Comfort

Carolyn See is entertaining me while I learn. She is raw, funny and so real. In "Making a Literary Life", she has a short paragraph that startled me with the truth:

"My goodness me; what about love? I say fun first, and this is why: My dad left my mom. My first two husbands and I had many maudlin arguments over the question of who loved whom when. I've thought long and hard about this question. My father had the golden knack of making fun wherever he went. I had a lot of fun with my first two husbands before (and, miraculously, after) our divorces. I never want to be in a position in my life where some beloved can tell me, "I never loved you," and have that break my heart again. I take the aikido position: "Yeah, but we did have a lot of fun." It's complimentary to all, makes no one a villain, minimizes heartbreak."

Kasey Chambers sings in her "Rattlin' Bones" album a song that says something similar:

"If I wasn't all you wanted

If I wasn't even close

I only hope that I made you smile

Maybe more than once in a while

If you never felt the blessing

If you only made it through

I only hope that I made you smile

Maybe more then once in a while

If we sleep right through the ending

If we slowly fade away

I'll only hope I went that extra mile

Maybe more than once in a while

I only hope that I made you smile

maybe more than once in a while

maybe more than once in a while

There is great sadness from relationships gone bad, along with the grief attached from knowing there will never be restoration.

I don't know why it happened. There is nothing to be done to fix it. We just weren't skilled enough at loving. Being able to remember both the good and bad times with affection brings a bit of comfort to the black and blue parts.

Nothing is ever all good or all bad, it's both, and we did have fun also. We did. Maybe we didn't make each other feel loved well, but we did have fun! I have pictures capturing these moments. Proof. The pictures are priceless. These ideas give me something good to take away. I'm not left with only a painful THE END. Why? Because I'm slowly recognizing the even so part.

Even so... we did have a lot of fun and made some memories that make me smile. I sincerely hope the fun memories make them smile too, once in a while......

It is another way to 'care for grief to care it away'. (J.Stephens) From Strict Joy via The Swell Season.

Tying One On

Many Christmases ago, we took the girls out for our new family tradition of picking a tree to cut down from Farmer Brown's Christmas Tree Farm.

It is a friendly family atmosphere that makes for happy memories. We munched on our warm bags of popcorn and sipped the hot cider they offered while we went up and down the rows.

Craig became the hero of the hour when the final cut toppled The Tree. We all helped drag it to the car to heave on top. Standing back, we watched in admiration while Craig tied it securely to the roof of our little car.

He took the saw and twine back after paying for our fragrant, freshly cut treasure.

When we tried to get in the car, all the doors were firmly tied shut. Craig looked confused. He looked over the top of the car at me, tried the door again in disbelief, then stood there scratching his head.

When he realized what he had done, he quickly started untying all the mess of knots, or trying to. He was desperately wishing for a knife. I can't remember, but think he had to go get the saw again. Never was a tree untied as fast as that one, while he looked around sheepishly, hoping none of the other dads were looking.

It is the only time I have seen him flustered enough to blush. As much as we tried not to, we laughed. And laughed. And laughed some more. We could not help it. It was the 'what on earth' look on his face when he tried the door that did it.

Pretty Revisited

This is a public confession even though I don't need to, because I get to live in redemptive time now. The last post was about Tessa and her preoccupation with 'pretty'. It was the pretty story about pretty.

This is the ugly story about pretty.

Along with the sweet memory of her love of pretty Christmas lights, there is a bittersweet memory of her creating a pretty. At least she thought it was, I didn't. Not then. Now, I'd give anything for a redo.

We were broke and shamefully used food stamps. Craig worked 8 hours, followed by night school for 8 hours for his A&P license, plus he commuted 4 hours a day. He crashed asleep for the remainder of his 36 hour day. Loneliness and hard circumstances on top of parenting while broke, sick, tired and pregnant didn't bring out the best in me.

One afternoon, Tess excitedly called me into our little bathroom. She was babbling over and over again, "Pretty, Pretty, Pretty". "Mama! Pretty!"

