Of Roots and Wings

Today is not a good day.

For the first time in over two months, I have nothing to do. No new pile of work sitting in my inbox waiting for my attention. No urgent e-mails. Nothing. And it's driving me crazy.

Kame never has any trouble finding something to do.
There's always something good on television...

I've gotten used to being a working woman, to waking up every morning to a job that needs to be done. Not having that... leaves me rudderless.Oh, there's plenty I could be doing. I could clean (yuck). I could write... if I could pick up the thread of the story I haven't looked at in 2 months. I could paint... but that would mean dragging out all my materials and finding something I want to do...

I could paint my peonies that just opened...

I could blow the entire day, chatting with friends and hanging out on Facebook. I could write letters. I could do so many things... that I'm paralyzed by the sheer number of possibilities.I should, perhaps, go outside and enjoy the plethora of flowers that are finally coming into bloom. My yard smells amazing... but the forecast calls for rain, and all I want to do is go back to bed and wait for this day to be over so I can return to my normal routine.

The back yard is full of forget-me-nots.
Not having a working lawn mower has its advantages.

This year, my lilacs burst into flower. The plant has been growing into the foundation of this house since we moved in. We tried, once or twice, in the early years, to remove it, but it always grew back, just a little green puff of leaves. When Ken was building the porch, I knew that would cover the foundation, finally depriving the tenacious little tree of light and water. I decided that, since it had worked so hard to eek out a living from between the stones, I couldn't let the plant die such an undignified death. I found a sprout that had grown into the earth, and dug as much of the root as I could from between the crevices. I planted the 8 inch tall tree in the front lawn.

That was almost 5 years ago. So much has changed since then.

My lilacs, blooming for the first time in over 17 years.

I feel as if... I should be happy. Things are going relatively well. I'm working, and making more now than our income when we first married. In less than a year, I've become financially self-sufficient, to the point that the kids and I are living entirely on my income. I still need to build a solid cushion of savings for times, like this, when I'm not getting enough (or any) work, but on the whole, we're doing fairly well.

So why do I feel so... stretched thin, tired out, sad? Is this the lingering grief? I know I'm not the first person to ask, "why can't I just get over it?" But the pain bites fresh every time... and I don't know how to stop being surprised by it.  There are times I miss my own dad so deep I can hardly breathe. He comes to mind more and more often these days, and I just want to talk to him, to get his advice... I want to hear him say things will be ok. I want to know if I'm doing the right thing. I want to know if he'd be proud of me, even though I let my marriage fall apart. I want, so much, just to hear his voice.

My dad rocked. Yes, that's a chipmunk on my lap.
Dad had been sitting on the bench, feeding him peanuts all morning.
When I came out, he had me sit down and gave me a peanut. This is
one of my happiest memories, despite those insane longjohn type
pajamas. What was up with that?? Sometimes I wonder about my
parents' fashion sense. :-p

 I miss him, so much. And my mom, too, since she moved to Florida this spring. I'm happy for her, because I know she has more help, living adjacent to my sister and her family, and my step-father is nearing the point where a nursing home was a distinct possibility. Mom can't take care of him by herself anymore. The inevitable has been delayed, at least for now, and she has the support she needs to help him make the transition if and when it becomes necessary. Since I came along so late in Mom and Dad's lives, I'm used to being on my own for many of life's big transitions. Growing up, they were immersed in my elder sibling's lives and problems. The year I graduated high school, my dad was dying of cancer. Going off to college, Mom was dealing with his passing.

One of very few pictures I have of Mom and Dad.
They looked so young here, at least to me.
This was taken about 8 years before dad passed.

Mom has been able to be there for much of my kid's early childhoods, and she has been an absolute rock throughout the end of my marriage. She loaned me a substantial amount to have my house re-sided and insulated, which made going forward possible. I am now closer to being eligible for a home equity loan, which would allow me to finish the renovations this place needs, if I decide to sell in the future. Without the siding, that would not have been possible. I'm trying hard to make good use of the chance she's given me, by making sound financial decisions, and thinking about the future.


I think that, from all of this, the lesson is that I just have to keep on getting up, every single day, and moving forward. Mom and Dad gave me life. They weren't perfect, (are any parents perfect?) but they tried. They taught me right from wrong. They loved me. They were usually good about acknowledging my accomplishments. Dad let me follow him around when I was little and thought my Daddy was the best thing since the space shuttle. Mom has supported me and loved me through some of the most difficult times in my life. They laid the foundations, and now, when everything else is shaking apart... those foundations are holding strong.

