Saying goodbye

Change is necessary for growth - I think we all realize that - intellectually. But when it happens, it often is painful. I ,for one, usually do it kicking and screaming. I usually resist change. I like routine, I like to know what's ahead, although I'm usually ready for some impromptu fun and have no problem changing my plans once they've been made.

This photo is about a painful moment in my life - a time where a choice had to be made, and neither solution was a happy solution. My journaling reads:
To have a pet or a child is to finally know unconditional love. My first pet was Chip, a sweet little terrier mix that looked like a miniature version of a bearded collie. He came into my life shortly after my brother had gotten HIS first dog, a pure-bred miniature schnauzer. He was very proud of the pure-breed status and named him Oxley’s Peppermint Schnapps. So when I got Chip, I made a point of telling him that Chip’s true name was Chard’s Chocolate Chip (even though my pup was just a normal mutt). I think the joke was lost on him. Chip was joined shortly by Buffy, a cockapoo, and then by my first HUMAN baby, Cory. Cory grew to love to play with both pups, but they became quite jealous of the divided attention. Destructive behavior and daily accidents became the norm. We tried everything we could think of to change the behavior, but nothing worked. I loved those dogs. I loved their sweet dispositions, the way their eyes peeked out from under their long hair, the way they ran into walls in their excitement to turn a corner, the way they let me wrap my arms around them and bury my face in their fur. But when I became pregnant with twins, we knew that something had to change. It was then that my best friend offered to find them another home. This photo was taken the day Cory (and I) said good-bye to these furry friends. It was sad. I cried. I still think of them, even though I’ve raised three sons and have had two more dogs since. I hope they had a happy life….

I never had the nerve to ask....

shhhh

Quiet! Why is it, when frustrated, we shout the very word in a way that contradicts the MEANING of that word? For me quiet is essential for renewal, for recentering, for calming my emotions down. This week we were required to work on curriculum in a tiny room full of people, using laptops that we were unfamiliar with. It was hopeless. I simply cannot concentrate when people are talking. I actually walked out of the small room and into ajoining one and closed the door behind me. The administrator walked over and opened it again. And yet, when I asked if I could go work in my room where it was quiet, I was denied. This simply goes against common sense, if the point of asking us to work on curriculum was to actually accomplish something during that time. At this point in my life, I don't think my work needs are going to change. I need quiet to think.

So I asked myself, why IS it that I can't work when noise is present? I decided it stems partially from having grown up in a family of all boys. Thus I had my own room and spent alot of time in that room reading, with the door closed, since the tv in the livingroom was on the wall opposite my room. I remember that was the one thing that my dad "yelled" at me for - for spending too much time alone in my bedroom.

And after I got divorced I again was alone a lot. I was still raising 3 teenage boys, but, believe it or not, it was quiet in our house. My oldest son was usually out fishing or hunting and the twins were down in the family room working on computers, or playing video games. So I could walk downstairs get my "fill' of socializing, and return to the quiet of the upstairs.

Over the years, I discovered that I need to be alone more than most people. I seem to be an emotional sponge, and can almost feel the emotions of other people reaching across to mine. It becomes very draining to be around groups of people. I love most people, I love socializing, but after a couple hours, I'm exhausted. I need to do it in shorts bursts. And then I need quiet. The twins seem to be the only exception to this rule. They don't drain me - I'm totally comfortable with them. I wonder what the difference is? It isn't that I love them more than my oldest son, or my dad, or my brothers. It's just different. Maybe they have the same emotional make up as I do. Whatever it is, that energy drain doesn't occur. And that's part of the reason I so look forward to visiting them. For it gets lonely being alone. The silence can sometimes be too loud.
Even quiet people need to belong......

Dad

This week's Debby's Dare was to be about your first love. I immediately thought of my Dad, because he was such a great example of what a father could be. He was always so supportive of me. During high school, he came to every concert, every competition I took part of. When in college, he continued this tradition, by leaving work a little early, driving over 3 hours to come to my college in time to watch the performance, take me out to dinner, and would then drove the 3 hours back home. And then he would have to get up at 5 the next morning in order to go to work. Every single concert. I was a music major for 5 years and was in many musical organizations, but he never missed one. This was my dad, and this was his way of showing his love for me. And so, my journaling for this layout reads:
My very first love was, of course, my dad. The connection between father and daughter is not equaled by any other relationship. I remember small things from my childhood - of comparing the size of our hands, or trying to pry his hand open to show him how strong I was, or sitting at the kitchen table as he drew my portrait. And over the years I realized just what a gentleman he was. ALWAYS his steps would speed up as we approached a door, so that he could reach around me to open it for me. ALWAYS, when leaving a concert, he would make sure I started up the aisle before him, his hand gently touching my back in order to let me know that he was behind me. And while walking down the street, he would ALWAYS insist that he walk nearest the curb. That confused me for years. It was only after I grew up that I realized this was probably the result of having grown up during a period of time when streets were not always paved, so a true gentleman protected the woman walking with him by putting himself between her and any mud puddles. That’s so sweet. It made me feel safe and cherished. Even now, at the age of 79, my dad is just as protective, just as caring and helpful, as he was when I was young. He still opens doors, still walks to the outside, still checks to make sure everything is well with me. It is so comforting to know, that to him, I am still his little girl.

