"I am here for you"

I know you are there for me"

"I know that you suffer"

"I suffer.  I try my best--Please help me"

Thich Nhat Hanh

I think yesterday was a shift for my relationship with Ron.  He accepts me in a way that no one other has.  He is here for me.  He will still irritate me by who he is....but I cannot overlook his acceptance for me and many others.  Everyone loves Ron.

Dinner with my sister and her husband.

Condense is my only recourse.

A wave of meaningless words push me into anger.
Blather and blab with no watching where the words land.

And there are no questions.
No curiosity.
Nothing exists except ones own blab.

Us at the the table nod.
Look at Tv or phones.
If the thought bubbles could speak there would be far flung entries into this one-sided lecture that never resembles a conversation.

Conversation? Nope. Not for a second.
A lecture.
A lousy lecture.
'Stupid people' says my building anger.

Yet she is my sister.  And I adamantly believe that there is someone IN there who can relate to me.
We had some shared experiences.
I refuse to give up.

I head into the night optimistic that I can make conversation that will have meaning.
Ron says forget it.
I say NO....But can't think of anything to talk about.

Should I quit?

And we sit in a mess with cell phone for light looking at page upon page of photos.
Sex museum
Penis bowl
Him on a phallus...be it a child's riding toy or a cannon.  giggle giggle.

I'm almost nauseous.
Let it go?
sad

Darling I am here for you.

Fuck I hate these people.  I am not them....  Yet she is the closest thing to my past and she is useless.  She cannot link me to myself or my past.

Let it go.

Poetic style perhaps can condense all the words, feelings and thoughts that course through.

Robin Williams kills himself.  This should not have to be.  We are smarter than that. Meds or help should exist.

I make a blueberry peach pie and lap up the warmth and sweet and tang off my finger swabbed across the plate.  Tongue lick too.  More later.

DOUGH
1/3 cup unsalted butter
1/3 cup coconut oil
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups sifted flour
5 T cold h2o

Cut butter and coconut together with the salt/flour.  Pea size. Add water.  Gather up into ball and refrigerate.

Roll.

2 pints blues
1 yogurt container of peaches defrosted from last years harvest

add 2T of cornstarch to a bit of the peach juice and then mix all together.  (I left some of the corn starch liquid out....shouldn't have.  Too juicy of a pie....but delish nevertheless.

Rain rain rain.  Green.
Full belly
Empty heart.
Thirst for something.

Thoughts ramble over the past few weeks. Seeing Aaron and his heartbreak.  His first big love and first big 'break'.  Yet I see how Aaron and Jenna and Ali can practice their emotional intelligence!  Especially with each other.  I'm impressed.  I joked as Aaron and Jenna talked in his room, he laying on his bed and she sitting vigil with him.  They talked about having feelings.  Being and feeling the 'fool' if necessary.  Moving through the feelings will lead you out.  I joked....feigned rising and leaving...."my work is done here...you two have what it takes"  Emotional intelligence!

Next Aaron goes to Argentina.  Jenna back to Brandeis.  Ali back to Connecticut College.  I finish up the land sale to the town and then the next project begins!  May go back to a career counselor.  So wonderful to have her hold the space for me to make these next steps.

Aunt Marilyn:  spent the day with her yesterday in RI.  She is fun and lively.  Great to talk with.  I often have an slightly empty feeling as I leave.  I notice that when I bring up the juicy emotional stuff....she moves on quickly.  It's ok.  She is old and of another generation.  She does what she knows.  Stays in her comfort zone. It's like being with my mother (gogo) but better.  Cuz she doesn't really push my buttons.  And then there is a sad feeling cuz perhaps I may even miss my mother, as limited as she was.

You are not special.

