Happy Friday Thoughts

Now that I've made up with my neighbor/friend, I have regained access to the best babysitters ever. 

Tonight, I'm going to see LOTR, Return of the King. 

The kids are out of school due to snow today.  (I am so ready to have them home with me for two weeks.  I miss them when they are in school.)

I still haven't done Christmas Shopping.  I'm wondering if I put it off long enough, will I be able to avoid it altogether? 

My feet are warm because my cat is curled up on them.

It's a good day.

Wanna See What I See? 

Looking out my front door

Out my back door

The Kitty on my blanket on my feet. 

Waking Up

Part of the growth process I've been undertaking over the past year is to understand my own level of consciousness and to wake up to life.  People who follow the principles of Buddhism are familiar with the metaphor of wakefulness as a spiritual goal.  Siddhartha was the man who woke up.  (He's also one of two people in history of whom others asked not "who are you?" but "what are you?" - I've always been fascinated by that bit of trivia.)

This morning in my email there is a thought for the day from the Higher Awareness site about consciousness.  They define four levels of consciousness. 

Not conscious - instinctual, follower
Subconscious - habitual, robotic, reactive
Conscious - aware, intelligent, conceptual, reflective
Superconscious - intuitive, guiding, truthful, loving, universal

As I evaluated myself, I decided that there are very few areas of my life in which I am not conscious.  I think that as a general rule, I'm too cynical to be a follower.  How do I know that the person I'm following has any idea what they are doing?  Or why they are doing it?

The thing that I've been most conscious of trying to overcome as been my tendency to be reactive without losing my ability to be responsive.  I don't want to become insensitive, I want to hear, understand and adapt within relationships to all different levels.  But there is a difference between a conscious ability to respond and the unconscious reaction.  When I'm caught in reaction, I give away my power to someone or something else.  I forget that I have both freedom and responsibility for myself and my behavior.  I start to feel trapped by circumstances. 

I flatter myself that for the most part I am conscious.  I'm thinking now about the adjectives used to describe that superconscious state.  Intuitive knowledge is knowledge that isn't discussed or valued much in classic philosophy.  Intuitive knowledge is that which you are able to know because of who you are, because of what you have felt and experienced.  No one else can ever know what I know intuitively because no one else is I.  For most of my life, I have not wanted to trust that intuitive knowledge, I haven't wanted to trust myself because without an external reference to check myself, what if I'm wrong?  I have never been much for following my heart.  One of the things I've learned over the past year, and especially in the last six months is that my heart is trustworthy. 

Yesterday, I woke up feeling sad and overwhelmed by my circumstances and my life.  But I've done so much thinking that I couldn't see allowing myself to spend another day in reflection, my heart said it was time for a break, time to feed my soul with something different.  So - I decided to drive to Walmart.  It's not a three minute hop over to the store.  From my home, Walmart is a 40 minute drive through beautiful countryside.  Yes, I needed the laundry soap, but even more, I needed to see the formation of icicles from stone outcroppings. 

Then I got a call from my friend, Barb.  I told her what I was doing and she had a suggestion - how about after my kids are out of school, we drive over to Madison.  It's a picturesque little town which sits in a bend of the Ohio River.  Old Victorian homes and quaint little shops are the order of the day.  With everything decorated for Christmas, it's a quiet invitation to walk, enjoy the season, and visit the old soda shop for the best potato salad in Southern Indiana.  That's what I did.  And I'm glad.  Makes waking up a lot more pleasant today. 

Grinch Night

I started to entitle this piece, Crying in the Dark, you can tell me when I'm done which title works best.  Last night was Grinch Night at my kids' school.  The boys and I went and had a blast.  Hundreds of families gathered for games.  One of the teachers, dressed in a Grinch suit, read the classic story.  Then we all decorated Grinch Cookies, (Michael volunteered to eat mine for me ) and for the finale, we watched the animated Grinch film.  By the time we got back, Tim was arriving home from work, so he was pressed into service reading the story again.  The boys bickered a bit about which was the best part.  I think they finally decided that each version had it's high points and left it at that. 

The "Christmas Spirit" has eluded me this year.  But I have to admit, I haven't been chasing it very hard.  I've cried over every Christmas Card I've received.  Expecially, some from my Xanga friends because I didn't sign up for any of the card exchanges this year, so the ones I received came from people who saved my address from last year.  That's special.