Musical Memory

Well, I completed Debby's Dare this week and realized even though I didn't complete last week's challenge, this has still been one of my most productive months. This week we were asked to pick a favorite teenage memory. To be honest, I really wouldn't want to be a teenager again. It was such an intense time - I was so insecure, so concerned with being everything that everyone wanted me to be. And never feeling I was good enough at anything. About the only time this changed was when I was when I was a part of a really good band, such as when I went to music camp. Yes, I was a band geek. I went to music camp. I LIKED music camp. Liked the friends I made, the classes we had, the freedom of being away from home, and most of all, being a part of a REALLY good musical group. And when we performed, once in a while I would get a chill down my spine, and everything felt right. This most often occurred while I was in college, since the musical organizations I was a member of in college were so very good. At times like those, I felt good enough, I felt a part of something greater than myself. And so my journaling reads:

I was shy in high school -always one of the first to enter each classroom, so that I could sit at the back and hide behind the others. I knew the answers, but panic arose every time I was asked to speak. So it was almost ironic that I became a cheerleader, for it necessitated the creation of a facade shown to everyone who saw me at those sporting events. Music was my real mode of communication. I sang in choir and played clarinet in band and it was the clarinet that gave me my most powerful school memories. It gave me something substantial to hold on to - my security blanket, so to speak. To this day, whenever I take it out of its case, I feel this sense of peace. I had many successes in high school, many medals for all the competitions in which I participated. The medals were a nice external reward, but the real reward was the feeling I got when I became one with the music. There is nothing like it. To play in a musical group and suddenly realize that the conductor could do ANYTHING at that point and we would all react as one entity - that everyone was totally connected, beyond the mechanics of playing the right notes, pushing the right keys, using the right embouchures. There is a feeling of oneness or wholeness, a certain magic, that occurs when everything is just right. It is amazing. Those such moments were my very best memories not only of high school, but of all my years as a student.

Happy St Patty's Day!

Hope it was a grand day for you....I realized I haven't written anything for awhile, so I decided to share another layout. The pic is about 20 years old. It was taken on our way home from a vacation down to Disney World. The twins were hot and exhausted, but it was such a great trip. I LOVE the pic - it captures that innocence that I so miss. They turn 26 tomorrow and they are half a country away from me. I miss them. I miss their great sense of humor. I miss their pacing around the room as they chat. I miss watching them play the latest Final Fantasy game. I miss trying to figure out what their Japanese notes mean that they posted on their white board. I miss watching them play Dance Dance. So many things. I was hoping to go and visit them this week - it's my spring break and the timing was perfect - for me. They, however, have been working very late every day since New Years. They were hoping to be done with the project by now, but the timing wasn't right. And so here I sit, missing them, and thinking of 26 years ago and how excited I was that I would finally meet them. They were everything I had hoped for - they have been such joy. I wish for them a lifetime of happiness and good luck. For after all, their birthday was ushered in by St. Patrick, so hopefully, some of the Irish Luck was saved for them.

Blink

Motherhood. It meant the world to me. There is NOTHING in this world that is more rewarding and more exhausting. So when Debby's Dare posed the question regarding what moment in time changed your life in the blink of an eye, I immediately thought of the moment I first met my oldest son. When I first got married I didn't know that I'd ever want to have children - it just wasn't on my radar. But when my older brother adopted a child it did something to me - it awoke all those maternal feelings and it was time. I was nauseous throughout my pregnancy, but the feel of him moving within me made every second worthwhile. Of course, I didn't KNOW he was a boy at the time - I just knew he was a miracle growing inside. And so, with this layout, I wanted to capture that magical, mystical time of my life. And so my journalling reads, "

I blinked. And there you were. At least that’s how it seemed to me. After 32 hours of labor it was decided you needed some help getting here, so I was taken into the OR, and my doctor tried 3 times to get an epidural in my spine. But you kept trying to get here on your own and the contractions interfered with the procedure. So he finally decided that I needed to have general anesthesia. And so I blinked….. and I swear I heard your first cry, and I swear I heard them say “it’s a boy”. And I blinked, and my eyes were opening, and you were there. And you were beautiful. You were perfect. And my life changed forever….

Angels come in a multitude of sizes

My angel happens to be my best friend. Ever since my mom was diagnosed with cancer 30 years ago, this woman has been there whenever I've needed a friend - even without my asking. During my time of mourning, she supplied us with meals everyday, for months. She'd drop off the meals, let us know that she cared and than would quietly leave. The constancy of her love convinced me she was the most unselfish person I would ever meet. After my divorce, her RAKs are what supported me - a candy bar or donut would appear in my school mailbox, a card would be sent, a bag of goodies would be hanging from my garage door when I arrive home from work, her name never attached. And when I got back on my feet, I would hear from others that she was the first one to help them too. She is amazing. She is my best friend. Many years ago, I needed to express my feelings for her and wrote the following:

"an angel's earthly messenger:
words of comfort when most needed,
quietly supplying the food and the company,
and disappearing into the shadows of unspoken empathy:
giving strength in silent caring,
giving comfort with an unspoken presence,
giving hope in the neverending constancy of friendship.

and when the sharp edge of grief has dulled,
and memories of happy moments can be shared again,
you move on to another soul in need:
unlimited love for humanity
in actions blessed by God."

We still send cards of support. I still occasionally find a goodiebag hanging on the door, even though she now lives an hour away. Distance doesn't change love. We have a habit of sending each other angels. One such gift is inscribed,"Angels are often diguised as Special Friends". She thinks she chose that angel because it described me, but I know better - it is describing her. Just when I need it most she uncanningly appears with an RAK, giving me faith that angels do indeed exist, in that God cares enough to send me one in the form of a very best friend.