 I hope I'm building strong foundations for my kids, in my turn. I love them. I'm working to build discipline into our routines, something that I struggle with. I try to remember to praise often and scold gently. I try to tell them, every single day, that I love them.

My beautiful, amazing kids, as we sit down to a meal on the porch.
Arek cooked on the grill. Jessi helped me set the table.

I can only hope that I've done right by them. I can't make up for everything that's gone wrong. I can't make up for my mistakes, or the loss of their parent's relationship, any more than my Mom fill the hole left by my dad's passing, though I know any parent, if they could spare their child pain by taking it into themselves, would do so without a second thought. If I could relieve them of the hurt they've suffered from the divorce, I would live through it 10 times over. All I can do is keep moving forward, and keep laying those foundations. I hope my kids can see the bricks being laid, one by one, and that one day, they'll know what to do for their own kids, in their turn.

Even Kame struggles to move forward at times.
When obstacles block his path, he just
goes over them, and moves on.

We'll keep on keeping on. Sometimes, that's the best you can do. Something tells me that the best is yet to come.

God bless.
-Mary
*~*~*

"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging."
~Psalm 46:1-3 NIV

Of Love and Loss and Moving On

My notes in church are often less.... lyrical, than you might think.

 Kame has once again slipped into hibernation mode. His torpor means that he disappears for days at a time, emerging only occasionally to explore the offerings of fresh raspberries and take a short dip in his bathing tub, before disappearing beneath the mulch once again. He deals with winter by avoiding it entirely, passing it half-asleep and hidden.

Not for the first time, I find myself envying my shelled friend's ability to sleep through the less pleasant months of the season. I, too, have been hibernating, in a way. I've been avoiding speaking out about many of the emotions rolling through my days as I move forward, because so many of them have to do with other people, and I have vowed that this blog will be about my own life, and not a clearinghouse of gossip about others.
It might not be possible for me to blog without mentioning what's going on in my ex's world, or in my children's, but I'm trying not to air anyone's laundry but my own.

So much has happened since I last wrote. October brought with it a shocking blow with the loss of a very old and dear friend. Laura Kim Eisele Curtis was one of the best friends I've had. She put up with my ramblings, my oddities, my failures and my quirks. She made me laugh. She made me less ashamed of my PTSD symptoms and helped me see it as a condition to be managed, rather than a weakness. She stood beside me as I walked through some of the most difficult times in my life, and she allowed me to be a part of her life as she dealt with her own losses, blows and failures. Her passing was devastating, and a loss to the world, though most will never know what they missed by not knowing her.

My beautiful friend Laura, with her dad, Don, being a goof in the background. She had a quirky sense of humor that she came by honestly.

There are many things that Laura shared with me that I will take to my grave, but I can tell you a few things about my dear friend. She was a great singer and an amazing mom. I will forever hear her voice singing "You Are My Sunshine" to her daughter over the phone at bed time on the occasions she stayed at my home. There is surely no sound more beautiful in the world. She was a good friend. I can't count the times she listened to me and let me run on. She gave me good advice. She was the one who encouraged *cough*dragged*cough* me into seeking out a college degree. She has been my friend, my support, and my confidant for well over ten years... and now she's gone. Just like that, in one dark night, she left this world and traveled beyond the veil.
And even now, she is with me.

I could hear her beside me, snickering, at her final service, as the Pastor's voice rose in song. He had a lovely voice, but Laura often attended my son's guitar lessons with me, and we had sat, barely containing school-girl giggles, through many voice-student's renditions of "New York, New York". Since her parents live near the Big City, and my favorite fictional heroes are rumored to occupy its sewer system, the song made us giggle all the more. I could feel her arms around my shoulders, even as I cried. I could hear her voice in my dreams, in the wretched days after her passing, laughing and exclaiming, "but Mary, I'm here with MacKenzie! I'm dancing... I don't hurt anymore..."

Her baby daughter who succumbed to SIDS was waiting for her, I know. And although she has left two other beautiful young women behind, I know the joy of that reunion will be complete when we all come together in Eternity's time. Laura knows no grief now, no pain. She has stepped out of time, and into the place where there are no more tears, no more sorrows. It is only those of us who are left behind who grieve for the parting. I could feel her presence again, more faintly, when I achieved my first college degree. I could hear her voice, quietly telling me "I'm proud of you, Friend. You did it."

Laura has moved on, and although I was not ready, could never be ready, to lose my friend, I know that this parting is a part of life. Death's pain is the echo of the separation Man took from God in the Garden, and it is eased by the knowledge that the gap has been closed by His son, that this world is healing. Death is a scar in the eternal tapestry, nothing more.