When I stuck my head around the corner and saw the fluffy, white, toilet paper mountain heaped all over the toilet and floor, I lost my mind. In frustration of the whole roll wasted (maybe .25) and anger at having to pick up this mess, I spanked her. Hard. Long. Too long and too hard.

It wasn't about disciplining in love or training. It was me destroying her joy because I was incapable of feeling any.

I only saw the amazing creativity and remembered the sparkle in her eyes and big innocent smile afterwards, after I battered it, robbing us both.

I have asked her to forgive me. She has forgiven me. I have forgiven myself. The sorrow was the good kind that led to true remorse, which led to profound change.

Grace invited mercy to live in our home where we still have the WELCOME sign out.........

Forgiveness ~ it's pretty.

Pretty

Tessa loved Christmas lights. Her first words were By by, Mama, Dada and PREEE'EE!

She was a year and a half. We would drive around at night to enjoy the houses and yards lit up- all decorated for the holidays, but ended up enjoying her delight more than looking at the lights.

We weren't very strict about her being in her car seat at all times, so when a lavish light display came into her field of vision, she would mash her face against the window, press her quivering body as close to the door as possible, while spreading her little hands out to try and grab the glow, squealing PREEE'EE, at the top of her lungs. It was her favorite, most frequently used and most exuberant word, that first Christmas she could talk.

She was saying pretty, or trying to.

Her enthusiasm and passion for pretty has never diminished. We are still delighted watching her.

There really is nothing as attractive as a soul on fire....

Front Porch Smile

Depression has been a constant companion since forever. I don't put the words suffer in front of it. I haven't suffered from it, but the people who love me have.

I wish I understood it better, knew why the cycles happen. Over the years depression has been the thing constantly by my side, like a shadow. Attached. I take it off the leash but it comes back 'to heel' without me calling for it.

Kay Redfield Jameson's books like 'Unquiet Mind', 'Touched by Fire' and 'Exuberance' help me know I'm not alone, which is always a comfort. And helps me know that the flying is part of the flopping. I like the highs and most the time the lows don't scare me.

Sometimes I look back at the valley times. Some were dark fetal position times. Some were just lethargic. Some caused collateral damage.

Some were so close to complete despair that the only thing that kept me from making a terrible choice was the fact that it would have been the most self centered decision a person could ever make; one that would forever translate as complete rejection by the people who love me most - my children and husband. They would have to know forever that I didn't love them enough to stay. I'm selfish, but not that much.

At times the darkness would be preceded and followed by incredible spurts of creative activity.

When I was younger it was the symptom from feeling powerless, trapped, angry, hopeless or even brought on by circumstances. I was incapable of knowing how to process or deal with life issues.

People don't often talk openly about such things. It is scary and vulnerable.

Gnarls Barkley understands! Sometimes I let 'Crazy' blare in the speakers and scream it with him. Most of the time, by the end of the song I'm laughing, at us.

I think of depression more like the hormonal cycles of a woman. PMS and menstruating have a bad rap these days, but in ancient times it seems like it was more honored. Cared for. Respected. Acknowledged. Looked upon as an insulated, protected time for keen and astute ponderings.

The darkness of depression now is more like the darkness of an incubator or cocoon. A waiting place growing something. Something wanting and preparing to hatch. Something inside me that wants birthed.

An old friend, Bill Kaloger told me not to mess with or rewrite the rules when traveling the dark valley.

Today, instead of putting a blanket over my head and giving into the familiar sucking, swirling eddy of darkness, I put on a coat and gloves. Maggie and I took the pickup over to a neighbor who had an evergreen tree cut down. I brought back enough evergreen boughs to decorate the 3 front windows, the front door, bench, and porch railings with swags and garlands. Big, oversized red bows and huge sugar pine cones finish each one off.

It's a bit early for Christmas decor, since we haven't celebrated Thanksgiving yet, but it brought my heart sunshine and filled me up with light. More than that, it kept me from the dark, for today. The porch looks like its smiling too!