say that Ann Coulter & her ilk just don't get it?
What would she think about a woman like me, investing time, energy & money doing things for kids who barely know who I am, when they know me at all? My guess is that I'd be open to ridicule, too.
Over the years, I've certainly experienced people - young & old - openly wondering why I'd take a 1st grade under my wing & do things for the class, straight through their high school senior year. Why I'd do it for the ANC Classes of 2010, 2011 (Girls School only), 2013, 2016, 2023. Like Ann Coulter with the hashtag, they just don't get it. To a shocking# of them, it's a waste of my resources.
Heck, I didn't really have much of a clue why it was important for me. Now, in May 2014, it's quite clear. "My" ANC Class of 2010 are now Class of 2014 graduates from countless colleges & universities. My 1st graders are all grown up. And I got glimpses of those journeys. What did I get out of the deal? Riches beyond my wildest dreams.
After last night, I know what to say when someone asks me - and they will - "Why do you put yourself out, spending time & money, to do things for others who rarely take the time to pause & acknowledge, let alone thank you; when so many find it at least a little strange, are even put off by it; when there is no tangible pay back in it for you?"
The fact is I didn't expect any sort of acknowledgment, let alone thanks - I grew up with that as a given. I wasn't ruffled or in the least disturbed when others found actions suspect, assumed a hidden agenda - I grew up with that as the norm. I didn't expect any special pay back for investing my time, energies, resources - I didn't get any growing up. My personal WHY for doing any of it was that doing for others has always been a delightful way of honoring & celebrating the beauty of life. It's not special; just grew up that way.
Maybe the dreams came to me last night because I spent the morning beyond blissed out, helping Lori Soneson Odhner at a Mom's Morning Out - parents dropped off kinder (barely toddler to almost pre-school age) & volunteers like moi kept them engaged & happy.
Afterward, I walked down to Be Well Bakery & Cafe, where I ran into a group of "my" Class of 2010 kinder, basking in the warm afternoon sun & the glow of their recent/imminent college/university graduations. I was greeted with the warm embrace of smiles & dancing happy eyes, a sense of light-heart, light-touch affection - and that was NOT something I grew up feeling. Boy, howdy, did I get it from them!
It's a pay back I get every time I see parents post a graduation picture on Facebook. I get it from the smiles & waves of schoolmates when we spot each other at homecoming, from long-ago DEKA members who remember me dropping off goodies for gals far from home, from Grant Hall residents who remember similar nibblings & offers to take them on bops around the area, from BAC students the Gramster & I fed as the "Mom Squad" which I changed to the "Muffin Lady" after she was reunited with Dad, from the BACS grades I took under my wing over the years.
Receiving so much more than I ever expected, it's pretty clear to me that I got the best part of the deal.
Still do. Can't describe how it feels to hear my Cairnwood Village friends delight over a Monday Minister's Tea spread - for me, it's pay back for all they've done for all of us throughout their lives.
Can't describe the great fun of putting on an after-church spread; about as close as this Martha Stewart wanna-be gets to entertaining in my A.C. (after cats) life.
Or my startled glee at having one of the college students hear Laura call me "Deev" & ask for an intro - "I've always wondered if there really is an Aunt Deev & now I got to meet you! Thanks for the goodies for Grant Hall & the college."
Or how it feels at Charter Day when someone confides that a nibbling from me or a casual wave, a caring smile wave made a difference during a difficult time way back when.
At 62, it's clear that investing time, energy, resources into doing for others - strangers, friends or family - is a big deal for me. I grew up doing it, love doing it in the here & now, can envision a long life of doing a lot more. If others find it weird or suspect or would have an easier time buying that an impersonal entity like the American Beef Council would sponsor it rather than Tiggerish, vegetarian Pollyanna ME, then so be it. Wrapped up in too much glee to care!!
Thank you to whatever inner, outer or Upper inspirations brought this morning's dreams. They stirred me deeply, leading to this post & plans for a bunch more. What undreamt-of riches grace my life!
