S-Curve Leaf

I thought I had all of Dad's photos off the walls and stacked neatly against the living room wall. Then, I went into his old bedroom to see if there was any soap in his bathroom and on my way out, there it was--the one photo I had missed.

About two years ago Dad called me into the living room and asked me to go out to the photo room in the barn and get the photo of the s-curve leaf (see above). He wanted to hang it in his bedroom so he could "look at it" for a while. Dad did this a lot. He'd have me hang a particular photo of his on a particular wall so he could "look at it" for a while.

So....I'm moving in a month. Think I'll hang the S-curve Leaf in my new place so I can "look at it" for a while.

Stupid Cast-Iron Dog Mudscraper

There's a dog-shaped cast-iron mudscraper that sets outside the front door to the family home. It looks like a black dachshund (almost identical to the one above). It's really, really heavy (it's made of cast-iron after all) and it has been outside the front door of every house my parents have ever lived in since I was born--six houses total.

I was looking out the kitchen window this afternoon, washing out my cereal dish, and I found myself staring at that stupid, peeling-paint, rusty-smudged, cast-iron dog for the longest time.

See, the house here has been sold. It's in escrow now. There's going to be an estate sale. Everything........well, pretty much everything.........is being sold.

So I'm staring at the dachshund mudscraper and all I can think of is how wrong it feels that, sometime in the near future, that stupid dachshund mudscraper is probably going to be in front of somebody else's home instead of my parents'.  It's almost as if something about me is going to go away if that stupid mudscraper isn't setting outside the front door of my parents' house. Except......my parents don't really have a house anymore do they? And sure, I could just take the stupid mudscraper dog to the house I'm going to be renting and set it outside the front door to that house, but I know full well that if I do that with the stupid dog mudscraper, I'll be doing it with who-knows-what-other-stupid-thing that's been part of every house my parents have lived in.

Tonight.......I'm trying to let go of the stupid cast-iron dog mudscraper...

Today I'm Just A Traveler

Today I’m Just A Traveler

21 Nov 2011

Today, I am just a Traveler.

My suitcase is neatly packed, my toiletries are organized, my clothes are folded and stacked. I have my water bottle, brush, and comb, my sweater, socks, and shoes, a fresh supply of vitamins, my phone, a book, and a couple of magazines to pass the time.

I look out the window, and all I can think is, “Today…I am sitting in seat 9D and I am just a traveler.”

For twenty years I was an only Child with two brothers and one sister, living in a bustling beach town in southern California. I made sand castles. I rode skateboards and horses. I fell into and out of puppy love, young teenage love, old teenage love. I got pregnant four months before my high school graduation because I was too afraid to do anything else.

I became a Mother before I was a grownup. My three children somehow managed to find themselves while I looked unsuccessfully for my self.

For a total of eighteen years, I was a Wife to three different men. Committed, to a fault, to everyone but myself. Loving and in love with everyone but myself.

Almost two years ago, I became a Grandmother. I’m still trying to figure out what that means. . .

Seven years ago, Mom and Dad were declining.

Some said Mom and Dad should move away, sell the family home, live in a facility. Dad needed help caring for Mom.

Some said it was time.  But Dad said he didn’t want to move.

I said, Mom and Dad should be able to stay in the family home, die in the family home.

I said, I would move in and help Dad take care of Mom.

Seven years ago, I became a Caregiver.

My father would call me his angel.

My mother would call me at all hours of the night.

My father made me laugh and groan in frustration.

My mother made me weep with exhaustion.

For seven years…. I was a Caregiver.

Three months ago, some said again that it was time.

Mom and Dad moved into a facility.

The For Sale sign went up and the family home stopped being the family home.

I still live in what used to be the family home.

I still sit in the living room where my father and mother sat.

Everything about the living room is different except that it’s still the living room. That it’s called a living room seems strangely ironic to me.

Three months ago, I stopped being a Caregiver.

For three months I was lost—an 800 number my frequent midnight friend.

For three months I was a Patient—a comfortable couch, a box of tissue, and an objective listener my only audience.

For three months, I discovered friends I never realized I had, and a brother I never knew I had lost.

I am 58 years old. I have been a daughter, a sister, a student, a teacher, a scientist, a tutor, a receptionist, an actor, a director, a writer, an editor, a wife, a mother, and a caregiver.