I think, maybe I hope, that I worked this into the raising of my children.  Seems odd.  Of course I told them they are special. Yet I pray I taught them that they were also as special as the next kid.  Sure, my kids got all the good stuff. Love and equipment for sports and dance and skiing. (ha) Oh and food and shelter. Isn't that what mattered. Yet I always let them know that just because we could afford something it didn't mean that we would get that something.

And now my children are careful.  They understand money and responsibility. They, all 3, are hard workers.  Phew.  I didn't fuck up.  I can barely remember what I said yet I hear my words coming back to me through their voices. I can't wait to have grandchildren to hear the voices of my children as they parent.  I have total faith that they will do fine.

Photos on the fridge

When one project winds down a funny feeling arises.  Pretty simply: Anxiety. What's next?  I avoid.  I think about meditating in hopes to focus and tackle my new open time. But I don't meditate.  Prioritize then.  Make lists.  Or...click email again.  Check FB again.  Freecycle more plastic shit.  Everything that permanently leaves the house makes me feel lighter. So far with all that has gone out the door never have I thought about the THINGS later and wish I still had them.  Bye bye.

"If it's not beautiful or useful get rid of it".  (Martha). That's the extreme end of the purge.
"Have everything in your visual field be something that pleases you".  That's the dream.

So I'm a box-method purger.  If I can't get it out the door, then I put it in a box destined for the basement.  Once it's been there a few months or years...when I come across it again, with full knowledge that I haven't missed it and I can't even remember what's in it...then I off load it.

Today I'm thinking about clearing off the fridge.  Not a big task.  But the visual chaos needs some calming.   When I write something like this previous sentence....then I really know I have to get a job/life.  My life is reduced to clearing off the photos on the fridge!

Mothering differently

March 25, 2014

How many 'real' conversations did I have with my mother?

I'm chewing on celery with pb and raisins....ants on a log.  As I put away the pb I look at the photos on the fridge.  My aunt and mother, (sisters) stare at me. They look so alike.  My aunt will be 85 this year.  My mother, now gone for 5 years.  She was about 80 when she died.  I was about 54. I'm guessing; close enough.  (I eschew numbers at ever turn and at all costs).  Yet I always want to quantify.  It hits me.  If I lived at home for 18 years and was the youngest of 3 children then how many REAL conversations did I have with my mother?  How much time did she even have for me? How many times did my mother kiss me goodnight?  Goodnight kisses ended when I was probably 8. That'd be 2,830....if I got one every night.   But conversations?  Maybe 5.  Maybe 10.  Maybe a dozen.  My mom wasn't a deep person. She didn't ask questions.  Her life was to be lived as a picture.  You live the image and you have attained the image.  Suddenly I think of how little I understood my mother.  I barely think about her now. I don't remember being mothered by her. Though perhaps her version of mothering me was to get me to act and dress as she thought I should....like her.   I do remember fighting her at every turn.  I didn't make it easy for her to mother me....but I also knew that her 'mothering' was limited and I was fighting for her to show up in a way that perhaps just wasn't possible.

My relationship with my children is so entirely different than mine was with my mother.
And for that I am so grateful.

TO DO list: 2/8/14
Hair cut...finally.
Van inspection....  No surprise.
                                               
Chicken soup on.  Pretty much best smell other than cookies or garlic.
                                                                           
Compost...tromp thru snow.
                                                                                                                       
Check on Chickens.
Figure out how to attach a photo to blog.

Another day filled with nothing, yet got a fair amount done.

Today: 2/16/14
Laundry
Short x-country ski
Read newspaper
Relished being home.

CHICKENS:
Shoveled out the poor chickens, fresh water, new pine shavings.
I'm a composting kind of coop-keeper.  Just pile the shavings onto the poop until spring. Keeps 'em nice and warm.

Shoveled out the front of the garages. Been away for 5 days and 14 inches of snow.  The plow gets up the hill but can't seem to drag the snow away from the garage doors.  Life is exercise.

BLOG:
reviewed old entries. Seem incredibly boring to me.  I doubt I'll ever show anyone this blog.