Life is all about paying forward. Always has been, always will be. It is such stuff as life is made of. Just wish everyone grew up believing that - more fun for all!
Twice I had dreams about fathers of children in classes that got monthly delivery of my baked goodies. Both asked, "Why does the American Beef Council have you (me) do that for our kids?"
Both times, I answered, "I am the American Beef Council."
In the dreams, both dads looked at me, disbelieving & wondering why I'd make nibblings for their kids over the years & say I was doing it on behalf of a corporate entity. Both times, I shared my experience that others found it easier to accept that an impersonal business group would sponsor it than someone with no personal ties & little money.
The American Beef Council bit was totally the fluff & fiction of dreams, but the rest has been - over many, many years - my experience. People DO tend to find it weird that I do things for kids with no connection to me other than breathing on the same planet at the same time. Ditto for adults I barely know, for olders with no other connection than holding my respect.
No one has summed up my WHY better than a young friend, long ago. In my B.C. years - before cats - I'd often hold creativity workshops for kids at my home. No charge, no kidding. Gray was a regular. One time, he brought a friend. This young boy seemed a bit uncertain of himself. Finally, he came over to me & asked, "Why do you do this if you don't charge any money?" He couldn't figure out what I got out of the deal.
Before I could respond, Gray looked over at him, rolled his eyes, and responded, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, "Because she loves us."
He said it all. All of "us" ~ whoever "us" might be at any given moment. Wholly & completely & blissfully.
In my experience, Gray represents the teeny percentage of people who get it. Most are like the friend, wondering what I get out of the deal. Most would find it easier to buy a cover story like the American Beef Council underwriting such efforts than an occasionally financially-challenged individual doing it for the love of life & living.
When I woke up this morning & shared the double dreams with John, it made me recall - who knows why - the scathing response of numerous GOP pundits to the hashtag #bringhomeourgirls. What does it say about them that they don't get wanting to do something, anything, even if it mere symbolism of drawing together over a massive grievous wrong? What do we get out of the deal of taking a picture holding a placard? What does it say that they don't get that there are times that resorting to symbolism is all you can do when you're powerless - for so many reasons - to do more? They ridicule FLOTUS holding up the hashtag, not getting that it didn't originate with her but that she was showing solidarity with the thousands of Nigerians - women & men - grieving their stolen girls. What does it say that Ann Coulter & her ilk just don't get it?
What would she think about a woman like me, investing time, energy & money doing things for kids who barely know who I am, when they know me at all? My guess is that I'd be open to ridicule, too.
Over the years, I've certainly experienced people - young & old - openly wondering why I'd take a 1st grade under my wing & do things for the class, straight through their high school senior year. Why I'd do it for the ANC Classes of 2010, 2011 (Girls School only), 2013, 2016, 2023. Like Ann Coulter with the hashtag, they just don't get it. To a shocking
Heck, I didn't really have much of a clue why it was important for me. Now, in May 2014, it's quite clear. "My" ANC Class of 2010 are now Class of 2014 graduates from countless colleges & universities. My 1st graders are all grown up. And I got glimpses of those journeys. What did I get out of the deal? Riches beyond my wildest dreams.
After last night, I know what to say when someone asks me - and they will - "Why do you put yourself out, spending time & money, to do things for others who rarely take the time to pause & acknowledge, let alone thank you; when so many find it at least a little strange, are even put off by it; when there is no tangible pay back in it for you?"
The fact is I didn't expect any sort of acknowledgment, let alone thanks - I grew up with that as a given. I wasn't ruffled or in the least disturbed when others found actions suspect, assumed a hidden agenda - I grew up with that as the norm. I didn't expect any special pay back for investing my time, energies, resources - I didn't get any growing up. My personal WHY for doing any of it was that doing for others has always been a delightful way of honoring & celebrating the beauty of life. It's not special; just grew up that way.
Maybe the dreams came to me last night because I spent the morning beyond blissed out, helping Lori Soneson Odhner at a Mom's Morning Out - parents dropped off kinder (barely toddler to almost pre-school age) & volunteers like moi kept them engaged & happy.