But today.....my bags are packed, the seat belt sign is on, I am sitting in seat 9D, and I am just a Traveler.

Once there was a quiet world. A world where silence reached out to touch every living thing every non-second of every dayless non-year. A world where ego and greed felled no tree, diverted no stream, nor manipulated the fate of any living thing. Where the music of a thousand dancing trees entertained no one.  

Once there was a world where the pace of life meant only that there were footprints in the sand, a burning sunset, a half-lit moon. 

Once there was a world where the desire for solitude never existed. Where the concept of silence was not born, because it was all that was. 

Once there was a world...

Tenuous lines hold me in a 

fragile balance. 

The unattainable decision is

temptingly within reach. 

What presents that unthinkable fate

is beyond my understanding.

And yet....it is always there. 

Life's balance has become

sickeningly clear with the passing years. 

No more ambivalence.

No more nebulous definitions.

No more unresolved confusion. 

The panes of glass are no longer

stained and smudged with selfishness.

There are no windows.

Only an open door.

The direction is so simple. 

To go on is so obviously clear.

The temptation towards insanity

Is my constant companion. 

An obnoxious but faithful attendant.

My life's lessons have accumulated like

Multi-colored knick-knacks

Set carefully on a stable shelf.

The sun warming them each day,

Gathering the dust of love and hate.

A windowless house.

A single open door. 

A collection of dusty knick-knacks.

Welcome to my humble home. 

drf

written January 2002

Reflections

The women would say,
"She was selfish and quiet,
Incapable of loving in that
Longterm sort of way.

"She was wild and a little bit crazy.
What man would put up with that
Day after day?"

The men would say,
"She was sweet; she was shy.
Her choices came hastily
Without enough thought.

"She led with her heart.
Then again, thought too much,
More intent on control than not."

The family would say,
"What a shame; what a pity.
So spoiled; so coddled.
She should have been so much more.

"Her decisions were reflective
Of a person she never was,
Thinking after more often than before.

Her parents would say,
"She was driven and ambitious,
She was intelligent and witty.
She had so much to offer the world.

"It's a mystery to us.
We don't understand
The ways her life unfurled."

Her children would say,
"She was mom. She was cool.
She did things no one else did.
Her laughter was quick and sincere.

"Such a shame she was pretty.
So sad she loved easily.
Why did she shed so many tears?"

Her lovers would say,
"So self-centered; so controlling.
So engrossed in herself.
So unwilling to do her part.

"She was passionate yet cold.
Selectively kind;
Incapable of giving her heart."

She would say,
"I am lonely and sad.
And regretful of many things.
An emptiness hangs on my brow.


"I wanted so badly to make everyone proud.
But somehow I forgot
To learn how."

drf
written 25 January 2002

Bracing....

It should be okay. It should all work out. There shouldn't be any glitches. There shouldn't be any unexpected surprises.
Why do I just assume none of that is right?
Bracing for the next very stressful two weeks of my life.

Just when ya think it's allll gonna be okay.....

.....the phone rings, then the email pops into your Inbox, then the insensitive brother calls, then the woeful father calls, then the short sale attorney calls, then the realtor for the short sale calls, then the bankruptcy attorney calls, then the short sale attorney and the bankruptcy attorney call each other, then the next email pops into your Inbox demanding a fax by noon, then you realize you haven't eaten anything or gone to the bathroom yet or fed the dogs, then you try to reassure yourself that everything that's supposed to happen in the next month will happen but you can't help but dread what might happen in the next month instead, and before you know it it's time to leave for the airport to pick up your son and his wife for a five day festive family visit.

ho-freakin'-ho

Two Dogs And A Fig Tree

A sweet little cottage on a hill overlooking the bay, wrap around deck, two bedrooms, and a carport, walking distance to everything in Port Townsend. Misshapen fig tree. Dogs accepted.

I have a new home.

Excuse me......I'd like an upgrade?

One stinking little note.
One lousy, stinking little post-it note.
And I'm riled up like nobody's business.

The best thing evolution could do for humanity is to make the empathy/compassion gene a standard feature. Or......somehow make it possible to upgrade one or more siblings who missed out on the empathy/compassion gene and got a double dose of the insensitivity gene instead!

