Month: July 2005

  • Out of Uniform


    I've spent all summer with a group of people in uniform.  Strict uniform.  Shirt sleeves must be starched to a crisp line, and black pants must be hemmed to the heel of your black shoes.  I've come to know (or believe I know) things about the people inside the uniforms by the way they express their individuality with hairstyles and posture.  I judge them based on who pulls his own weight and who I'd just as soon not see named in the same room I'm assigned to work. 


    So it's almost a shock to see Chrystal with her hair down wearing a loosely woven gauze skirt.  I was surprised to notice that without the pillowing effect of the apron and shirt, Roxy's lean athletic body is also gracefully curved.  I didn't realize how much softer Christina would look with her hair down. 


    It's funny how much I depend on clothes to tell me things about people, shorthand notes that enable me to skip the complicated process of really looking at the person beneath the bowtie.  And because I'm self-centered I wonder how differently they might view me out of uniform.  I know that on the few occasions I've gone into Mimi's in street clothes, there has always been someone doing a double take and telling me that they don't recognize me with my hair down.  I wonder how different an impression my Momi uniform makes than my Mimi uniform does. 


     

  • What Time IS it?


    Okay, I may officially be approaching that magical point of "worked too much and look at the poor thing now."  I'm starting to not remember whether it's morning or night much less which day of the week it is.  Someone made a comment yesterday about getting an appoinmment wrong and for a long long moment, I thought that it was August already.  I knew when I started out this summer that I was setting a pace I couldn't maintain long term, but I thought I could at least make it through a few weeks. 


    I am in the steepest part of the downhill stretch now.  Past the halfway point and knowing that the boys are going to be back here on the 9th.  Red letter day that one.  I've missed them terribly. 


    One of the servers from work got married last night.  (So of course I picked up her shifts for yesterday, today, tomorrow and Saturday evening.)  See what I mean about that steep slide?  I've worked every day since my return from Iowa and more than half of those days I worked double shifts.  But I'm almost at the end of my ability to do that not only because the boys are coming home, but I'm tired. 


    Counting down the days until the end of this life's season makes me think with trepidation about what may be coming.  Though I've been pleased this summer to exceed the goals I set for myself in terms of finanaces, I know that when the boys come home and I'm no longer picking up night shifts and weekends the pace of depositing will drop to a slow crawl.  It's been an issue for me always to just take a deep breath and appreciate where I am rather than worrying about what might be around the corner.  And the unknowns that await me over the next couple months are little anxiety monsters that creep about and whisper frightening things in my ears.


    Some of my anxiety has always been channeled into a tendency to anticipate and think ahead which has resulted in good things.  I tend to be ... prepared.  But the obvious flip side is that it keeps me unsettled and uncomfortable about the future rather than enjoying today.   


    I know that I could drop dead tomorrow and then I'd have to deal with the question of whether I've chosen to spend my last days in a way that best expressed the life I wanted to live.  Well, I do feel that much of my potential is still far too much potential and not nearly enough actualized reality.  I have too many books in various stages of incompletion, too many poems that haven't gotten beyond the few lines I've jotted on an index card, too many books that are still on my wish list at the library instead of having been read.  (I did read the newest Harry Potter though ...)  I was planning to reread Atlas Shrugged this week, but picking up all these extra shifts means that if I'm not at work, I'm asleep. 


    I had both an unpleasant and an uplifting encounter at work last night.  The unpleasant one occurred when I poured a glass of wine into a glass with a chip in the edge.  In the dim light I didn't see the chip, but the guest sure did.  And it was bad.  The gentleman in question went straight to my manager and railed about what a horrible server I was.  Of course, I poured a fresh glass, we didn't charge for the wine, and basically did everything possible to make it right, but still it was a rough moment.  And it was a rather large ticket.  So not having a tip on what amounted to about 1/6 of my total sales for the evening really hurt when it got time to pay the bussers and so forth. 