Afterward, I walked down to Be Well Bakery & Cafe, where I ran into a group of "my" Class of 2010 kinder, basking in the warm afternoon sun & the glow of their recent/imminent college/university graduations. I was greeted with the warm embrace of smiles & dancing happy eyes, a sense of light-heart, light-touch affection - and that was NOT something I grew up feeling. Boy, howdy, did I get it from them!
It's a pay back I get every time I see parents post a graduation picture on Facebook. I get it from the smiles & waves of schoolmates when we spot each other at homecoming, from long-ago DEKA members who remember me dropping off goodies for gals far from home, from Grant Hall residents who remember similar nibblings & offers to take them on bops around the area, from BAC students the Gramster & I fed as the "Mom Squad" which I changed to the "Muffin Lady" after she was reunited with Dad, from the BACS grades I took under my wing over the years.
Receiving so much more than I ever expected, it's pretty clear to me that I got the best part of the deal.
Still do. Can't describe how it feels to hear my Cairnwood Village friends delight over a Monday Minister's Tea spread - for me, it's pay back for all they've done for all of us throughout their lives.
Can't describe the great fun of putting on an after-church spread; about as close as this Martha Stewart wanna-be gets to entertaining in my A.C. (after cats) life.
Or my startled glee at having one of the college students hear Laura call me "Deev" & ask for an intro - "I've always wondered if there really is an Aunt Deev & now I got to meet you! Thanks for the goodies for Grant Hall & the college."
Or how it feels at Charter Day when someone confides that a nibbling from me or a casual wave, a caring smile wave made a difference during a difficult time way back when.
At 62, it's clear that investing time, energy, resources into doing for others - strangers, friends or family - is a big deal for me. I grew up doing it, love doing it in the here & now, can envision a long life of doing a lot more. If others find it weird or suspect or would have an easier time buying that an impersonal entity like the American Beef Council would sponsor it rather than Tiggerish, vegetarian Pollyanna ME, then so be it. Wrapped up in too much glee to care!!
Thank you to whatever inner, outer or Upper inspirations brought this morning's dreams. They stirred me deeply, leading to this post & plans for a bunch more. What undreamt-of riches grace my life!
Life is all about paying forward. Always has been, always will be. It is such stuff as life is made of. Just wish everyone grew up believing that - more fun for all!
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
my father's daughter
Throughout my life, people have marveled at how much I am like my mother. Sheez, do they get it wrong! Mom & I are way more different than we are alike. In truth, I very much take after my father.
Like Mom, doing things for others - being of use - is central to my life. Our our why & how were light years apart.
Mom was all about doing what others wanted; she never grasped that wants & needs can be worlds apart. Doing what others want requires only action, not thought. Determining need requires thought & discernment & core judgment. As I experienced Mom, including the stories she'd tell about her years with Gran, those were qualities she couldn't - from her late teens - afford to develop & apply.
Just consider the different ways we responded to challenging realities around being present for our mother.
Mother's father died when she was 19. Gran, Aunt Betty & Mom moved in with Gran's father. After he died, Mom became the person that Gran - and the rest of the family - tagged as her primary support. The role was exclusively hers until Gran's death in 1955.
Being there for Gran was no walk in the park. From everything I've heard over the years, Gran was spectacularly self absorbed. It was all about her. It could not have been easy for Mom, even before she fell in love with Dad. Afterward, it was far worse, as Gran made no bones about being deeply jealous of him.
Gran did hurtful, incredibly damaging things without any apparent sense of the impact it had on others. She was startled by any negative blow-back. Frankly, she rarely had to deal with negative consequences to her breath-taking self-absorption; Mom's way of handling the gruesome reality of her life was to make her mother's actions okay. That was just the way Gran was, there was no changing her; why bother getting bothered when the problem would still be there tomorrow & the next day & the next? So Mom put on a smiling face & did what she had to do to get by.
