the unbalancing

until very recently i believed that other people could live their dreams and that other people had choices i was not able to make.  i gave all my power away.  and it was sad to be powerless and choiceless.  it felt like being stuck.  what little energy i kept for myself i used up trying hard at all the things.  there is never enough trying hard.  it's exhausting and also sad.  it was time to make my own choices.  so i did.  

i want to tell you all about how i quit my job after twenty two years, and my husband got a job for the first time in ten years in another state, and that i became a stay at home mom (for however briefly) and how we made a plan to take our kids out of school so we could travel until january.  but i haven't found all the words, yet.  for now, just look at this costume i saw at l'opera garnier in paris, you guys. try making choices, too.  it feels great.  the world is waiting for you to show up.

keep

my children prefer to keep their stories private.  thank goodness.  i want to tell all the things about them, but i respect their limits.  they are able to advocate for themselves.  it is a good lesson for me in what to give to others and what to keep for myself.  i am striving for authenticity and integrity in my writing and in my life.  i want to tell my stories, and at the same time keep my sensitivity and vulnerability close to my heart.  stories need an audience.  i yearn to keep quiet, but here in this space i lovingly give my words away because stories cannot be kept.

join five minute friday here.

beyond the storm

yesterday i wrote about grief.  i mean i wrote about it for a week.  because, you guys, i am writing again.  but i can't leave things on a bleak and heart rendering note.  there is always hope even in the midst of despair.

i thought about grief as i was driving over a terrifyingly, snowy, mountain pass on sunday night.  i left my loved ones behind, and i knew i should not attempt the drive.  in fact, my husband said don't go.  i started with no end in sight.  very little sight at all.  there was low visibility because the wind was blowing stronger than i've ever seen.  i was worried about a lot of things i couldn't pinpoint.  i was afraid, but i knew that if i could make it to town i would be able to make a choice about whether to turn around or continue on.  that was how i handled all the parts of my trip home.  there were treacherous points where turning back was not an option.  there were points where i could not see ahead or behind.  there was panic and a complete loss of control.  those were all the fearful feelings of the unknown.  i had to continue driving until i could see the lights at the bottom of the hill.

that, my friends, is hopeful.  grief is one of those terrifying things that everyone tells you you will get through.  and you don't know whether to believe them or not.  grief is another form of fear.  it likes to get you all balled up inside worrying with anticipation about what's next.  and the truth is you have no control.  and the reality is that you have to go through terrible weather, terrible seasons, to get to the light.  and if you know nothing else, hear this.  there is always light at the end of dark places.  you don't know when you will find it.  you don't know how you will find it.  but you will find it if you have faith and persevere.

my letter to grief

i wanted you to know i saw your shadow pass by the doorway.  i didn't know it was you who was coming to call on my family.  of little good that would have been, when nothing seems to stop you. life was as it once was.  i took comfort in my people all around me.  you watched us through the door and coveted our happiness.  you watched with familiarity at our blissful disregard. 

i stood up to you, face to face.  alone for the first time.  you were skillful at wielding the knife.  the moment before i was cut in two, you looked me straight in the eye and didn't look away.  i was terrified at the sight, but you took my hand and eased your way into my life.  you took refuge in the emptiness of my heart.  you crept in while i was in shock, and wrapped your tendrils through my insides.

the next of kin.  the next of ken.  maybe you tried to hold me up or make it seem different or comfort me with finality. then you slapped me with the coldness of a stranger's words.  you strangled my heart with your relentless grip.  i could feel you in my throat as i tried to choke out my despair.  how i wished to go back to the moment before.  i've had that feeling so many times since.

you forced your way into my life.  the fear and fog of the moments in between, tried to edge out my love and reason. memory will battle you for my heart until my own dying day.  for now, i must live with you struggling for control. perhaps you think, as i do, things would have been better if we never met.

my letter to grief is part of a link up on this blog.  this is the first real writing i've done in a long time. it completely surprises me that my voice presents with this:  a story of the abuse we endure at the hands of grief.  this is how i remember the moments before and after i learned my father had died unexpectedly.

