So today I found out I'm not crazy. I'm not just lazy. I'm not self-indulgent or exaggerating (or, probably not that much, anyway). I am not making things up. ...I am depressed.
Like, as in, textbook, real-life, some-serious-shit actual medical depression. This is what I have.
No wonder I thought I've been losing my mind! I sort-of did. Lose. The me that lives inside my head. (Isn't it scary that one's brain can actually become damaged by internal directives -- no outside events or physical traumas required? I heard the explanation about neurotransmitters today, and what I think about that right now, is that I have somehow wrecked my brain's ability to listen to itself. Not on purpose, of course. But still. Somehow this thing has happened to me, and right now I have a, literally, damaged brain.)
It makes perfect sense in my need-for-logic way. I have been floating along, going Casper in my own life, while I know my head is not functioning properly. I couldn't figure out how, exactly, I was different if I looked the same, talked the same, acted the same. But it's so very, heartbreakingly true: I have not been the same.
Not the same, in so, so long.
Now I just feel tired. Tired and bereft of energy for the climb out of this pit.
I hope I'm up to it. I do. Because I really miss that girl I used to be. She was nice. And funny. And her husband really, really loved her.
I hope somebody loves this girl. She needs that much.
Just a girl, asking for grace, to survive her happily-ever-after.
11.29.2006
Mind Dump, 11.29.06
I feel like I need to write today... but I'm not sure where to start or what to say.
It's strange because, I WANT to put down words that reach out to more people than myself. (I could open a Word document and start dumping if I only needed to get things out of my head.) Still, I don't know how to tell you the kinds of things I mostly say to me. (As is only proper & pragmatic, I'm sure. People aren't exactly forming a queue for this interior monologue.)
But you get what I mean? I really WANT to communicate with you. I just don't know how... right now.
Miles is outside, and I should make him come in. He's been out almost an hour. I can hear him talk to passing cars, but I can't see him where he's hanging out.
Dinner won't happen if I don't make a start of it soon.
...But who needs dinner? I could live without.
Jeremy isn't home yet.
The light is tinged with blue, the way sunshine gets when it's fading into dusk. And the leaves are all my favorite shades. It's a nice-looking time of day.
I can't even imagine what it would be like to enjoy my work calls again. Can't even make a picture come to mind.
I also can't think when my memory last matched my age, when it stood with me as something reliable and sturdy.
I don't think I make wishes anymore. I know I don't write Christmas lists. But I'm thinking maybe, this year, I should write a letter to Santa.
I believe I am going to getting better. But it'll be work. Such, such work. (Why is this true? God only knows. I'm just figuring out it's true for each of us, in every thing.) I'm guessing my thing is going to take a long time.
And, in the meantime, I am both hopeful and afraid that there's a lot to come out....
It's strange because, I WANT to put down words that reach out to more people than myself. (I could open a Word document and start dumping if I only needed to get things out of my head.) Still, I don't know how to tell you the kinds of things I mostly say to me. (As is only proper & pragmatic, I'm sure. People aren't exactly forming a queue for this interior monologue.)
But you get what I mean? I really WANT to communicate with you. I just don't know how... right now.
Miles is outside, and I should make him come in. He's been out almost an hour. I can hear him talk to passing cars, but I can't see him where he's hanging out.
Dinner won't happen if I don't make a start of it soon.
...But who needs dinner? I could live without.
Jeremy isn't home yet.
The light is tinged with blue, the way sunshine gets when it's fading into dusk. And the leaves are all my favorite shades. It's a nice-looking time of day.
I can't even imagine what it would be like to enjoy my work calls again. Can't even make a picture come to mind.
I also can't think when my memory last matched my age, when it stood with me as something reliable and sturdy.
I don't think I make wishes anymore. I know I don't write Christmas lists. But I'm thinking maybe, this year, I should write a letter to Santa.
I believe I am going to getting better. But it'll be work. Such, such work. (Why is this true? God only knows. I'm just figuring out it's true for each of us, in every thing.) I'm guessing my thing is going to take a long time.
And, in the meantime, I am both hopeful and afraid that there's a lot to come out....
11.20.2006
State of Domestic Affairs
Wow. This month is completely getting away from me! I have 6 drafts cooking and yet no consistent posting schedule. (Good thing I have a day job, because my actual word output wouldn't amount to any sort of living.)