All of which ultimately resulted her being institutionalized for a nervous breakdown (after or before Gran's death?), complete with shock treatments.
All that being so, I never heard Mom speak flat-out ill of Gran. She told horrific stories about things her mother did, but without censure. She never openly criticized Gran - she also never ever told a single happy story about her mother, either.
Mom survived having to be there for Gran by making it okay for her mother to be the gorgon she appears to have been. She made life "work" by telling herself that because there were reasons for her mother's behavior, the behavior was bearable, even when it wasn't.
Mom survived by not seeing what was right in front of her, not feeling what was all around her, not expecting that she had any right to a whole life.
That was NOT how I survived having similar responsibility for Mom.
Where Mom survived by keeping her eyes shielded from inconvenient truths, I acknowledged them. Where Mom kept her feelings in, I gave mine free rein to be what they were. I wasn't able to change anything, but I wasn't about to pretend things were anything other than what they were.
I am my father's daughter, which explains a lot of things. Like how I appreciated some of the very traits that alienated my brothers. Or why I rub Kerry the wrong way (Dad had the same effect). Or why he never felt protective toward me, as he did toward Mim (he knew I could stand on my own two feet). He was straightforward & direct, which didn't always sit well with other people. He took me at my word, which meant a lot to me.
The way I survived being Mom's one constant support - in spite of heartbreaking challenges - was by letting things be the way they were, without embellishment or editorializing. Not always - there were areas where I was every bit as blind as Mom, or maybe just incredibly stupid - but enough to not go off the deep end.
Dad & I were not close. Not once did he ever side with me in any disagreement involving Mim. He protected her; he empowered me.
Mom gave Mim the ability to not see what hurts; Dad gave me the sight to see even the toughest reality.
I am my father's daughter, and damn proud of it!
Like Mom, doing things for others - being of use - is central to my life. Our our why & how were light years apart.
Mom was all about doing what others wanted; she never grasped that wants & needs can be worlds apart. Doing what others want requires only action, not thought. Determining need requires thought & discernment & core judgment. As I experienced Mom, including the stories she'd tell about her years with Gran, those were qualities she couldn't - from her late teens - afford to develop & apply.
Just consider the different ways we responded to challenging realities around being present for our mother.
Mother's father died when she was 19. Gran, Aunt Betty & Mom moved in with Gran's father. After he died, Mom became the person that Gran - and the rest of the family - tagged as her primary support. The role was exclusively hers until Gran's death in 1955.
Being there for Gran was no walk in the park. From everything I've heard over the years, Gran was spectacularly self absorbed. It was all about her. It could not have been easy for Mom, even before she fell in love with Dad. Afterward, it was far worse, as Gran made no bones about being deeply jealous of him.
Gran did hurtful, incredibly damaging things without any apparent sense of the impact it had on others. She was startled by any negative blow-back. Frankly, she rarely had to deal with negative consequences to her breath-taking self-absorption; Mom's way of handling the gruesome reality of her life was to make her mother's actions okay. That was just the way Gran was, there was no changing her; why bother getting bothered when the problem would still be there tomorrow & the next day & the next? So Mom put on a smiling face & did what she had to do to get by.
All of which ultimately resulted her being institutionalized for a nervous breakdown (after or before Gran's death?), complete with shock treatments.
All that being so, I never heard Mom speak flat-out ill of Gran. She told horrific stories about things her mother did, but without censure. She never openly criticized Gran - she also never ever told a single happy story about her mother, either.
Mom survived having to be there for Gran by making it okay for her mother to be the gorgon she appears to have been. She made life "work" by telling herself that because there were reasons for her mother's behavior, the behavior was bearable, even when it wasn't.
Mom survived by not seeing what was right in front of her, not feeling what was all around her, not expecting that she had any right to a whole life.
That was NOT how I survived having similar responsibility for Mom.
Where Mom survived by keeping her eyes shielded from inconvenient truths, I acknowledged them. Where Mom kept her feelings in, I gave mine free rein to be what they were. I wasn't able to change anything, but I wasn't about to pretend things were anything other than what they were.