portion control

one hand cannot hold the weight of the world.  the balls we are juggling will start to drop and the circus will go on without our side shows. dominoes will tumble and the ripple effect will happen.  life goes on without our help.  shells from a million years finally make their way to the shore for little boys to sift through. moms may take comfort in the capacity of their hands without trying to hold more than their share.

the mom's prayer

this morning i stumbled out of bed and crawled under a blanket on the couch with my phone to check the "news."  there was a desperate cry out, dare i say shriek, from a boy for his mommy in the dark hours before dawn.  i cramped myself onto the edge of his twin bed and reached to comfort him in the midst of his nightmare.  he clamped his arm down on mine.  i was trapped.  it was all i could think about.  my hand stuck in his armpit.  i started to slowly relax the muscles in my hand so that it would be easier to remove when i made a break for it. then a little prayer came to mind as i watched the muscles on his face start to relax.

Lord, please let me be in this moment and not moving on to the next.  please let me love and be there for him, right now, as he needs me.  please help me to appreciate this moment and the comfort i can give to him.  let me focus on and remember the smell of his sweet breath as he starts to calm down.  let me remember how soft his face is as we lay here forehead to forehead and his eyes start to close.  let me savor in all the ways you have made me a mom to this boy who still needs me when he's scared.  please let me remember these sweet moments in the early morning before i'm distracted by everything else.  Amen.

and this is what you get when i wake up and check the news before i sit down to write.  a distraction.  a whisper.  a prayer.  and a blog post.

when one road leads to another

twenty years ago, on my summer vacation from college, i went looking for a job.  i drove the length of the world's longest driveway to meet a family that changed my life forever.  they hired me as a servant.  i had never known wealth before or experienced the social situations that come with money.  i felt burdened by their life because i didn't understand.  we came from different places.  i felt sorry for them, even though they had the world at their finger tips.  i put in long, hard, hours.  begrudgingly.  thinking:  what would they do with out me?

at the end of each day, i would drive away from there and feel the weight of the world fly off my shoulders like the dust behind my car.  their lives a distant memory in my rear view.

those people, that house, their things, made me re-define what it means to be broken and needy.  i was self-righteous to think i was a benefit to them.  selfish to think my value added to theirs.  judgmental to question their belongings and values.  

to this day i find them to be the most unlikely of teachers.  still, they have given me so much knowledge.  they taught me how to serve.  how to have humility.  and showed me how to love selflessly and humbly.  they gave me an education in all of the values i was sure i had already mastered.  they wanted to teach me the ways of their world, and instead taught me more about my own.

anonymous

i was watching my boy do his homework the other day and started to snap some photos of his long lashes and determined look.  he glanced at me and i asked if it was ok to take his picture.  he replied, "just as long as you don't post it anywhere."  his generation will be the first to have always been on social media.  they will never know life without it.  there will never be a time they weren't gushed about on facebook or twitter; a time when they weren't blogged about ad nauseum.  i love the boundaries he's setting for himself.  he gives me good perspective on how much to give to the world wide web, and how much to keep for myself.

super

one thing that was not so super about this weekend was the bronco game.  it was quite a disappointment to say the least.  what would have made it worse would have been snow.  which didn't happen.  so there is a silver lining. i am thankful, so thankful, for the experience.  which leads me to why i love my husband.

most people don't ever know how their actions.  their behavior.  their day to day routine affects someone's life.  enter steve atwater (former denver bronco).  we happened to be standing next to one of his publicity events and started chatting him up.  i said we got to see you play in the super bowl in miami.  my husband used to work for the broncos.  you could say a lot of things to a football star.  you could talk up his game play.  you could stroke his ego.  but my husband says to him, "you were such a pleasure to work with."  and he didn't stop there.  he made sure to tell his wife what a decent man he had been and how appreciative he was for his kindness.  hands down classiest men in the room.  my husband and steve atwater.

last, and certainly not least, heather.  remember our babysitter, heather?  broncos cheerleader.  rookie of the year, now cheer captain.  pro-bowler.  super-bowler.  we are proud of who this girl is and what she stands for.  she is gold inside and out.  and as luck would have it, i got her attention at the game.  i was in tears.  so proud.