I am doing some writing, in the compiling/ editing of an Advent devotional for church (and no one say a word about my tendency to over-volunteer!) -- but I don't seem to have the focus for blogging. The problem is just how I am. I want my posts to come out all neat and polished, when most days the inside of my head is all discombobulated. (I just love that word!)
Since all this journal really requires is my personal documentation of the imperfect and everyday, I am commandeering myself, right now, to take stock of what's happened in November 2006 and throw some words into the gap of time.
Cute Anecdote: Miles was humming something at dinner the other night, and it turned out to be the sing-songy introduction to "Quiet Water, Still Water." (You know... "Quiet water, still water, 1...2...3. See how quiet and still you can be"?)
I asked what he was humming and the boy explained the game to us parents (because we are lab-test humans who grew in pods and were never children ourselves). "Well, you see, when the person says it, you have to stop talking AND stop moving. At the same time." Then he says -- with a shake of his small head and an earnestness words cannot contain: "It's real hard."
Requisite Moment of Neurosis: I am not resting peacefully for all the dreams, lately. They aren't bad -- just very, very strange and involved. It's like Dr. Suess for grown-ups (without the rhymes but with all the fantastical scenery) in my head lately. I had to navigate a Suessian New York City on foot... I went to an other-worldly Alaska... Some snotty lady with a furry animal around her neck told me I was going to give my child ring-worm (?!). ...Just some weird and wacky stuff.
I guess I'm OK until Robin Williams and Cuba Gooding Jr show up in my sleep. When I go Hollywood, I'll know I have fallen over the final ledge of logic and believability....
Cultural Update: I went to a very cool social event sponsored by my Sunday School class this weekend. It was sort of like (and forgive me, please, if this sounds just condescending and all wrong...) "Meet the Muslim Night."
Representatives from four Muslim families and about 8 Christian families got together so we (the Xians) could ask questions we might have/ clear up any misconceptions we carry about the practice of Islam. This came about because my church's Women's Ministries visited one of the local mosques, and two women -- one visiting, one hosting -- befriended each other. (Also, this particular Muslim community has one very outgoing, locally prominent congregant who likes to be ecumenical and stage such get-togethers.)
Well, I really had no questions going in (yes, an appalling lack of curiosity/ burning intellectual fire/ heart for evangelism -- but I'm pretty comfortable with that). I just thought I should show up, to show some respect for these kind folk who were willing to walk into their own kind of lion's den to build a bridge between the culture they grew up in and the one they have come to live in.
Background: Not one of these folks are originally from around here. And "here" is a Bible-thumping, public-Jesus-referencing, prayer in school, Southern-Baptist dominated kind of place. I don't even notice it, so much anymore, but I'm sure it can be kinda scary for anyone who feels "other." Who KNOWS what kind of grilling they thought they were in for?!
Well, the coolest thing (as any true Jesus-follower could easily have known beforehand) was that we all got along great! We bonded over food and kids and were laughing and talking and sharing in free-flowing conversation before the end of dinner. I knew they'd be nice, but I guess they weren't sure we'd be. I'm thinking we passed some kind of tolerance test, however, as none of us tried to convert them or argue their take on Jesus as just another prophet. (Look, it seriously wasn't the venue. And to what end, I'd have to ask?)
One of the Islamic families is a young couple -- she an American citizen and he a Chinese citizen who has only been in the States a few months and is still learning the language ropes. (They communicate fine as she speaks Mandarin and they both speak Arabic. And in my little town -- crazy, huh?) Another couple are Canadian citizens (Kingston, Ontario -- I know right where it is!) who moved here from New Hampshire. Another woman was raised in Atlanta. It was just a crazy quilt of God's people... looking for some common ground.
And I guess we found it, in the commandment we hold in common, to live at peace. John 14:27, in Jesus' own words: "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you. Not as the world gives do I give. Let not your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid." So, an evening of greater peace with our neighbors and within ourselves... It was a nice way to start my own personal Advent.
I am doing some writing, in the compiling/ editing of an Advent devotional for church (and no one say a word about my tendency to over-volunteer!) -- but I don't seem to have the focus for blogging. The problem is just how I am. I want my posts to come out all neat and polished, when most days the inside of my head is all discombobulated. (I just love that word!)
Since all this journal really requires is my personal documentation of the imperfect and everyday, I am commandeering myself, right now, to take stock of what's happened in November 2006 and throw some words into the gap of time.