I'm doing things that my children enjoy.  I've made a dozen or more batches of Christmas Candy.  We've made cookies.  We've kept most of the holiday traditions that have made the season special for the boys.  Over the next week, we'll do more and more and they will have their Christmas.  My husband has already given me an unexpected and very appreciated gift.  I have only bought a couple of presents.  Last weekend we took the kids shopping and they purchased the gifts they are giving each other along with the things they will jointly give to me and Tim.  They had a blast although Michael was disturbed that he didn't get more change.  

As I walked around and looked at the displays, all I could think was "this is just stuff."  I didn't want to buy anything for anybody.  I know all that homiletic wisdom about it's the thought that counts, but really, what are people thinking?  This isn't a rant about materialism, it's deeper and sadder than ranting. 

I keep thinking about Incarnation.  It's hard to step outside the familiarity we have with the story of Christmas.  Even in theological circles, the discussion and debate about the Nativity focuses on obscure details, in just what year DID Augustus order that Census?  What did Luke mean that Quirinius was the governor of Syria when we can't substantiate that from the historical record?  And come on!  The very idea that Joseph would take Mary to an Inn - in those days, an Inn wasn't like the Holiday Express with fresh linens and a coffee pot in every room.  An Inn was a place for ruffians and thieves, only a desperate person would even begin to consider such a place.  The Inn in those days was literally a campfire surrounded by bails of straw.  Here, honey, I know you've been on the back of a donkey for days, you're tired, you're in labor - how about we stay here where you can give birth in full sight of a couple dozen smelly guys who may or may not rob me of what precious few possessions I have before morning ... I digress.  Its not just that the story is improbable, it's that 2000 years removed from that culture and those events, we've made it all warm and fuzzy.  We think that the tragedy is that she was forced to give birth in a barn, when in truth that's the one thing that she probably felt most grateful for that night.  We don't get it.  I don't get it.

I don't even get the historical details, how much less do I understand the possibility of what the story purports to reveal.  Incarnation.  I've had an idea that took off and became a reality, so I have a rudimentary grasp of the way that Incarnation looks like.  I've had words spoken that took on a "life of their own" so I can imagine something of what John was saying when he wrote that "the Word became flesh and lived among us ..."  But these are vague shadows beside the magnitude of the story of Incarnation.  

Fifteen years ago this month, I married Tim.  Last night, I took the boys to their school function.  I wasn't the only Mom there without a Dad.  It wasn't the first time that I've taken the boys to do things that Tim couldn't join because of his work schedule.  Always before, I've known that maybe next time he'd be there with us.  Last night, it sank in to me that this is the first time that I haven't had the hope of next time.  This month we will celebrate Christmas - the Incarnation of God.  We will celebrate Tucker's birthday - the Incarnation of love.  We will celebrate our anniversary - the Incarnation of a promise.  I will ponder the meaning of all these things and wonder whether I really understand any of it. 

I may have more nights like those of the past few days when I cry in the dark. 

(You know, I like that ending, because it's true.  But I'm also uncomfortable with it because it sounds like I'm feeling sorry for myself.  I am feeling sorrow, but not self-pity.)

My Obsession

As most obsessions begin, mine started out innocently enough.  I spent most of my day every day at my friend Maureen's house.  Okay, it was also my job to be there, but that's a story for another day.  Maureen is a fabulous person with one serious flaw.  Whenever she shops for household supplies, she can never remember toilet paper.  So it was a constant struggle to find one last roll or even a box of kleenex that might have been overlooked when the kids were making those tissue flowers. 

I started buying toilet paper.  I mean, everytime I stopped in at the store for any reason, I picked up a pack.  Sometimes, I'd even remember to take it to Maureen's.  We began to have an excess of toilet paper.  More than an excess, we had MOUNTAINS of toilet paper.  It filled the closet, and was stacked behind the bathroom door to a height that exceeded my reach.  Still, the next time I was out I'd have the thought; I need to get toilet paper.  It has taken me years of effort to live in reality not in the fear of lack, but I have finally acheived freedom.  Last night, here in MY house.  We ran out of toilet paper.  Others might view this as a problem, we recognized it as victory from obsession.  (Yeah, we're strange that way.)

In other news, there is snow on my hill.  Snow packed firmly on the road that is never plowed because it's a private road so the county doesn't have to plow it and no one who lives here has a snowplow parked in his garage.  I checked the website for the school as soon as I woke up.  Harrison County (below us), Jackson County (above us), and all the other counties around us have already posted that their schools are closed for the day.  But Washington County?  No.  No word at all.  The school could be open, closed, starting an hour late - who knows?  And in the meantime, I have to decide whether I'm willing to even try to brave this hill.  I don't care what they show in the commercials, a minivan is not the vehicle for going everywhere.  And winding down a steep hill to a sharp curve on ice, is one of the places I don't want to go.