soldier

as i stood in the immigration line in tokyo, the man in front of me was a little twitchy.  just a bit more friendly than you would expect from a weary traveler.  a bit more friendly than i was ready to deal with after a twenty hour journey.  he was excited and antsy.  nervous-ish.  i watched him chitter chattering and then he locked his focus on me.  i might as well just come out and say this.  i have a way of attracting certain people i'm not alltogether comfortable with, into my comfort zone.  i believe it has something to do with all those years of people telling me to make eye contact.  to look up, not down.  smile.  say hello.  there are some folks who shy away from those teachings.  but me.  not so much.  my friends roll their eyes.  my husband lets out a long sigh.  and i dig right in.  i meet interesting people, wherever i go.  it's just something you should know about me.

he was clean cut, high and tight if you will.  camouflage.  baby face.  blue eyes.  and talked like a wide open book.  he had just finished his deployment in afghanistan and would be spending the next year on base in japan.  which he loved.  japan, the place he hoped to move someday.  he was born in new mexico, and that made him feel better about afghanistan because he thought they were similar.  before he went back to new mexico, he wanted to be a vagabond and grow long dreads.  he was really excited for udon noodles.  but more excited to drive past the base and get drunk before having to check in.  his job in the military was the only secret he kept.  americans had just been killed by afghanis.  he told me you don't understand what i've seen.

what he said.  the way he said it.  it was so hard to hear.  everything in me told me to shut it down.  to close off and end the conversation.  more out of self-preservation than anything.  his body language and quick words scared me.  his willingness to put it all out there in the immigration line was uncomfortable.  instead i looked at him.  i made eye contact.  i said you are totally right.  i cannot begin to understand the sacrifice you have made.  but i am so glad you told me.  i said, i am so sorry for the things you have been through, but so thankful that you are here.  silence.  and then he was gone.  passport in hand he waved and said have a great trip!

my dad served in vietnam.  once when i was playing an army game on the nintendo {yes, this totally dates me} my dad interrupted me to say that his palms were sweating and that he wanted to take over for me and show me which weapon to use and be done with it.  that was probably the one and only thing he ever said to me about how vietnam made him feel.  watching sarge's army heroes took him back to that place.  who could have imagined.  sometimes i prodded him to open up, but the conversation never got far because i wasn't there and wouldn't understand.  it was the only glimpse i ever had at ptsd.

until tokyo.  and what a strange place to find a man who just needed to get it out.  who just needed someone to see and hear him.  i am thankful to have been in his sights that day so he could say what he needed to say.  not everything, but enough that the pain inside of him didn't get lost in the immigration line.

now we're getting somewhere

these last months have seen me wandering.  or maybe just meandering.  taking the long way when there is a chance.  savoring moments.  sitting still with giggly boys. 

since 1974 i have not seen so many back roads.  grain elevators.  fields of green so lush you could take your shoes off and tiptoe for miles. 

once i had been rushing to get somewhere.  i moved swiftly and deftly around the others who were also rushing.  discipline.  achievment.  focus.  not straying from the path.  stacking these perfectly placed qualities one in front of the other to serve as a roadmap.  laid out before me like the farmer's fields.

and then i prayed that instead of the roads unfolding along the horizon.  unfolding in typical fashion.  that i would find the t-stop in the middle of nowhere.  that i would be sent in a different direction.  

it's my twenty year reunion this week.  and i am approaching that vintage milestone with only slight trepidation.    because the road that diverged into the wood?  i took the one most people do.  it was well travelled.  and i was going somewhere.  but now.  my thinking has changed.  and my pace has slowed.  i sometimes go right when i know left is the way.  and i find myself nowhere near rushed. 

what will it be like to see those people who knew me straight out of high school?  what will they think about the girl who scrapped the road all together?  the one who found herself sitting in the middle of a sunflower field just to know what the sun felt like on her face.  the girl who found herself surprisingly comfortable behind the lens of a camera, moreso than a desk.  the one who would write on a napkin if that was all there was.  what will they think about the girl who just realized she was already where she was meant to be?  effortless and free.  avoiding the rush of movers on their way.  wandering down a country road in the middle of nowhere.