Cute Anecdote: Miles was humming something at dinner the other night, and it turned out to be the sing-songy introduction to "Quiet Water, Still Water." (You know... "Quiet water, still water, 1...2...3. See how quiet and still you can be"?)
I asked what he was humming and the boy explained the game to us parents (because we are lab-test humans who grew in pods and were never children ourselves). "Well, you see, when the person says it, you have to stop talking AND stop moving. At the same time." Then he says -- with a shake of his small head and an earnestness words cannot contain: "It's real hard."
Requisite Moment of Neurosis: I am not resting peacefully for all the dreams, lately. They aren't bad -- just very, very strange and involved. It's like Dr. Suess for grown-ups (without the rhymes but with all the fantastical scenery) in my head lately. I had to navigate a Suessian New York City on foot... I went to an other-worldly Alaska... Some snotty lady with a furry animal around her neck told me I was going to give my child ring-worm (?!). ...Just some weird and wacky stuff.
I guess I'm OK until Robin Williams and Cuba Gooding Jr show up in my sleep. When I go Hollywood, I'll know I have fallen over the final ledge of logic and believability....
Cultural Update: I went to a very cool social event sponsored by my Sunday School class this weekend. It was sort of like (and forgive me, please, if this sounds just condescending and all wrong...) "Meet the Muslim Night."
Representatives from four Muslim families and about 8 Christian families got together so we (the Xians) could ask questions we might have/ clear up any misconceptions we carry about the practice of Islam. This came about because my church's Women's Ministries visited one of the local mosques, and two women -- one visiting, one hosting -- befriended each other. (Also, this particular Muslim community has one very outgoing, locally prominent congregant who likes to be ecumenical and stage such get-togethers.)
Well, I really had no questions going in (yes, an appalling lack of curiosity/ burning intellectual fire/ heart for evangelism -- but I'm pretty comfortable with that). I just thought I should show up, to show some respect for these kind folk who were willing to walk into their own kind of lion's den to build a bridge between the culture they grew up in and the one they have come to live in.
Background: Not one of these folks are originally from around here. And "here" is a Bible-thumping, public-Jesus-referencing, prayer in school, Southern-Baptist dominated kind of place. I don't even notice it, so much anymore, but I'm sure it can be kinda scary for anyone who feels "other." Who KNOWS what kind of grilling they thought they were in for?!
Well, the coolest thing (as any true Jesus-follower could easily have known beforehand) was that we all got along great! We bonded over food and kids and were laughing and talking and sharing in free-flowing conversation before the end of dinner. I knew they'd be nice, but I guess they weren't sure we'd be. I'm thinking we passed some kind of tolerance test, however, as none of us tried to convert them or argue their take on Jesus as just another prophet. (Look, it seriously wasn't the venue. And to what end, I'd have to ask?)
One of the Islamic families is a young couple -- she an American citizen and he a Chinese citizen who has only been in the States a few months and is still learning the language ropes. (They communicate fine as she speaks Mandarin and they both speak Arabic. And in my little town -- crazy, huh?) Another couple are Canadian citizens (Kingston, Ontario -- I know right where it is!) who moved here from New Hampshire. Another woman was raised in Atlanta. It was just a crazy quilt of God's people... looking for some common ground.
And I guess we found it, in the commandment we hold in common, to live at peace. John 14:27, in Jesus' own words: "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you. Not as the world gives do I give. Let not your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid." So, an evening of greater peace with our neighbors and within ourselves... It was a nice way to start my own personal Advent.
Feline Health Update
So the cat's eye looks fine today. All bright and wide-open.
...Ahhh, the restorative power of the 24-hour nap!
PS: De-lurking Week ROCKS! I'm off to leave smiley faces at lots of RevGal blogs, just as soon as I can escape work. Thanks for the happy comments here. I smile at each one -- real big.
...Ahhh, the restorative power of the 24-hour nap!
PS: De-lurking Week ROCKS! I'm off to leave smiley faces at lots of RevGal blogs, just as soon as I can escape work. Thanks for the happy comments here. I smile at each one -- real big.
11.19.2006
Outside on Purpose
OK, so this kind of stinks.
(And, yes -- sigh -- I am going to blog about the cat AGAIN. I have very little range, OK? Kid and cat, cat and kid. Take away the kid and I am quickly becoming Angela from The Office, US version, who keeps cat figurines on her desk and calls them "old souls." I knew this would happen! I have old-lady-with-too-many-cats in my family history.)