I am my father's daughter, which explains a lot of things. Like how I appreciated some of the very traits that alienated my brothers. Or why I rub Kerry the wrong way (Dad had the same effect). Or why he never felt protective toward me, as he did toward Mim (he knew I could stand on my own two feet). He was straightforward & direct, which didn't always sit well with other people. He took me at my word, which meant a lot to me.
The way I survived being Mom's one constant support - in spite of heartbreaking challenges - was by letting things be the way they were, without embellishment or editorializing. Not always - there were areas where I was every bit as blind as Mom, or maybe just incredibly stupid - but enough to not go off the deep end.
Dad & I were not close. Not once did he ever side with me in any disagreement involving Mim. He protected her; he empowered me.
Mom gave Mim the ability to not see what hurts; Dad gave me the sight to see even the toughest reality.
I am my father's daughter, and damn proud of it!
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
under a microscope
Ten years ago, if anyone had told me I'd have the opportunity to put my family under a figurative microscope, I would've thought they'd flipped out. Yet such was my blessed fate.
For four years, I used my own family as a "lab" experiment with my Delaware Valley High School health class, getting to put them - individually & as a group - under a figurative microscope. What an amazing experience.
We tracked my relatives as far back as I reasonably could - to my grandparents. We took two days to look at my geneaology, starting with Benjamin & Rena Davis Reynolds (Mom's parents) and Gar & Lillian Bessemer Lockhart (Dad's).
The family tree dropped down to include, on the Reynolds side, Dorothy (Dot), Alpha (Al), William (Willie), Robert (Bob), Katharine (Kay - aka Mom) & Elizabeth (Betty); on Dad's side, there was just one name - his, Raymond Lewis (uncommonly known to all as Pete). Then, it continued down off of Mom & Dad's names to include Peter, Michael, Joann (Mim), Ian & moi, Elsa. It dropped further, branching off Peter's name to include Whitney & Reynolds; off Mike's, it included Scott & Karen.
While noting that I only had my parents' unconfirmed stories as my guides, the class considered the basic attributes of my grandparents & how their histories might have affected Mom & Dad as adults, in their marriage, as parents.
We dropped down to Mom & Dad, looking at them as partners & parents, how their various children seemed to respond to them, the different ways we kids apparently viewed them as parents & people, the impact they had on our live, even how we viewed our own parenting roles.
Last but not least, we took a gander at the sibs. How did we relate to each other? What did we seem to expect to get & give within a family relationship? Did our apparent expectations change between childhood, youth, adolescence, adulthood? We considered the different ways me & my sibs experienced family, comparing & contrasting the oldest's experience with the youngest's - how might our birth order, the culture of our very different days, how we experienced events within & without the family, impact our expectations of & from family.
It was a remarkable experience! To place my family - myself! - under a mircroscope, to look at me/us through the filter of a class unit, our dynamics & interplay reduced to a lesson plan. To this day, I think WOW!
For four years, I used my own family as a "lab" experiment with my Delaware Valley High School health class, getting to put them - individually & as a group - under a figurative microscope. What an amazing experience.
We tracked my relatives as far back as I reasonably could - to my grandparents. We took two days to look at my geneaology, starting with Benjamin & Rena Davis Reynolds (Mom's parents) and Gar & Lillian Bessemer Lockhart (Dad's).
The family tree dropped down to include, on the Reynolds side, Dorothy (Dot), Alpha (Al), William (Willie), Robert (Bob), Katharine (Kay - aka Mom) & Elizabeth (Betty); on Dad's side, there was just one name - his, Raymond Lewis (uncommonly known to all as Pete). Then, it continued down off of Mom & Dad's names to include Peter, Michael, Joann (Mim), Ian & moi, Elsa. It dropped further, branching off Peter's name to include Whitney & Reynolds; off Mike's, it included Scott & Karen.