    On the other hand, I had another table right beside the first one that was simply wonderful.  It turns out that the gentleman there had been involved in publishing and we talked for several minutes about writing, about growing up in the south and about what it's like to move to this region (and whether it's better to live in the Colorado Rockies or the New Mexico version).  They told me that they eat out all the time so they know what is good service when they receive it and that they had received excellent service last night.  On their way out, they left a compliment about my professionalism. 


    That went a LONG way toward soothing the sting from the wine glass incident. 


    With six shifts in the next three days, I have every hope of being into overtime again this coming week.  (Our week starts on Thursday).  And then my boys will be home the week after that.  So the long summer of working extraordinary hours is coming to a close. 


     

  • Momi and Me


    Does anyone (any woman) have a good relationship with her mother?  During our week in Iowa, my friend Mary shared with me some things that she's been learning about mother - daughter relationships.  Another woman recommended a book to her that has been sparking all kinds of recognition ... "My mother was just like that." and understanding of the way that these difficult relationships have colored our entire adult lives. 


    Pretty much everyone in my family (except my mother) understands that it's the nature of her relationship with me that makes it impossible for me to consider moving to Arkansas.  Over the past year, I've been subject to attempted manipulation, threats, bribes, and verbal abuse alternated with "the silent treatment" because whenever the subject has come up I have remained firm in my decision to make my life out from under my mother's roof. 


    I understand that it's a complicated issue.  I do believe that in her way, she loves me.  But I also understand that she has never come to a place of seeing me apart from herself.  Everything I do she sees as an extension of her being which puts enormous pressure on me to be the person that she wanted to be.  She sees my every action as a direct reflection of her life. 


    I love my mother.  I have a great deal of compassion for her.  She was verbally, psychologically and physically abused as a child and I give her a great deal of credit for the work that she's done to try and overcome that beginning.  One of the things that I'm learning as I'm reading this book with Mary (swung by the library yesterday to pick up my own copy) is even more compassion for her and understanding of just how difficult it's been.


    Gaining perspective on myself in relationship to my mother and understanding myself AS a mother is a different kettle of fish.  I can feel sympathy for her, in part because of the physical distance between us.  I live with me.  I live every day with the decisions I make as a woman, a friend, a sister, and a mother myself. 


    One of the points that the book makes early on is that when mothers and daughters have a good relationship, mom becomes the source of direct information about being a woman.  It's from her that daughters learn about menstruation and menopause, childbirth and marriage (sex).  Women's bodies are mysterious even to those of us who live inside them and learning to understand and accept our material selves requires a supportive role model who has been there. 


    I used to think it was a generational thing, why it was that my mother didn't provide information for me.  I'm coming to understand that it's not a function of our generation but of our relationship.  On the big four I mentioned above my mom had the following to offer:  1) menstruation - that's why you don't sleep with boys.  2) menopause - I had surgery to fix my problems because I was depressed and tired of bleeding.  (She was younger than I am now when she and her doctor arrived at the decision to schedule a hysterectomy in hopes of solving her life issues.)  3) sex - I'm gonna take you to the vet and have you "fixed" so I don't have to worry about what you might do because you obviously don't have good sense.  4) marriage - everything is your fault and it will always be your fault because its always one time of the month or another so you can't go by your feelings.  If he says something that makes you cry - go take a bath or read a book.  If he's not happy with the dinner, cook something different tomorrow night.  You're a creative person ... try harder.


    According to the book my goal is to "internalize a good mommy" because until a woman can learn to mother herself she either does everything in her power to figure out what Mommy wants and delivers it (being a "false self") in order to keep Mommy there and happy, or she constantly fights with her mother in an attempt to separate and have her own identity.  The good mommy is able to embrace both intimacy and separation. 