Anyway, it all begins on Saturday, when I had some people over and one of the people said to me, "Is that your cat?" (Currently hanging out on the front porch.) "You don't let him go outside ON PURPOSE, do you?" Well, yes, actually, I do.
Now, I know there are arguments against this barbaric, outdated practice, but look, this is Texas and EVERYONE goes out. Man or beast, we all spend a good amount of time outdoors. And, look, this is Texas. We just don't tend to coddle the animals. The cat came to me never having been INSIDE a house. (His mom was a stray; he was born in a carport and kept in a kennel in there for 6 weeks.) Most vets areound here treat livestock as often as housepets, and the pigs go out. So, I just give Chester his kitty-sized firearm and send him on his way. (This is Texas... get it? Joke, people. Joke.)
I tried hard to be polite when called on the carpet about... gasp.... letting the cat out. One of my guests is a pretty frequent visitor and is clearly allergic to the cat, so for her alone I would have banished him to a back room. But he chose the outdoors early in the afternoon, and I didn't usher him back in until he showed up on the porch.
This is pretty routine, by the way. Cat goes out for jaunts about twice a day and comes back in when he gets hungry/ when he needs a nap/ when Miles gets home/ when it gets darkish. He has a friend next door named Mister Whiskers, and he sometimes follows Mister Whiskers home. (Mister also nudges unlatched doors open and comes ininvited into our home. Have I mentioned the time Miles said -- over dinner -- "Oh, look! Mom, Chester has a friend over!"?!)
All seems well with this nifty little system. My cat has an entire kingdom on Sherry Lane. He also has play dates, gets his energy out and still remembers where his food bowl is. Only yesterday or today... Chester must have played a little too hard, because he came home with a scratched eye and has been almost constantly napping ever since.
I think the eye will heal on its own. It's just swollen and pink, making it look unlike the other one. But the cat lets me mush his face without making a noise, he purrs and his appetite is fine.
Only... dammit! Someone said I shouldn't let him out, and almost at that same moment, he gets hurt outside?! This does NOT look good!
It was probably playtime with Mister Whiskers. Chess is way more agile and determined to win, but The Mister just keeps coming back for more. They swish their tails and bat the air and chase and chase, finally falling into a tangled ball of fur on the back driveway -- Chester always on top and Whiskers always flinching first. They do this silently, and when I first saw it, I sprinted outside to save my endangered kitten from the 10-lb gray evil. Then I noticed that they were so relaxed... no raised backs or wrinkled noses, no snarls or flared ears. Their tails were just swishing, swishing, then Chester would crouch down to signal the start of the chase. After each encounter, Mister Whiskers would disentangle himself, circle our backyard and then start again. (I don't know... maybe when they play at his house, Mister Whiskers gets to be the tough guy. Around here, he's the patsy every time.)
So, I figure the boys just went at it a little too hard. And maybe Mister needed to defend himself. I'm not upset with the other cat. But I know cats can infect each other with some pretty bad stuff. And I know eyes are vital organs. And I know I'll have to watch my cat carefully for days, now. And I am seriously going to hate driving him to the vet. ...Where a nice, non-judgmental old guy will make Chester all better, but not before some fresh-faced, well-meaning vet tech will say to me, "You know, people don't let their cats outdoors anymore. You didn't actually send him outside ON PURPOSE, did you?"
(And, yes -- sigh -- I am going to blog about the cat AGAIN. I have very little range, OK? Kid and cat, cat and kid. Take away the kid and I am quickly becoming Angela from The Office, US version, who keeps cat figurines on her desk and calls them "old souls." I knew this would happen! I have old-lady-with-too-many-cats in my family history.)
Anyway, it all begins on Saturday, when I had some people over and one of the people said to me, "Is that your cat?" (Currently hanging out on the front porch.) "You don't let him go outside ON PURPOSE, do you?" Well, yes, actually, I do.
Now, I know there are arguments against this barbaric, outdated practice, but look, this is Texas and EVERYONE goes out. Man or beast, we all spend a good amount of time outdoors. And, look, this is Texas. We just don't tend to coddle the animals. The cat came to me never having been INSIDE a house. (His mom was a stray; he was born in a carport and kept in a kennel in there for 6 weeks.) Most vets areound here treat livestock as often as housepets, and the pigs go out. So, I just give Chester his kitty-sized firearm and send him on his way. (This is Texas... get it? Joke, people. Joke.)