While noting that I only had my parents' unconfirmed stories as my guides, the class considered the basic attributes of my grandparents & how their histories might have affected Mom & Dad as adults, in their marriage, as parents.
We dropped down to Mom & Dad, looking at them as partners & parents, how their various children seemed to respond to them, the different ways we kids apparently viewed them as parents & people, the impact they had on our live, even how we viewed our own parenting roles.
Last but not least, we took a gander at the sibs. How did we relate to each other? What did we seem to expect to get & give within a family relationship? Did our apparent expectations change between childhood, youth, adolescence, adulthood? We considered the different ways me & my sibs experienced family, comparing & contrasting the oldest's experience with the youngest's - how might our birth order, the culture of our very different days, how we experienced events within & without the family, impact our expectations of & from family.
It was a remarkable experience! To place my family - myself! - under a mircroscope, to look at me/us through the filter of a class unit, our dynamics & interplay reduced to a lesson plan. To this day, I think WOW!
still crazy
Even now, Mim is defining our family. Seems she never caught on that while her definition seemed to set our parent's expectation of family, it never held sway with yours truly. Or maybe she does & considers it moot.
My definition of family is as unchangeable as Mim's is fluid, although it is impossible to describe. Have to work on that.
Mim has no problem expressing her view & expectations. For a person who typically made her point without having to actually spell it out, she's unusually open & specific when it comes to defining family.
Not that she had to, back in my way younger years. It wasn't necessary. It was obvious to me - I assume from the cradle & crib - that the person with the power in our family wasn't my parents, but Mim. The quietest, most unassuming person in the family was the one who carried the most clout.
What the rest of us didn't realize, a stranger could. My oldest brother's wife was, to the best of my knowledge, the only person who ever caught onto how our family ticked. She observed how everyone in the family was afraid of Mim. Mim, Mom & I thought that was hilarious - imagine being afraid of Mim, of doing whatever you could to appease her! A riot. And spot on.
It never dawned on me, because I'd never crossed my sister. The possibility of disagreeing with her never entered my mind, probably because I never saw anyone - not my parents, not our older brothers - do it.
Until turning 24, if someone had waved a magic wand & granted whatever wish I most dearly wanted, it would have been to be just like my sister. If you look at my sister's life, that makes no sense; it was utterly understandable once you realize that in our family, Mim was the sun, the moon & the stars.
Up until Mom's first trip to Australia, Mim didn't have to verbalize her definition of family. It was a given. It wasn't until Mom headed down to be with Mike & Kerry when Scott was born that things began to shift.
For the first time, I became involved in friendships that included women who lovingly called out & heard what I didn't even know existed - my own voice.
Dorothy & Susie moved into the apartment across the driveway from our house. They welcomed me into their circle of friendship. We'd sit around & just talk. They listened. They provided a space & opportunity for ME to hear what I had to say.
To the best of my knowledge, it was the first time I'd ever had a chance to hear, said out loud, what I believed. It was remarkable.
Back across the driveway, I started questioning some of Mim's household decisions, particularly keeping the heat so incredibly low. She wanted to surprise the gas reader when he read the meter in the spring; I wanted to be able to move around the house without triple layers of clothing.
Mim silenced my requests to up the gauge with the simple statement, "I'm paying the bills, so we will do what I say."
That was the first time she defined family. It set the tone for how she would always define family - it would be whatever best suited her needs at any particular moment & everyone else was expected to buy it. Even when I stopped, the others bought in.
Am sure that I'll write a lot about how differently my sibs & parents looked at family from the way I did. That moment was the first time I stepped back & questioned how my family - Mim - viewed family relationships v. how other folks approached it.
How is any of this relevant to this day? Mim's still defining family. A few weeks ago, during our first extensive phone conversation, she stated, "Our family is no worse than a lot of families, so there's no need to go back over old stuff."
There she was, still defining family, it's still about what works for her at this particular moment in time, and she still expects others - me - to buy it.
She has no need to fear - I gave up hoping for better many moons ago. Once, I believed more was possible. It's not.