Days like this, it would be nice to have a helicopter.  That's another of my fantasies.  I don't know why, some things, it's just more fun to accept than to analyze.  But for years, I've thought, I'd really like to have a helicopter.  I've never even flown in a helicopter, but I think about it at least once a week, "If I had my helicopter, I could ... go buy toilet paper."  

Tucker and I agree that we LOVE THIS.  (Make sure you have your sound turned on.) (Not that we have a sick sense of humor or anything ...  )

Living as Adults

I have a topic that I've been putting off for a lot of reasons, but I need to write it out.  When I came to Xanga 30 months ago, my husband and my sister were already here and they encouraged me that this was a place that I could write.  Because I came last to this place I was very conscious of a need (self-imposed I'll admit) to be cautious of anything I would say here that might in anyway cast either of these two people whom I loved in a bad light.  Those of you who've been reading my site for any length know that I have never used my Xanga as a place to rant and rave about my husband. 

So what I have to say may come as a surprise.  Tim and I have decided to separate and we’ll be filing for divorce in March.  The reason for waiting until March is purely pragmatic; our children have just started school for the first time after years of homeschooling.  This transition has been difficult for them, and we don’t want to compound the difficulty by moving them before the end of the year. 

The reasons for our decision to divorce are numerous and go deep.  We have known for years that we had become unhealthy for each other, we’ve recently realized that within this marriage, there is no hope for breaking those patterns.  This isn’t a spur of the moment decision, it isn’t being made in anger or out of the pain of a specific incident.  It’s the recognition that at this point we have the possibility before us that we can work out a friendship.  If the marriage continues, the pain here is so great, that every day we continue, we diminish our ability to move into the kind of healthy relationship that we must continue to try to build. 

One thing we are clear on and determined to honor is that the end of the marriage is not the end of our relationship.  We do have love for each other still.  Both of us are terribly sad that we have reached this point.  Both of us are very worried about the impact this will have on our children.  We are doing everything we can at this point to minimize the trauma, but we are trying to be realistic.  We recognize that this is a frightening change for us as adults, and we expect that it will be exponentially more difficult for our babies. 

I haven’t worked in 9 years, since Michael was a baby.  So I’m trying to sort out my options and figure out what I’ll be doing for a career.  One of the things that will have to be worked out is that we know that I will leave this area.  The final decision where I will go isn’t yet carved in stone, but it will be states away from Indiana. 

One of the things that I have not yet addressed is the impact that our faith in God has made on this decision.  I don’t expect that everyone will agree with my opinion on this issue.  I believe, I know that God hates divorce.  I believe that God hates divorce for the same reason that divorced people hate divorce.  No one gets married thinking that it will be less than a lifetime commitment.  It takes a lot of pain to bring anyone to the point of letting go of that dream.  It takes even more pain to come to the point of pulling yourself out of the patterns of behavior that destroyed the dream in the first place.  God has no desire to see His children in pain.  Neither does He condemn us when we reach the point that we confess our inability to stand.  There is a difference between sin and foolishness.  Tim and I are reaping the fruit of foolishness.  With God’s help, we will come out of this much wiser than we came into it. 

We have been on this course toward the end for a number of years.  This past year has been the climax of the story, one of incredible pain and incredible growth.  I have learned to lean on the grace of God everyday and in everyway to make it.  I am more fortunate than most people who come to this point.  I don’t have to make life decisions in a moment of crisis, we have been able to work together to plan how we’ll take these steps.  I have wonderful supportive friends and family who have committed themselves to supporting and praying for me and for Tim.

Reconciliation -

Just over a year ago, my neighbor friend and I stopped speaking to each other.  It's a long story, and in many ways a particularly painful one.  But remember how I was saying that healing has been happening in my life?  I saw her son at the grocery store the other day.  Ian and I have always appreciated each other.  He's been very much like the older brother that my kids would have loved to have.  But, since his Mom and I haven't been speaking, I haven't seen him either.  It was great to visit with him.  We talked for a few minutes and both of us said how we missed each other. 

Then - his Mom called me.  Well, I won't go into all the details, but we had a long talk, said things that needed to be said, and today we saw each other, literally for the first time since October of last year.  Yeah, I have to drive past her house everytime I go anywhere, and so avoiding each other has been difficult at times, but we acheived it.  So many times over the past year I've picked up the phone to call Barb, only to remember, "oh, yeah, we aren't friends anymore." 