Living in a mechanical world.

For the past week the temperature has hovered at night at a chilling 4 degrees or lower and my first floor heat was just not making it.  Mornings inside were 64 - 65- 66 degrees! Sure once the sun hit the south side of the house the temperature could rise to 70 but with the gray skies of winter something was not right.   My super amazing insulated house has saved me from freezing a number of times....but ultimately because my heating system has a fatal flaw...this heat shut out has happened before....once in February and now in January.  Ah New England in winter! But the full story can be told at another time.  Suffice it to say my heating system acts possessed. Kicks off at random times with valves corroding from within which employs my plumber to replace everything with brass. But we are learning that there are different qualities of brass.  But I digress.   So my mechanical world...What else? The electricity to the chicken coop died.  In the nearly zero temperatures I tromped into the night to hit the reset.  I played with the circuit breakers in the basement. Wasn't til the next day that my fingers were able to actually push the reset fully to reengage the electricity; the water heater and the light came back on to keep the 3 hens comfy.  Other misfortune hits.  My fancy baffled window blinds (Hunter-Douglas) are slowly all crapping out...now 5 busted shades...which I depend on to keep the warmth in at night.  As my house ages (22 years old?) I see, things once was pristine, degrade in front of me. The white walls have NEVER been painted.  Kitchen cabinet screws loosen.   Knobs break off the stove.  Windows warp.  I have a fairly high tolerance for breakage and fixing...but have hit a low point. Grrrrrr.  A call to Jason my heating guy and he's been here since 11am.  It's now 3:30!  Ah the mechanical world.

The upside of the mechanical world that I find appealing is the gathering and navigating new information.  I love fixing things. I ordered the 'tape' to restring the blinds.  NO WONDER they broke. The tape seems to be nothing more than fancy dental floss.  After a few hundred lifts and lowers, it frays and breaks.  I removed one of the smaller blinds to a table in the back room.  By midday I don't have the patience to watch the YouTube to learn how to fix it.  So there it will lay.  Most likely I'll enlist someone to help. Maybe my BF.  But that's another story too.

All my posts are too long.
Short today...maybe.

TOPIC IDEAS:
-Becoming Gogo (my mother)
-Back to gray hair
-Skiing
-Food=Love
-Getting rid of plastic
-Getting rid of junk in general
-My new boots!


Ok. Boots win.  Bought low cowgal boots. Ariat brand.  Ohhhh so so nice.  Now at the cobbler.  Couldn't get the right foot in...unless it was already in a ski boot from the morning and was being skinny squished.  Tried all times of day. Forget it.  High arch and higher instep.  So sad. Could have returned em.  But decided to make a go of the cobbler's stretch.  Can't wait to pick them up on Tuesday.  Sad thing is that all the 'cookies' on my computer are popping up BOOT ads on the right side and I WANT THEM NOW>

How's that for a short, albeit pretty useless and boring post.

This is me with white/gray hair. About six years ago.

Gray hair obsession.  So easy to dye it brown.  So hard to get back to gray.......I would like to get back to white.

My hair is currently 'dye every two weeks' brown.  It looks great.  And I'm entirely sick of the dying.  I've searched and questioned many sources. The truth is... dyed hair doesn't 'go back' to gray. At least not easily.

When I asked the 'head' hair clinician...he said..."if you come here every two weeks to do your roots, you will not be patient with doing a highlight".

You see you can't bleach hair that has been dyed.  Well you can....once. After that the hair just breaks apart.  And the orange color that reveals from under the brown is massively unappealing.  Ugh.  So I either dye.  Tolerate some unsightly roots for a few weeks or cut...wear a hat....or continue to obsess.

Funny what one obsessed about.

Latest obsessions:
-Get all the plastic out of my house.
-Go back to gray.
-Throw out junk
-Fair traded chocolate.  80%.
-What I'm going to do after the land project is fully complete.