I hate you

My dad had left by the time I was three.
You must have known that already.
Why else would you choose the daughter
of a single mother, with an infant son?

While you are surely dead now,
I can still smell the stink of those
nasty fondant filled licorice you enticed me with.
I cringe when I see them in the candy shop.
I still hate greenhouses and cacti.
No wonder I hated Arizona.
I still feel those old calloused hands on
places they never should have touched.

Did you know, that on that day,
you singlehandedly shaped the rest of my life
more than any parent, counselor or teacher ever could?
You showed me I was not safe.
You showed me not to trust.

I stopped washing and brushing my teeth.
I slept under heavy woolen quilts,
even when it was August.

I didn’t go visiting friends.
I didn’t want friends.
Friends could not be trusted.
They hurt you. They hurt your children.

I hate you. I hate what you’ve done to me.
I hate that I worry all the time.
I hate that I have to lock my doors and windows in a ritualistic manner.
I hate feeling dirty and used.
I hate feeling un-normal.

I just want to be normal.
And just when I begin to feel normal
something happens, and I know that I’m not.

I hate that I’m not.
I hate that there’s something wrong with me
I hate that there’s something about me, that draws you in.
I hate that I can’t see that until it’s too late.

I hate that you go on living in my memories, when you should be dead,
and I feel dead, when I should be living.

creative writing

When we were young, when we first became a family, I gave you a pretty silver ring--a bright and shiny Claddagh. Birds and cherry blossoms were in the air when I placed it on your finger, with all the promises that the giving of a ring entails. And you looked at me with love, and I held you tight.
“Never forget how much I love you.”
She smiled and said,
“I won’t.”
While autumn leaves fell, when we were a little older, you handed me the ring I gave you in our youth.
“It doesn’t fit me anymore. I’d like a better one. A bigger one…a fancier one. Everyone I know has a gold one.”
And so I went, off in search of a newer, fancier, golden claddagh.
The jeweler looked at me, sighed and said, “You never can keep them happy for long.”
And so I gave her the new, fancy golden ring. The silver ring of our youthful love went inside my keepsake box on the shelf.
When you gave me back that ring, that golden one, that fancy golden one, no longer new, but still given with the love and devotion that comes with the giving of rings, I asked:
“Why are you unhappy with this ring? I have given you my love, my devotion, my loyalty and trust? Everything that this ring represents has been yours, and more. What more do you want? What will make you happy?
And she said, “The ring doesn’t fit anymore. I can’t be yours anymore. I want to be free. I want to be free with him.”
And that’s when she walked out the door, with her boots crunching through the snow, and she climbed onto the back of a motorcycle, behind the man in the black leather coat, speeding off into the snowy road.

The silver ring still sits in my keepsake box. It looks small there. It, and all the promises that the giving of rings implies, is tarnished, neglected and ruined.
When my husband asks me why I look at this blackened ring so often, I tell him:
“I still miss my daughter.”

Writer's Conference!?

A last minute decision was made late yesterday afternoon, to accompany Basil to his conference in Allentown, PA.

Hubby's nerves were rattled, he was anxious. Just to give you an idea of how nervous he was...he left his wallet AND his overnight bag at home. He had to wear his sneakers with his "business casual" attire all weekend. My poor guy needed all the moral support and cheerleading a wife could give.

Luckily Mom was able to come and stay with the kids on short notice. Luckier yet, they behaved for her (with the promise of a trip to McDonalds, Rita's, etc.) and there were no frantic phone calls placed. YAY!

Met some really great people in the business of writing, representing and publishing. Here I thought I would be the behind-the-scenes-support, but ended up meeting these really great, extremely funny and talented folks.

I even was able to attend a few of the sessions which were absolutely fabulous. I attended one, with the intentions of simply taking notes for Basil, as he was given an appointment during said class, with a literary agent to pitch his proposal, his material. The session was with a published author speaking on the topic of finishing your novel, and cutting all the crappy excuses, fears and BS out.