I tried hard to be polite when called on the carpet about... gasp.... letting the cat out. One of my guests is a pretty frequent visitor and is clearly allergic to the cat, so for her alone I would have banished him to a back room. But he chose the outdoors early in the afternoon, and I didn't usher him back in until he showed up on the porch.
This is pretty routine, by the way. Cat goes out for jaunts about twice a day and comes back in when he gets hungry/ when he needs a nap/ when Miles gets home/ when it gets darkish. He has a friend next door named Mister Whiskers, and he sometimes follows Mister Whiskers home. (Mister also nudges unlatched doors open and comes ininvited into our home. Have I mentioned the time Miles said -- over dinner -- "Oh, look! Mom, Chester has a friend over!"?!)
All seems well with this nifty little system. My cat has an entire kingdom on Sherry Lane. He also has play dates, gets his energy out and still remembers where his food bowl is. Only yesterday or today... Chester must have played a little too hard, because he came home with a scratched eye and has been almost constantly napping ever since.
I think the eye will heal on its own. It's just swollen and pink, making it look unlike the other one. But the cat lets me mush his face without making a noise, he purrs and his appetite is fine.
Only... dammit! Someone said I shouldn't let him out, and almost at that same moment, he gets hurt outside?! This does NOT look good!
It was probably playtime with Mister Whiskers. Chess is way more agile and determined to win, but The Mister just keeps coming back for more. They swish their tails and bat the air and chase and chase, finally falling into a tangled ball of fur on the back driveway -- Chester always on top and Whiskers always flinching first. They do this silently, and when I first saw it, I sprinted outside to save my endangered kitten from the 10-lb gray evil. Then I noticed that they were so relaxed... no raised backs or wrinkled noses, no snarls or flared ears. Their tails were just swishing, swishing, then Chester would crouch down to signal the start of the chase. After each encounter, Mister Whiskers would disentangle himself, circle our backyard and then start again. (I don't know... maybe when they play at his house, Mister Whiskers gets to be the tough guy. Around here, he's the patsy every time.)
So, I figure the boys just went at it a little too hard. And maybe Mister needed to defend himself. I'm not upset with the other cat. But I know cats can infect each other with some pretty bad stuff. And I know eyes are vital organs. And I know I'll have to watch my cat carefully for days, now. And I am seriously going to hate driving him to the vet. ...Where a nice, non-judgmental old guy will make Chester all better, but not before some fresh-faced, well-meaning vet tech will say to me, "You know, people don't let their cats outdoors anymore. You didn't actually send him outside ON PURPOSE, did you?"
11.15.2006
Halloween Flashback
I forgot until today that I really meant to post Halloween pictures.
Of course, when I looked at the picture folder, I remembered why I forgot. None were very good.
Nonetheless, M. had great fun dressing up as BOTH Batman and Darth Vader (at different events, different times of the day). This was fine with me because: both figures use the same cape; the Batman mask was from last year; the lightsaber we already had; and it actually gave me great amusement to watch sweet, skinny Miles, top-heavy and bumbling in the oversize Vader mask, wondering how to play the character. He tended to just walk around with his arms out, saying "arrrgh, arrrgh," as if Vader imight be a pirate or mummy.
Anyway: Here are a few images from early in the day.
I call them "Batman Spreads His Wings" and "Crusader With Cat" (alternate title: Another Reason Why Chester Is the Best Sport Ever). I love the motion effect on the first one, even though the image is a bit fuzzy. And I just love the second one.
I wonder what will become the costume of choice next Halloween? Last year it was a skeleton and Batman -- at the same time. Already, after this year, I've heard talk of becoming a viking. (I think he just wants the cool hat.) Whatever Miles chooses, I hope he keep making the choice for years to come. The dress-up is big fun for the mamas. And the memories are what childhood is made of.
Of course, when I looked at the picture folder, I remembered why I forgot. None were very good.
Nonetheless, M. had great fun dressing up as BOTH Batman and Darth Vader (at different events, different times of the day). This was fine with me because: both figures use the same cape; the Batman mask was from last year; the lightsaber we already had; and it actually gave me great amusement to watch sweet, skinny Miles, top-heavy and bumbling in the oversize Vader mask, wondering how to play the character. He tended to just walk around with his arms out, saying "arrrgh, arrrgh," as if Vader imight be a pirate or mummy.