It did take me by surprise, hearing Mim still putting out her definition. The bigger surprise was that it no longer distressed me, just made me realize it's part & parcel with the whole that is our family.
Call me a doofus, but it took me decades to realize we'd NEVER get together with a facilitator to consider discuss honor our family's dynamics. It was promised - maybe someday might. But neither Mom nor Mim could let it ever actually happen, could not risk having our wildly incompatible views of family be revealed. So, the promise was dangled, but never done.
Maybe part of me couldn't let it happen, either. What would I do if the truth were made clear? There is an interesting ponder.
Here's what intrigues me about that recent phone call - Mim was the one bringing up the subject. As she still often does with things she wants to get across, it came out of the blue, unrelated to what we were discussing. Maybe she was heading me off at the pass, just in case I might bring up my ancient request.
Gave up on that years ago, without giving up on my own beloved view of family.
Many things have changed over time, but it's clear that the nuttiness around this peculiar dynamic remains the same. And it's still crazy, after all these years.
My definition of family is as unchangeable as Mim's is fluid, although it is impossible to describe. Have to work on that.
Mim has no problem expressing her view & expectations. For a person who typically made her point without having to actually spell it out, she's unusually open & specific when it comes to defining family.
Not that she had to, back in my way younger years. It wasn't necessary. It was obvious to me - I assume from the cradle & crib - that the person with the power in our family wasn't my parents, but Mim. The quietest, most unassuming person in the family was the one who carried the most clout.
What the rest of us didn't realize, a stranger could. My oldest brother's wife was, to the best of my knowledge, the only person who ever caught onto how our family ticked. She observed how everyone in the family was afraid of Mim. Mim, Mom & I thought that was hilarious - imagine being afraid of Mim, of doing whatever you could to appease her! A riot. And spot on.
It never dawned on me, because I'd never crossed my sister. The possibility of disagreeing with her never entered my mind, probably because I never saw anyone - not my parents, not our older brothers - do it.
Until turning 24, if someone had waved a magic wand & granted whatever wish I most dearly wanted, it would have been to be just like my sister. If you look at my sister's life, that makes no sense; it was utterly understandable once you realize that in our family, Mim was the sun, the moon & the stars.
Up until Mom's first trip to Australia, Mim didn't have to verbalize her definition of family. It was a given. It wasn't until Mom headed down to be with Mike & Kerry when Scott was born that things began to shift.
For the first time, I became involved in friendships that included women who lovingly called out & heard what I didn't even know existed - my own voice.
Dorothy & Susie moved into the apartment across the driveway from our house. They welcomed me into their circle of friendship. We'd sit around & just talk. They listened. They provided a space & opportunity for ME to hear what I had to say.
To the best of my knowledge, it was the first time I'd ever had a chance to hear, said out loud, what I believed. It was remarkable.
Back across the driveway, I started questioning some of Mim's household decisions, particularly keeping the heat so incredibly low. She wanted to surprise the gas reader when he read the meter in the spring; I wanted to be able to move around the house without triple layers of clothing.
Mim silenced my requests to up the gauge with the simple statement, "I'm paying the bills, so we will do what I say."
That was the first time she defined family. It set the tone for how she would always define family - it would be whatever best suited her needs at any particular moment & everyone else was expected to buy it. Even when I stopped, the others bought in.
Am sure that I'll write a lot about how differently my sibs & parents looked at family from the way I did. That moment was the first time I stepped back & questioned how my family - Mim - viewed family relationships v. how other folks approached it.
How is any of this relevant to this day? Mim's still defining family. A few weeks ago, during our first extensive phone conversation, she stated, "Our family is no worse than a lot of families, so there's no need to go back over old stuff."
Even as she said it, I smiled. Some things never change.
There she was, still defining family, it's still about what works for her at this particular moment in time, and she still expects others - me - to buy it.
She has no need to fear - I gave up hoping for better many moons ago. Once, I believed more was possible. It's not.