And now, it is time for me to move on, to move forward in my own life. I can not hold on to the hurts and worries and grief of the past year. I can not hold on to the man who was once my husband, or allow his choices to guide my emotions any longer. I must come to a place where I can see him building a new life of his own, and be able to smile and wish him well. I have not yet reached that place. I don't know how long it will take, but I do know that the only way for healing to begin is to remove the splinter of bitterness and anger.

A painting from my college Illustration class, with a quote that I hope, will define the new year.

Someone very wise once said that revenge is like a splinter. It festers and poisons the mind. The only way to heal is to let it go.

The river is moving on... and I must step into it once again, and find a new way.

-Mary
~*~*~

"Hope
Smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
Whispering, "It will be happier..." - Alfred Tennyson

Counting Down: 10 Things I Learned from Shirley, Part II

If you missed the first part of this post, Part I can be found here.

I love the pet-loving community. A few weeks ago, I mentioned on Facebook that Kame's nails were getting too long, and I might have to resort to a vet visit to have them trimmed.

A fellow animal lover commented that her friend's daughter had worked with turtles and might be able to assist me... A few e-mails, phone calls and private messages later, a young lady came to my door with her mom and her bag of turtle-trimming equipment.

Kame was not impressed with his first manicure. He fussed and squirmed and protested this imposition on his dignity, but his nails are now a bit shorter and I'm certain he's more comfortable. (and no, in spite of several suggestions, we did NOT add color to the poor boy's nails) He's somewhat over the trauma this morning. He finally dug his way out from his mulch-covered hiding spot and even ate a bit of breakfast. (Lexi, you were right, he does like strawberries!)

Kame is an old soul. He rarely gets flustered or truly upset by much of anything that happens. He takes life as it comes, one slow step at a time, keeping alert for change, but facing it unafraid. I often think humans could learn a lot from turtles, from their tenacity, determination and calm, deliberate approach to life.

In a blog a few weeks ago, I mentioned a dear lady, Shirley Brinkerhoff, who I was blessed to meet at the Montrose Christian Writer's Conference. While Kame is an old soul... Shirley was eternally young. I rarely saw her without her favorite accessory: a smile. She seemed to be lit up from the inside with an unquenchable joy. In the few, too-short years I knew her, I learned so much... but for now, I will list the remaining five of the "top ten". Perhaps in future blogs I may share more, because the only way to keep a candle's flame burning is to pass it on.

Now, without further ado, here is Part II of what I learned from knowing Shirley:

5) God has not brought tragedy into your life for the benefit of others.
I remember the conversation so clearly, as if she is right here with me... Discussing personal tragedy, Shirley looked at me, for once unsmiling, and explained, He is in the business of using broken things, however, he does not break them for His use. "God does not allow tragedy so he can use your story."

Writers make use of every experience. We are always telling and shaping stories... but God is in the business of shaping lives. Thanks for the perspective, Shirley. It changed my paradigm, and my life.

4) Seek out the good in others. Shirley was a master at seeing people in their best light, at looking for Jesus in the sea of faces, and finding Him in each one.

3) Respect others' stories. Don't try to interpret what God is saying to and through them... He can speak for Himself.
This talent goes along with listening. Shirley's example and wisdom came as often in silence as it did with words.

2) Cut three. This... was a running joke in our little writer's group. She once asked us to cut three words from each sentence of our manuscript pages, telling us that good editing means accepting that "sometimes good stuff ends up on the cutting room floor". In life, I've learned to "cut three" from my schedule. Trimming the less-significant tasks leaves so much more room for what's truly important.

1) And the number one thing I learned from Shirley... Fly with a good flock. A Duck alone is a sitting... target, for predators. Life is a group sport. Participate.

~*~*~

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.

-Longfellow

Counting down to a memory: the 10 things I learned from knowing Shirley, part 1

Kame is always stretching, always climbing, always reaching to greater heights. It is, I think, how we grow. Staying still means atrophy. We can only continue to live by moving.

While Kame was in hibernation this winter, he nearly stopped growing, stopped changing. He slipped into a long period of quiet and rest, hardly moving except when I'd dig him out of his mulch to weigh him and dip him in his pan for a drink, a process he resented. He made his displeasure known with hisses and tucking himself into his shell...

Much the same way I wanted to tuck myself up in a shell and hide over these past two years. Life, however, has a way of moving on and we must grow... or atrophy.

Three summers ago, I lost a dear friend. I've mentioned her here before. Shirley was more than a friend to me, she was a mentor, someone I looked up to, and sometimes someone I went to for guidance and advice. She was an incredible lady, and I was blessed to know her.