Anyway: Here are a few images from early in the day.
I call them "Batman Spreads His Wings" and "Crusader With Cat" (alternate title: Another Reason Why Chester Is the Best Sport Ever). I love the motion effect on the first one, even though the image is a bit fuzzy. And I just love the second one.
I wonder what will become the costume of choice next Halloween? Last year it was a skeleton and Batman -- at the same time. Already, after this year, I've heard talk of becoming a viking. (I think he just wants the cool hat.) Whatever Miles chooses, I hope he keep making the choice for years to come. The dress-up is big fun for the mamas. And the memories are what childhood is made of.
11.10.2006
Kitty Love
In evidence of his hard, hard life and all the energy he expends just being feline, our pal Chester
is forced to spend much of his day in a posture something like this.
(Yeah -- you tell me how that's comfortable? I'm thinkin,' only if you weigh four pounds and have tiny bones made of rubber.)
If not on the couch, then he is often to be found on the chair, or the other chair (the one closest to the breakfast room window), or maybe the rug, or -- in a pinch, say if narcalepsy overtakes him -- flat-out on the carpet in front of the picture window. Yes, it's good to be a cat.
But today Chester surpised even me, a fairly close cataloger of his habits and haunts, as he settled in to nap -- that is, to actually fall ASLEEP -- beside my computer. (Napping on the CPU, I have witnessed. It's located in a warm, cozy, more empty space under the desk. Napping by my the mouse -- amid the daily piles, files and coffee-cup stains -- now that's a
new one.)
I confess I missed the import at first. Sure, he likes chewing on my legal pad and swiping at the phone cord but, really, it's just plain wood. Hard wood. When he's got a house full of soft spots, too! And then it dawned on me. The cat just wanted to be close to me. (Everybody, now: Awwwwwwww.) As I moused, he dozed. And then I got cute and tried to take this picture, which instantly woke him up. (See his surprised looking back feet, which have just shot away from his body...)
But the moment remains: a little act of kitty-love as my pet helped himself to some companionship and helped me through the workday. About that, I just want to say -- though cats can't read (I'm pretty sure) and Chester's obviously already got my number -- you've come a long way, Mr. Walking Ginsu Knives, and you're really a very nice Kitty Boy. I'm glad you're part of our family. And, one more thing (imagine the voice of Flower in Bambi): You can like me best if you want to.
is forced to spend much of his day in a posture something like this.(Yeah -- you tell me how that's comfortable? I'm thinkin,' only if you weigh four pounds and have tiny bones made of rubber.)
If not on the couch, then he is often to be found on the chair, or the other chair (the one closest to the breakfast room window), or maybe the rug, or -- in a pinch, say if narcalepsy overtakes him -- flat-out on the carpet in front of the picture window. Yes, it's good to be a cat.
But today Chester surpised even me, a fairly close cataloger of his habits and haunts, as he settled in to nap -- that is, to actually fall ASLEEP -- beside my computer. (Napping on the CPU, I have witnessed. It's located in a warm, cozy, more empty space under the desk. Napping by my the mouse -- amid the daily piles, files and coffee-cup stains -- now that's a
new one.)I confess I missed the import at first. Sure, he likes chewing on my legal pad and swiping at the phone cord but, really, it's just plain wood. Hard wood. When he's got a house full of soft spots, too! And then it dawned on me. The cat just wanted to be close to me. (Everybody, now: Awwwwwwww.) As I moused, he dozed. And then I got cute and tried to take this picture, which instantly woke him up. (See his surprised looking back feet, which have just shot away from his body...)
But the moment remains: a little act of kitty-love as my pet helped himself to some companionship and helped me through the workday. About that, I just want to say -- though cats can't read (I'm pretty sure) and Chester's obviously already got my number -- you've come a long way, Mr. Walking Ginsu Knives, and you're really a very nice Kitty Boy. I'm glad you're part of our family. And, one more thing (imagine the voice of Flower in Bambi): You can like me best if you want to.
For SusieDerk
So! Many, many days have passed since my friend's birthday. Which was in a different month. Than we are in now. (But, hey, to gimme a break, the date did fall towards the end of the last one.)