It did take me by surprise, hearing Mim still putting out her definition. The bigger surprise was that it no longer distressed me, just made me realize it's part & parcel with the whole that is our family.
Call me a doofus, but it took me decades to realize we'd NEVER get together with a facilitator to consider discuss honor our family's dynamics. It was promised - maybe someday might. But neither Mom nor Mim could let it ever actually happen, could not risk having our wildly incompatible views of family be revealed. So, the promise was dangled, but never done.
Maybe part of me couldn't let it happen, either. What would I do if the truth were made clear? There is an interesting ponder.
Here's what intrigues me about that recent phone call - Mim was the one bringing up the subject. As she still often does with things she wants to get across, it came out of the blue, unrelated to what we were discussing. Maybe she was heading me off at the pass, just in case I might bring up my ancient request.
Gave up on that years ago, without giving up on my own beloved view of family.
Many things have changed over time, but it's clear that the nuttiness around this peculiar dynamic remains the same. And it's still crazy, after all these years.
Monday, May 12, 2014
blessed experiences
Mim & Peter never have to deal with people coming up to them to ask, "How's Elsa?" I, on the other hand, am often ask, especially about how Mim is doing. Just this afternoon, "Aunt" Mar Pendleton asked what was happening in Mim's life.
It can be complicated, answering that simple question. Yes, my sibs don't communicate with me. They don't communicate with each other very much. I feel so remiss, not being able to give solid information on how Mim is doing or what Peter is up to or is Mike over the moon being a first-time grandpa. I haven't a clue. Heck, a lot of the time I don't even know their current address or phone number!
With "Aunt" Mar, who's known our family since forever, it was easy to be honest. In her own response, she shared a quote I'd love her to write out - it was spot on. She got that whether my family experiences were difficult or pleasant or wonderful, they are all blessed. Every single one.
It is remarkable what balance comes with maturity. For over four decades, I strove mightily to mend what felt like a broken family. Never dawned on me it was like trying to fix a broken clock when a piece is missing. No matter how committed, focused, unwaivering you are, ain't never going to make it run.
Once it became okay for the family to just be as it is, not having to fit within some image I had of healthy, it could be its own version of whole.
In case you're wondering, am not all that sure how Mim is. When we talk, she doesn't give a lot of details about what's happening in her life. Never did. I am happy to share her address, so friends can drop her a line. Her poor health keeps her from getting out much, so my guess is that mail is greatly welcome.
Who are my sibs? How are they? I haven't a clue. It feels like they don't have one, either. What I do know - without a doubt - is that that all of my experiences with each of them have been blessed.
Not easy, often challenging, frequently heartbreaking, but always blessed.
It can be complicated, answering that simple question. Yes, my sibs don't communicate with me. They don't communicate with each other very much. I feel so remiss, not being able to give solid information on how Mim is doing or what Peter is up to or is Mike over the moon being a first-time grandpa. I haven't a clue. Heck, a lot of the time I don't even know their current address or phone number!
With "Aunt" Mar, who's known our family since forever, it was easy to be honest. In her own response, she shared a quote I'd love her to write out - it was spot on. She got that whether my family experiences were difficult or pleasant or wonderful, they are all blessed. Every single one.
It is remarkable what balance comes with maturity. For over four decades, I strove mightily to mend what felt like a broken family. Never dawned on me it was like trying to fix a broken clock when a piece is missing. No matter how committed, focused, unwaivering you are, ain't never going to make it run.
Once it became okay for the family to just be as it is, not having to fit within some image I had of healthy, it could be its own version of whole.
In case you're wondering, am not all that sure how Mim is. When we talk, she doesn't give a lot of details about what's happening in her life. Never did. I am happy to share her address, so friends can drop her a line. Her poor health keeps her from getting out much, so my guess is that mail is greatly welcome.
Who are my sibs? How are they? I haven't a clue. It feels like they don't have one, either. What I do know - without a doubt - is that that all of my experiences with each of them have been blessed.
Not easy, often challenging, frequently heartbreaking, but always blessed.
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