Wide Awake in Seattle

There's something about driving around the city at night during the holidays. Stimulating.

Shhhhhump!

I'm not sure how to describe how I feel tonight. The closest thing that comes to mind is a toy my kids had when they were babies. It was a wooden box with different shapes cut into the sides--circle shapes, star shapes, square shapes, triangle shapes. And the point was to fit wooden blocks of corresponding shapes into the correct hole. This was one of my favorite toys and I played with it a lot with all three of my kids. But what I really liked about it was not just fitting the right block INTO the right hole. It was the feeling I got when the right blocks dropped DOWN INTO the box by fitting through the right hole. Like......shhhhhump!
I dunno..........something incredibly gratifying about finding the right block that would smoothly and effortlessly shhhhump down into the right hole. Like that's how it feels now when you've done something right.
So that's how I feel tonight.
shhhhump!

Move

I crossed a hurdle tonight.
I walked into the living room and just stood there for a while looking at the furniture--the twin blue chairs that used to be in my grandmother's house; the matching ottoman; and the two tree stump sidetables that came from actual eucalyptus trees from our ranch house in Fallbrook. I looked around at the walls, the chair rail, the floors. And for the first time, I finally felt like the best and smartest thing for me to do is to move out of this house and find a space that is my own.

So there it is. Time to move on....

Dad Chat

I called Mom and Dad tonight to see how they're doing, check in, chat. Dad sounded really good. So did Mom for that matter. Dad said to me, "We're a lot better off down here" then added, "but we miss you."

This singular comment launched my brain into a whole inner dialogue about whether Mom and Dad should've move down to San Diego sooner. And then THAT launched my brain into a whole new inner dialogue about the morality and ethical sense of keeping humans alive for as long as possible for no reason other than.......to see how long we can keep humans alive.

Inner dialogue aside, tonight's better-than-average chat with Dad was a nice change of pace to the "are you working enough," "do you have enough money" conversations that have been the norm.

Emily, Uma, and Me

The girls ate late tonight. Their usual dinnertime was delayed by a few hours. Do they mind? I think not.
When I roll in shortly after seven, Uma goes into her normal "rabbit dance" and Emily does her normal "chew the shit out of the Nylabone" routine.

I should probably explain the "rabbit dance." When Uma gets excited (in a good way) she does this thing where she runs around in a tight little figure eight, then stops with her butt sticking up in the air and her face kind of pushed down onto her stretched out front legs. (It's the classic play pose for any behaviorists out there.) Anyway, she does this figure eight REALLY fast. And she does it over and over and over again, as long as I encourage her. Emily.....well, she just chews. She's a chewing machine. But then......she's an English Bulldog. 

So the girls ate late, I changed into pjs, made myself a big steamy mug of my signature SugarCookieCocoaTea, climbed onto the futon, and relaxed with my laptop and Hulu.
Emily retired early tonight, around 8:30. She's funny how she hangs out in the living room with Uma and me, sometimes for several hours. She basically kicks Uma off the futon (because, did I mention, she's an English Bulldog?) and sleeps next to me. At some point, she decides she's had enough of the futon, or me, or the sound of the laptop, or something, and she gets up and goes into my bedroom, jumps up on the bed (which she's NOT supposed to be able to do because, did I mention, she's an English Bulldog?) and goes to sleep. Personally, I think it's the noise. Here's why....

I used to go to bed and sit up for a while with my laptop writing in bed. Initially, Emily would come up on the bed and lie down next to me (she sleeps with me at night......we spoon). But as soon as I open up the laptop and start tapping away on the keyboard, she lifts up her head, stares at the laptop for about ten seconds, then gets up and leaves. And she doesn't come back until I close the laptop up. Seriously. Like she knows when the laptop is closed up. For a while, she would wait before jumping up on the bed. Instead, she'd just stand at the foot of the bed and watch me, waiting to see if I was going to climb into bed and open up the laptop, or just climb into bed. If I open up the laptop, she immediately turns around and walks out. Kinda like, "I'm outta here." And again, she doesn't come back until I close up the laptop.

So it's just Uma and me on the futon right now. She's asleep but I've discovered a new program while searching through Hulu+ for interesting shows to watch. Chocolate Television. Who knew.

Had a fun time at callbacks tonight, then dinner with friends. Now topped off with Chocolate Television. Good evening.