To mark the occasion, I had this great tribute post floating in my head and sort of sketched out in my drafts folder... but it's going nowhere. I just don't have the mental focus to bring it together right now. Again, someday, I'll bring it out. Because we're going to be BFFs for a really long time. Really! I have it all planned. :)
In the meantime, I did think of one thing I would like to post. A song that has a link to a beyond cheesy era of television. The fact that I learned this song watching NBC in the 80s will seriously knock hip points off my world rating, I'm sure, but it's just... so... perfect.. nonetheless. So, Suse, know that I am willing to publicly link myself -- forever! in the unerasable realm of cyberspace -- to Bea Arthur and Estelle Getty, just to deliver these good words. Enjoy!
Thank you for being a friend
...Traveled down that road and back again
Your heart is true,
You're a pal and a confidant
And if you threw a party
Invited everyone you knew
You would see the biggest gift would be from me
And the card attached would say
Thank you for being a friend...
And if it's a car you lack
I'd surely buy you a Cadillac
Whatever you need
Any time of the day or night
Thank you for being a friend...
And when we both get older
With walking canes and hair of gray
Have no fear even though it's hard to hear
I will stand real close and say
Thank you for being a friend...
To mark the occasion, I had this great tribute post floating in my head and sort of sketched out in my drafts folder... but it's going nowhere. I just don't have the mental focus to bring it together right now. Again, someday, I'll bring it out. Because we're going to be BFFs for a really long time. Really! I have it all planned. :)
In the meantime, I did think of one thing I would like to post. A song that has a link to a beyond cheesy era of television. The fact that I learned this song watching NBC in the 80s will seriously knock hip points off my world rating, I'm sure, but it's just... so... perfect.. nonetheless. So, Suse, know that I am willing to publicly link myself -- forever! in the unerasable realm of cyberspace -- to Bea Arthur and Estelle Getty, just to deliver these good words. Enjoy!
Thank you for being a friend
...Traveled down that road and back again
Your heart is true,
You're a pal and a confidant
And if you threw a party
Invited everyone you knew
You would see the biggest gift would be from me
And the card attached would say
Thank you for being a friend...
And if it's a car you lack
I'd surely buy you a Cadillac
Whatever you need
Any time of the day or night
Thank you for being a friend...
And when we both get older
With walking canes and hair of gray
Have no fear even though it's hard to hear
I will stand real close and say
Thank you for being a friend...
11.07.2006
Some Things About Rain
I fell asleep Sunday night to the sound of rain, and it was nice.
(The sound later woke up Miles and drove him to his father's side of the bed, waaay too early in the morning, but I'll leave off lamenting about that since it didn't happen to me.)
I was wondering, in the shower Monday morning, why rain at night is a comfort to me while rain during the day is just such a drag. I think it has to do with my most fundamental ordering of the world. Well, at least, my world. Because, here, where I live...
The darkness should know its place!
I've got no problem with gray and dreary when it's ALREADY dark outside. Pitter patter, doesn't matter. But my soul gets jittery every time my expectation of what should logically and naturally follow gets upended. Sun shines every day in my world, and to it is given the better part of each day. That's how it is. Period. This business of hours upon hours lacking any sparkle or shine... well, I must insist upon a return to our regularly scheduled programming.
Now here's where things get interesting. Because I'm pretty sure God spoke to me as I was facing off with my worldview, in the shower, on Monday morning. While the neighborhood was still wringing wet and with my own head half lathered, I think God gave me to understand that a little less must-have-my-physical-needs-met-every-day is going to be necessary in the life He has designed for me. A higher level of resilience will, perhaps, serve me better.
It's not that I'm wrong to crave the sun and decry the rain (the actual or the symbolic, I mean). It's that I would likely ease my own load if I could accept the gray drizzle that so often arrives in my everyday. If I could stop believing I always need the opposite of it, then perhaps I could let the gray stand as a weather condition, but not a soul condition.
'Cause here we are, friends -- smack dab in the middle of a long, gray day-in-the-life that I have proven I myself cannot control. I want to have more children. And I don't. I just don't. We've tried. We'll keep trying. But I've lost precious and sacred things in the process; my heart is wounded and time passes and it all still sucks pretty badly. Cue the lightning. Roll the thunder.
...Now what?
Instead of fighting the suckiness of this situation all the time -- like I must actively resist feeling sorry for myself -- why have I not thought to let it be? Just let it be what it is, then pick up and proceed, in sunshine and light, toward the things God wants me to do. OK... easier said than done, sure... But maybe, if I stop feeling like I'm fighting all the time, I can stop feeling like I'm losing the fight.