Remembering her, however, without learning and growing from what she offered through her life and the work she did as a teacher would do her memory a disservice. Good people are remembered fondly. Great people leave a legacy. Shirley was one of the greats... and so, Saturday Night Live style, I'd like to share the ten most important things I learned from knowing her. I learned many more things, of course, but while I was at Montrose last week, sitting in one of the rockers on the porch, and contemplating our time together, these are the first that bubbled to the surface.

This is the top ten things I learned from knowing Shirley, part one:

10) Always smile. Your smile is what people will remember when you're gone, so use it often, so that it is etched clearly in their memory.

9) When something's funny, laugh. Laugh until your belly hurts, until tears are running down your face, until you can't breathe. Laugh with your friends, and share their joy.

8) Listen. Really listen. Your story isn't nearly as important for others to hear as theirs is for them to tell. Often, if someone's telling you their story, it's because they need to tell it to themselves, to begin to understand it. Listening can be the most beautiful gift you can share with another human being.
(Shirley was an expert listener, a skill for which I will always be grateful.)

7) Be transparent. When the time is appropriate, share the parts of your story you own, the parts you've already come to understanding and peace with, the parts that can uplift and heal someone else. Don't try to make it pretty. People need honesty, need to know they're not the only ones who've been where they are.

6) Take care of yourself and know your limits. Rest when you need to rest. Take time away to pray and to be alone with God. Even Jesus withdrew from the crowds sometimes, to rest and meditate.

That's it for today, folks. I'll give you the top five in the next post. For now, I have other work to do, and miles to go before I sleep.

Safe travels.
Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

~*~*~

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

"Stopping by woods on a snowy evening"
-Robert Frost

Going on

Kame seems determined to explore the wider world beyond his enclosure. He's not content with the confines, knowing there is more, somewhere, if he could just get free.

I wonder, sometimes, just what it is he's searching for, if he's looking for something he remembers deep in the recesses of his turtle brain. I wonder if he recalls that there's green grass and juicy slugs outdoors, where I've taken him on warm summer days, and he's trying to get back to that turtle paradise. I wonder if even he really knows what it is he's searching for.

Some days I find his antics amusing... and others, I know exactly how he feels.

As much as Kame enjoys his little excursions, either in the yard or just around my office, he's always grateful to return to his home. We have a lot in common, he and I. Most of the time, like me, I think he's happiest in his safe, familiar surroundings.

Still, all of us, now and then, need an adventure. All of us need a chance to get outside ourselves and see what lies beyond our door step. All of us need a chance to explore... all of us need a chance to grow. I think we all have that need to see what's beyond our own front doors.

This morning I wrote an note to a friend who I am no longer in contact with. I wrote it, read it over, and decided not to send it... because the person has moved on and there is no point in going back over paths already traveled. Re-reading, I realized I really had nothing to say, because what I'm searching for isn't in the past. To find where I'm going, the only way to travel is forward.

Life is like that sometimes. Things change. People grow... and sometimes they leave. Sometimes it's painful... Sometimes it feels as if you weren't ready to move on.

In three week's time, I will be returning to Montrose Christian Writer's Conference in Montrose, PA. It is a glorious week of writing, laughter, fellowship and learning, a week of recharging, of getting in touch with myself as a writer, a week of networking, of renewing old friendships and building new ones.

It is also a week full of memories...
My friend and mentor Shirley Brinkerhoff was an amazing woman. She left her mark on my heart, as she did, I think, on all who were privileged to know her. Her legacy lives on in a scholarship fund, and in a beautiful painting by another friend that hangs in the classroom she taught in.

Since her passing two years ago, I haven't been able to bring myself to take classes taught in that room. I may never be able to sit around the table again without hearing her laughter and seeing the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. She was contagious, and we never got through a class without fits of giggles.

Montrose is sacred ground for me. It was a life-changing experience, attending that first year, and I never come away the same as when I arrived. Every year there is something new to learn, something new to take away. These past few years, with so much turmoil in my life, it has been my sanctuary.

Last year, I didn't even attend the classes... I was emotionally injured, and in a good deal of pain last year when I went to Montrose. I was worried about things at home, I was confused and lost and sick at heart. Mostly I sat out on the porch, holding a friend's baby, and remembering happier times. I also went kayaking. It was, perhaps, not what conference is meant to be... but for me, it was good. It was healing. It was what I needed during a very dark and confusing time.

This year, I go back, changed again. I've had new experiences this year. I have new things to share... I hope I will make new connections and learn new concepts and ideas that will strengthen my writing. I am going this year, determined to attend classes and make connections and soak in all the professional wisdom available. I am less in need of the healing warmth, but no less grateful that it is there to embrace my heart.