    Mothering is a huge part of who I am.  I am teased about it and I'm okay with that.  At work the "kids" call me Mom.  They talk to me in ways that make me feel good about the nurturing aspect of my personality.  They affirm that they sense a maternal care from me, in ways that I hope very much reflect the "good mommy."  I'm not judgmental of their individuality but I do have standards of performance as an employee.  For example, they like to ask me to check their sidework.  Before the end of a shift, each server has a list of tasks - refill the salt shakers, change the tablecloths, wipe down counters and so on and so forth - that need to be done.  And it's in checking over sidework that this "Momi" thing really comes out.  I am quick to praise when someone has been diligent or gone above and beyond.  I am slow to condemn, I'll say something like, "I know you were busy with that last table and it's easy under those circumstances to miss that it was your night to wipe down the tile.  How about I'll refill these drinks while you take care of that?"  I know and they know that I'm giving them an easy "out" rather than blaming them or suggesting a deficiency in their character as some other people are prone to do.  But still, they don't get my signature until the work is all done. 


    What I'm trying to figure out is how to mother myself this way.  Because when it comes to judging my own performance, it's not compassion and tenderness but judgment and scolding that goes on in my head.  I hear my mother's voice listing my character flaws. 


    Again, according to the book, the mark of being a good mommy is the ability to affirm individuality and the right to be ... human.  Anyone reading Quiltnmomi for any length of time knows that the ongoing work of this journal has been to grow into a fully functional human.  And the biggest obstacle to my growth has been my own conviction that this is well and good for other people, but I have to be a little bit more than human in order to judge myself acceptable. 


    I'm hoping that the next chapter or the next will give me the clue I need to be a good Momi to Me. 

  • Hi Honey, I'm home ....


    Mary and I had a fabulous week in Iowa.  It was full of challenge and stimulation, encouragment and affiirmation.  I had expected that I would leave on Sunday evening headed back to Colorado, but class didn't get out at noon like I thought and I was so tired, I decided to stay over another night.  That made for a long day of driving on Monday, but I made it home safely. 


    I was back at work on Tuesday and have worked long hours all week.  It's not much longer before my kids come back home so I'm taking advantage of these last few days to work as many hours as possible before they arrive.  I'm on my way in now for a five hour evening shift.  Tomorrow I'm there from 8am til 10 pm with an hour break between 4-5 and on Sunday I have a 5 hour evening shift. 


    I haven't forgotten Xanga or writing. 


    I'll be back.


    again


    HUGS to you all and thank you for your encouragment.

  • Happy Birthday Daddy ~


    76 years old today.  When I was little, you read me stories.  When I was a little older, you shared your love of logic puzzles.  For 42 years you've been my father.  You've always been a wonderful, kind and fun-loving man. 


    I love you.


  • Packing


    My blanket, my pillow, two fresh spiral notebooks, a handful of pens and three pairs of shoes.  I think I"m ready. 


    The writing has been slow and difficult this summer.  Partly because I've been working a lot of hours but partly because I'm just in a place of not knowing how to say what it is I want to say in the project I'm working on.  My poems have been few and far between.  My essays nonexistent. 


    I'm hoping that next week will change all that.  I'll be at the 19th Summer Writing Festival in Iowa City, Iowa.  I'll be living in a dorm, meeting new people, hanging out with my friend Mary, and I'll be attending classes that I have dreamed about for months.  I'm leaving on Saturday morning and I'll be gone for ten days. 


    I talked to my kids this morning and they can't figure out why I would choose to go to school if I don't HAVE to.  But they are okay with it as long as they don't have to spend their summer vacation in a classroom.  I'm homesick for them, but I'm happy to report that we have passed the halfway mark so from here on out, it's downhill til they are home again. 


    Tim will be picking them up from my parent's home on Sunday so they will have some time with their Dad.  There's even a chance that his parents will be able to make the trip to Louisville so they will be able to see Papa Joe and Grandma Shirley for the first time since Thanksgiving 2003.  My boys are having a good summer. 


    And I wonder if part of the reason I'm not writing so much these days is because I miss them and I feel empty here without them?