I find myself so preoccupied with thoughts and memories, and emotional clutter, that I am often caught muttering to myself in the shower (Mom, did you say something?)
Perseverative thoughts bombard me even in the bathroom. If I can get that side tracked in the shower, I am a goner at the keyboard with the seductive pull of things like facebook or farmville at mere keystokes away from being comfortably numb from actual deadlines and..to do lists.

It is so rare that I am thankful to a complete stranger for calling me out on my crap and setting me on the straight and narrow. It is even more rare that I am open to taking it.

So much of her advice on getting into routine, habit, speed, COMMITMENT, and working on projects everyday, without excuses, spill over into all facets of life. I find myself putting off paperwork, projects, homework because I simply don't know what to do, OR am too overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the amount of things that need to be done, that the draw of feeding the chickens on farmville is preferable. Who can remember looming deadlines when feeding delightful animated chickies?

I get burned out from all of the physical therapy, Kelsey therapy, Serena therapy, family therapy, my homework, the kids homework, the housework, the gardening, the paperwork, that I lose me in there somewhere. Passion is extinguished by the doldrums the neverending, well, never...ENDING.
I am T-I-R-E-D....exhausted all the time. Even with the therapists that come to help with our kids, having the never ending parade of specialists coming in and out of the house is tedious.

So what if I decide that I will write, even if I am burned out?
What if I make a commitment to write everyday, even if I never make it out of my nightgown that particular day?
Will this energize me...start making me feel like me again?
If I can make writing a routine, I can expand on this, into other areas of my life.

Is it possible that I could become a self disciplined person?

We'll see.

winter storm 2010 part deux

Bonner Party? After hearing from a few of my neighbors on facebook, that are updating by candlelight on their I-phones because their power has gone out, I am getting a little worried.

Ironic, as I had previously posted on facebook:

"snowmageddon"?! Who coined that phrase? Chicken Little??? Puleeze! People who live in the mountains are laughing at you! It's just a snow storm... Sit back and enjoy a warm beverage and a good book and relax already!6 hours ago

Not so easy to relax now.

This is a wild storm. Unpredictable. I have never heard of snow lightning before this year. Yet the kids and the pup had a blast.

Wish us luck. If you don't hear from me in the near future, please send the National Guard to dig us out.

Cha Cha Cha Changes...

The last few months have been about changes.

Changes in our family. Changes in health status. Changes in professional pursuits. Changes in academic pursuits. Changes in mobility.

I have been rolling (funny considering I am part-time in a wheelchair) through a lot of these changes, trying to do so, without a lot of thought...just to survive. Thinking too much, hurts.
I have a mental checklist, where I set basic goals and just try to get through the day.

By some fluke, I ended up taking a health and wellness course on-line this semester, to fulfill my Phys Ed credit requirements. This is forcing me to really think about my physical health, my mental health and life in general.

In the course, there was an ABC dateline video, of a young woman, an amputee, who decided to plow though the pain, and trained to compete in the IRON MAN competition! She didn't finish first, but, she didn't finish last...most importantly, she finished.

She looks at people with 2 legs, who don't use them to their capacity, and thinks "what a waste."

No matter what our disabilities are, we all have gifts and skills at our disposal. Sometimes it takes some trials and tribulations in our lives to realize what these gifts are. Sometimes it is the gift of pure drive and determination, or positive attitude, or if you're really lucky, a group of really supportive family and friends who stand by you. When one gift may falter, hopefully another gifts picks up the slack...and then comes grace.

Which brings me to the inspirational portion of this blog session...it was one of my grandmother's favorites.

God has not promised
Skies always blue,
Flower-strewn pathways
All our lives through.

God has not promised
Sun without rain,
Joy without sorrow,
Peace without pain.

God has not promised
We shall not know
Toil and temptation,
Trouble and woe;
He has not told us
We shall not bear,
Many a burden,
Many a care.

But God HAS promised
Strength for the day,
Rest for the laborer,
Light for the way,
Grace for the trials,
Help from above,
Unfailing sympathy,
Undying love.

(author unknown)