This year, I am stronger. I have begun to heal. I will always, perhaps grieve for the past, but I have come far enough to be able to look toward a brighter future. I will go and sit in Shirley's room... it will always be Shirley's room to me... and I will remember her, hear her laughter, and smile.

Then, I will get up and go out into the conference and embrace and absorb everything God has in store for me this year.

"In three words, I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on."
-Robert Frost.

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

~*~*~
"The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: This is the morning"
And as he spoke, He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever; in which every chapter is better than the one before."

-c.s. Lewis, The Last Battle

To those who have gone before me on into Aslan's Country... happy reading, my friends.

Though I look forward to the great reunion one day, for now, I am content, knowing I am at the right place in the journey, and that it continues on, upward and onward, always.

Until we meet again, tsune ni oboete okimasu.

Vengeance

Kame enjoyed those last few days of warmth in the fall so much... digging around in the leaves and searching out slugs, his favorite gourmet treat (and before you say "EEEWWWW", remember that humans gladly eat escargot.

Summer is coming again, and he is already excited, more active, ready to leave winter's icy grip behind and step out into the sun. He's ready to come awake. he's ready to live.

It feels as if I've written a lot about death recently. I had hoped to write more light-heartedly today... So much is happening, college has started and a new puppy has joined our family...

And yet I find myself pulled back one more time, checked for a moment, stopped by events that cannot be ignored.

I don't watch the news. Haven't in ten years, since airplanes came crashing into New York City's twin towers, and my generation's sense of security, the sense that an act of war could not touch us, indeed had not touched American soil since Pearl Harbor, came down with the buildings. It wasn't so much the towers falling that sickened me, as the video reports in the days afterward, of radicals and crazies dancing, celebrating the attack, celebrating death, horror and despair.

Watching the footage, I felt physically ill.

This morning, news broke out across the USA. Osama bin Laden is dead, killed by US troops in Pakistan. I wouldn't have known, except for people's announcements on Facebook. I woke up to celebration, wondered why... And felt sick all over again.

Now, before you peg me as a terrorist sympathizer, let me just say that I believe he deserved no less. The man caused devastation wherever he went, inflicted pain and suffering upon at least two nations. He was personally, if not directly, responsible for the 343 brave firemen and women who gave their lives to save others in September 11, 2001. His name has come to be synonymous with horror and depravity. Our troops should hold their heads high today. They have done their duty, and done it well.

Death... vengeance... I have mixed feelings about those words. Surely death must happen. Surely there are times it is justified. Surely, evil must die, good prevail, for there to be peace. And yet... there is a sort of sadness in it, a regret, that cannot be assuaged, even by justice.

I can't help but wondering, what right do we have to celebrate, as if we had done something good? What right do we have to dance on this man, or any man's, grave? What right do we have to celebrate death?

And yet...

A dear sister in Christ shared a tale of her recurring nightmare on her blog today.

Her dream begins with memories of horror inflicted upon her person, her family's apparent indifference and helplessness to stop it, and ends with revenge being violently carried out against the man who deserves it, if anyone in this life does.
It took incredible courage for her to share her story, because vengeance is not pretty. She is angry. She has every right to be angry.

I've seen the pain he inflicted first hand. I've felt it vibrating across the wires in conversations with her. The damage he inflicted has touched nearly every aspect of her life. He took something precious from her, her sense of security. Her sense of freedom. Her sense of being the beautiful woman that she is.

I can't feel anything but support and empathy when she expresses a desire for revenge. If I were to hear of this man's death, would I celebrate? Would I join others who care about her, in dancing on his grave? I'd like to say no... but that feels like a betrayal. Her pain demands payment. Her blood, like Abel's, cries out from the ground, and demands justice.

Vengeance. It implies justice being done, doesn't it? It implies a sense of right. It implies that the one facing it deserves what they got. Anger can be destructive, but sometimes it's righteous. Sometimes vengeance is justified. Sometimes death has a purpose, when it stops more evil from being carried out...

I just can't figure out how I feel about the celebration.

~*~*~

"I am in such a good place in my life right now, and am striving to be happy. I know I will never "get over it" but I sure as Hell am getting through it."

-Christy Spurlin, one of the bravest women I know.

~*~*~

"Regarding the celebration of Osama bin Laden's death:
“Do you think that I like to see wicked people die?" says the Sovereign Lord. "Of course not! I want them to turn from their wicked ways and live" (Ezekiel 18:23)."

-James Watkins