And now we're back to God. I've known for months that His soul tonic for me would also be a tough pill to swallow. (It's no coincidence I picked this metaphor. I hate non-chewable things; I choke on vitamins.) I guess maybe I was afraid for a while. Leery, or rebellious. Or something. But I need to stop fighting this hurt now. I need to let it be. His voice says it in a softer and gentler tone than I could ever summon. "Just live," God tells me. "Just live the way I made you to be." For the record, I live in light -- in all circumstances, through every trial, over and above any pressing cloud, I live in light.
"My grace is sufficient for you," He told Paul in 2 Corinthians 12. (Like I'm going to be proud, or stupid, enough to lay claim to something more or different?!) "I have learned the secret of being content..." Paul answered back in Phillipians 4.
"I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength." So go verses 12 and 13. And, then, like a ray straight from my own personal sun comes verse 14. "Yet it was good of you to share in my troubles."
Yes, yes, it was. It was good of all of you. Thanks for thinking of me while I work these things out for myself. For being here, and for "listening." You shine the light.
(The sound later woke up Miles and drove him to his father's side of the bed, waaay too early in the morning, but I'll leave off lamenting about that since it didn't happen to me.)
I was wondering, in the shower Monday morning, why rain at night is a comfort to me while rain during the day is just such a drag. I think it has to do with my most fundamental ordering of the world. Well, at least, my world. Because, here, where I live...
The darkness should know its place!
I've got no problem with gray and dreary when it's ALREADY dark outside. Pitter patter, doesn't matter. But my soul gets jittery every time my expectation of what should logically and naturally follow gets upended. Sun shines every day in my world, and to it is given the better part of each day. That's how it is. Period. This business of hours upon hours lacking any sparkle or shine... well, I must insist upon a return to our regularly scheduled programming.
Now here's where things get interesting. Because I'm pretty sure God spoke to me as I was facing off with my worldview, in the shower, on Monday morning. While the neighborhood was still wringing wet and with my own head half lathered, I think God gave me to understand that a little less must-have-my-physical-needs-met-every-day is going to be necessary in the life He has designed for me. A higher level of resilience will, perhaps, serve me better.
It's not that I'm wrong to crave the sun and decry the rain (the actual or the symbolic, I mean). It's that I would likely ease my own load if I could accept the gray drizzle that so often arrives in my everyday. If I could stop believing I always need the opposite of it, then perhaps I could let the gray stand as a weather condition, but not a soul condition.
'Cause here we are, friends -- smack dab in the middle of a long, gray day-in-the-life that I have proven I myself cannot control. I want to have more children. And I don't. I just don't. We've tried. We'll keep trying. But I've lost precious and sacred things in the process; my heart is wounded and time passes and it all still sucks pretty badly. Cue the lightning. Roll the thunder.
...Now what?
Instead of fighting the suckiness of this situation all the time -- like I must actively resist feeling sorry for myself -- why have I not thought to let it be? Just let it be what it is, then pick up and proceed, in sunshine and light, toward the things God wants me to do. OK... easier said than done, sure... But maybe, if I stop feeling like I'm fighting all the time, I can stop feeling like I'm losing the fight.
And now we're back to God. I've known for months that His soul tonic for me would also be a tough pill to swallow. (It's no coincidence I picked this metaphor. I hate non-chewable things; I choke on vitamins.) I guess maybe I was afraid for a while. Leery, or rebellious. Or something. But I need to stop fighting this hurt now. I need to let it be. His voice says it in a softer and gentler tone than I could ever summon. "Just live," God tells me. "Just live the way I made you to be." For the record, I live in light -- in all circumstances, through every trial, over and above any pressing cloud, I live in light.
"My grace is sufficient for you," He told Paul in 2 Corinthians 12. (Like I'm going to be proud, or stupid, enough to lay claim to something more or different?!) "I have learned the secret of being content..." Paul answered back in Phillipians 4.
"I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength." So go verses 12 and 13. And, then, like a ray straight from my own personal sun comes verse 14. "Yet it was good of you to share in my troubles."
Yes, yes, it was. It was good of all of you. Thanks for thinking of me while I work these things out for myself. For being here, and for "listening." You shine the light.
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