elinor

i went to a funeral last week for my great aunt.  she was someone i didn't know well, but someone i knew enough.  knew enough to picture her mannerisms.  to remember her ways.  and her voice.  aunt elinor's many grandchildren spoke of how she made them feel completely unique.  how her love felt like it was made for each of them.  they indicated, to those who didn't know, how difficult her life had been.  married to a drinking man.  that her difficulties never resulted in outward anger or impatience, showed in the complete adoration of her family.  she always spoke kindly.  she was always content.  she came from a place of happiness, and was never interested in finding it elsewhere.  as i drove into town last night, her bright orange poppies welcomed me home.  i thought to myself how very poignant her lessons are to us now.  how one woman may lead many others by her pure examples.  how her love for her children and grandchildren seemed to be handpicked for my own self-doubting heart.  love.  patience.  kind words.  all those virtues starting from where we are.  right in our big hearts.  helping us to grow and cause to flourish the lives of our babies. using what we have inside to build a legacy of good men and women. 

xoxo

life does go on.  and not in a quiet way.  it rocks.  it's loud and senseless.  sometimes it's not what we would pick.  it's not what we would like.  but it hits home.  and it carries us away.  like zz topp or janice joplin.  and when joan jett sings to me, the memories i have of my dad make me appreciate the living so much more.  we are blessed to have our parents, step parents, siblings, grand parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and amazing friends.  we are so blessed.  and we are growing memories to last us from here to eternity.  thank you for always loving us from near and far. 

i blame netflix

it all started with cheaper by the dozen old school (circa 1950) via netflix.  a true american story.  and honestly, for as funny as the movie was, it didn't end well.  *spoiler* just silence on a phone line signaling the death of a father, sent my children into hysterics.  and it led to hours of stories about my dad and how his heart gave out just like mr. gilbreth's did.  and as my baby (i know.  he's five.) lay crying because he will never know his papa, my silent tears stung just as greatly.  and as i tried to comfort him, my thoughts went to my own grandfather who left this life so early in my childhood.  and i thought, even though i knew him and have my very own memories of him, i will never know him without the help of other people's stories.  and those stories come from angled points of view.  daughters.  wife.  acquaintences.  relatives.  i know that's the way for my boys.  they get to hear stories about their papa.  but they will never really know him.  and it's funny.  for as little as i knew my own grandfather, i still feel him in my heart.  and the memories i have of him live there despite his physical absence.  and i wonder if that love and yearning my boys have for the man they will never know comes from the great love he had for them.  that even though he is not on this earth, he left a distinct imprint on their hearts.  just like my gramps.

it's been a long time in the blogging world.  i hope some of you are still around.  we have been working so hard preparing for the spring horseshoe market, that blogging needed to go by the wayside.  it's always hard for me at this time of the year.  it's bittersweet.  i miss my dad as much as the day he left.  four years ago today.  my life would have been so different had he stayed.  but life does go on.  and things are as they should be.  i suppose.

skate or die

we were at our favorite family beach in encinitas over spring break.  this sign painted near the sand, reminded me of the younger days i spent drooling over tony hawk and the bones brigade.  my friends would recite their favorite mantra, "skating is not a crime," when someone asked them to stop.  they would spend their summers building half pipes and ramps.  skating to the mall.  drinking kool aid, eating popsicles.  life seemed so simple.  california seemed like the answer to it all.  land locked colorado was so behind the times.  i watched the movie north shore every. single. day. i thought about them.  the boys who aspired to be sponsored by a skate or surf company.  the cute boys.  who noticed me, with my nose in a book, never.   

one day i talked to him.  tony hawk.  i was twelve. he was so shy but amazingly talented at his art.  i could see how he put it all out there.  created the new tricks everyone was talking about.  how second nature it was to him.  he didn't aspire to be, he just was.  now he's a dude to look up to for different reasons.  a family man, role model type.  at twelve, there was nothing to think of past the book i was reading and the skaters riding by on their way to the mall.  now i talk to those boys about our families and remember the old days. and realize california doesn't have it all figured out. maybe colorado doesn't either.  life is silly, eh?

slow down

it was a particularly gruesome second monday this week.  {second monday = wednesday; the price you pay for a flexible schedule at work that allows you to stay home on tuesday}.  however.  in the midst of utter chaos, i was reminded about days of rest.  and i am so looking forward to practicing that this week.  i wish i was more mindful of the value of a day spent on simmer.