Five minutes into our meeting today, she looked at me and said, "My God in Heaven, I don't know what you've got but I WANT some of it.  You look happier, sound better, and have some kinda f__ing serenity thing going!"  So we talked.  I've had the sense that I was changing, I've even talked here about the changes in my life in a very general sort of way.  Talking to someone who knew me intimately a year ago, but who hasn't been party to the changes of the past 12 months was a window into the depth of growth that I've been experiencing.  Barb has never been reticient, and she had a great deal of fun today searching out all the differences that she could add to the list.  There are some things I still haven't told her.  But at this point we've caught up on the high points from our months apart.

Healing is a beautiful thing. 

- the other day I posted the story of my Mom in the Christmas Parade with my two nephews.  My sister has posted some photos on her site of the golf-cart-sled ensemble. 

Healing

One of the most beautiful experiences of life is to heal.  We heal from illness, injury, emotional trauma, and bad decisions.  This week is a time of healing in my house.  During recovery, we are a little more gentle with ourselves and with each other.  We are careful of the tender spots and we pay attention to the details of comfort that support and nurture. 

Health is not simply the absence of sickness.   Hannah Green

Tucker is feeling much better.  He ate a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch, and he has just informed me that if I will get him pizza tonight, he'll eat that too.  For the past for days, he has barely eaten more than one or two bites at a time of anything.  So all I said in response to his annoucement was to ask him whether he wants Dominos or Papa John's. 

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.  Anais Nin

My Mom

My relationship with my mother is as complicated as the relationship between any mother and daughter.  We reached our lowest point when she drove to where I was living and working to tell me that I had to stop living the way I was and move back "home" or I wouldn't be her daughter any more.  (I've written about other events that were going on in my life that year here.)   There was a period of about five to six months when Mom didn't call me and if I called home, she would hand the phone to someone else as soon as she heard my voice.  At least she didn't hang up so I didn't lose contact with the rest of my family.  Eventually, a friend of mine called her on my behalf and told her that he was really tired of the way she was acting.  I don't know everything he said to her, but to my amazement, my Mom started speaking to me again.  She refused to ever call my friend by name, preferring instead to ask me how "Doo-Wop" was getting along. 

The high point in my relationship with Mom has been over the last couple of years.  I've been in a position to help my mother when she really needed it, and she has made it clear that she appreciates the help and me.  This kind of validation is bittersweet.  I wonder how my life would have been different if my Mom and I had been able to negotiate a more healthy relationship 30 years ago. 

When Mom entered her 60's, her attitude about a lot of things began to change. All my life, I've experienced her primarily as angry and unhappy.  But now, she's started buying bright clothes with so many rhinestones that my dad says it looks like she's been shopping Porter Wagoner's yard sale.  (There's a reference that ought to separate the wheat from the chaff in the comments section.  )  She's doing things that she's talked about but never done before.  And she's having fun.

Mom and I talked on Saturday and she told me that she'd gotten a "wild hair".  She decided that she wanted to be in the Christmas Parade.  In my little hometown, the Christmas Parade is a HUGE deal.  Churches and civic organizations start months before planning and constructing their floats.  It's no Macy's or Rose Parade, but it's a lot of fun, and people take it seriously.  (There are prizes for floats in different categories as well, so there's a lot of competition.) 

Dad being Dad said that if Mom wanted to be in the parade, he'd do what she needed done to get her there.  So he cut a sleigh shape from plywood and bolted it to Mom's golfcart.  She doesn't golf, she uses it to get around her neighborhood.  That's another blog.  Anyway, with packages and stuffed bears piled in the back of the "sleigh," My Mom and my nephew Jordan playing the part of Santa's helpers - all they needed was a reindeer.  So they drafted my other nephew, Jared.  He's five this year. 

Jared wore a red blinking nose, and reindeer antlers.  He has one of these little battery powered jeeps.  They decorated it up with tinsel, tied a rope from the Jeep to the golf cart so it looked as though Rudolph had the sleigh in tow, and they were set.  She says that Jared took his job very seriously, looking neither right nor left but straight ahead and with the "pedal to the metal" the whole way.  When she was concerned that he was going to run into the people in front of them, she finally had to apply the brakes to the golf cart to hold him back.  She said his little back tires spun on the pavement the whole time. 

Mom didn't win a prize.  But she said that they were the source of the most laughter, photo ops, and "Oh, I WISH I'd thought of that" kind of remarks.  I wish for my mom more and more of these kinds of ideas and spontaneous, fun, events now and for the rest of her life.