winter

winter is an eternity of piling on. and piling up.  we wander along, heads down, into the snow. the bitter wind stirs up thoughts of homeless souls.  the cold tests our strength.  it puts an edge on our compassion.  it's only a matter of time before the snow melts.  and we are standing strong with our faces warmed by the sun.  the best feeling is having been stretched further than we ever thought possible.  to have survived the storm.

each day

i have been sitting down to write over the last few weeks and the words have been elusive.  i want to blame netflix and coach taylor for keeping me wrapped up in the dillon panthers football season.  i have been neglecting all other sources of inspiration.  i have found myself lost in their world mostly unrelatable to my life.  i have been trying, a bit, not to think of the direction i'm headed.  but rather look for the little blessings each day.  the things to be thankful for.  to find the ways in which i could be used to affect goodness and light in the lives of others. 

each day we have the opportunity to stretch ourselves beyond limitations. 

each day we have the choice to start fresh.

each day is a gift.  and a step forward.  even when it feels like we're back at square one.

what has to be said

it's like my friend said.  i guess i have been struggling.  in my soul.  with so many things.  but struggling a lot to make a stand.  to just put it out there and say enough is enough.  struggling with what that means.  how will my life look if i stand for something?  how will it look if i don't?  rather than just drift the tides, year after year, what would it be like if i planted my feet?  

and all that inner deliberating.  debilitating deliberating.  limited my words.  stifled my soul.  i have wondered where the time has gone.  why i haven't accomplished the things i've set out to do.  i have been so busy living like i've lost something, that i forgot to look around and see what i've made. 

i still falter.  i still question.  and long.  and forget to be thankful.

here's where i'm going to say what needs to be said.  i cower.  i make excuses.  i look for the easy way out.  and i wait.  i wait for something to happen.  i wait for a sign.  i am paralyzed in the waiting.  i would much rather that someone give me the easy, wishy washy way out so i don't have to be the decider.  i would much rather please anyone rather than be visible in my choices.  it's a problem i have. so i started asking for help.  first i prayed about it.  then i started asking questions.  and the answers didn't get me really any further along.  they just justified the fact that i am deathly afraid to stand up for what i believe in.  any of those things i believe in. 

so i cowered.  and i asked more questions.  attempting to go around the truth.  i got some more answers that were different.  but the same.  see the following:

he said to me, "have you done everything in your power to use your voice to stand for what you believe in?"  and i responded, "i can't."

and then i went to lunch.  i was severely reprimanded.  and i must admit she had some good arguments.  the best of which was, "you choose your path.  you make it happen.  it doesn't just appear"  she said, "lead by example."  it was an expletive laced commentary on the state of my soul.  or lack there of.

b listened to my entire story, and then she said it best,  "watch out."  and boy was she right.  since those fateful words of inactivity.  the ones where i chose to do nothing.  i have been completely bombarded.  with every possible scenario that would require me to stand up for myself, for others, to others.  the minute i threw up the roadblock.  that exact minute was when everything changed. 

oddly enough, the mack truck has lifted off my chest.  my soul is no longer struggling for air.  it happened in an instant.  i was going one direction, and  then i was upended and sent the other way.  feet planted, i'm confident that my running days are over.  i have a lot of words to use in a day (so says my husband).  i'm excited to see how they will work and how far they will take me.  oh man.  i do hope i've learned my lesson.  sheesh.

fire and rain

i found myself working through song lyrics.  i remembered hearing james taylor for the first time in their living room.  sweet baby james and fleetwood mac.  don't. stop. thinking about tomorrow.   for a minute i thought they needed me to say something about a mother finally at rest{little known fact:  public speaking terrifies me}.  my thoughts drifted towards sunny days that i thought would never end.  lonely times when i could not find a friend.  i always thought that i'd see her again.  now my friends are searching for their new normal.  an all too familiar feeling for me.  trying to battle through the numbness and the pointlessness of it all.  letting light fill the gaping cracks.  going on without her.  won't you look down upon me Jesus, you've got to help me make a stand.  you've got to see me through another day.  one foot in front of the other.  through memories.  through grief.  we all march on.