The past month or so, I've been doing a lot of reflecting.
And as many of you are probably doing, I am reflecting on the year, my conduct and progress or lack thereof in 2007, etc.
I'm of the mindset that resolutions are pretty lame.
In fact, as I was watching the Today show this morning, I began getting just a tad bit annoyed.
I began thinking about this cycle of unrealistic expectations and inevitable let-downs.
The pieces of spirit that can become broken and left to feel like a failure because
perhaps it didn't quite shave the body down to some ridiculous notion of what beauty or proper weight should be.
Maybe having a cluttered home really is the sign of a happy home and not having a closet that looks like it was ripped out of Posh's house isn't the sign of a failure.
Maybe driving a Honda or a Hyundai rather than a BMW or a Bentley is OK.
I don't know. I mean, there is more than one way up the mountain. I just think resolutions are a set-up for failure and shouldn't we be doing something to feel better about ourselves and each other?
As I've been reflecting on the past year and such, I was thinking about simplicity.
How it is the teeniest of acts that really do start a movement.
Whether that movement be within society or simply within someone else's heart.
That in one way or another we all have the capacity to do this, we just try to make it seem so hard as a way to justify being asses to each other.
An experience I had the other day, finally made the lightbulb go on.
You all know, that have been reading for a time, that I truly try to make it a point to let others know I care. Sometimes it is misconstrued, sometimes it is seen for what it is.
Sometimes I care so much that I become immobilized. It's almost more than I can bear to do or to speak. I become so overwhelmed, so full.
Anyway, I've noticed that opportunities have not presented themselves in "grand" ways for me to extend my hand.
And in fact, I had become quite irritated because I thought I had fallen off the giving train.
That people were not being sent my way for a reason (if that makes any sense).
And the giving of myself feels better.
It feels awful when I am not.
I've been making it a point lately to look directly at people when I am out walking.
And not only that
but to smile at them.
Possibly even say "hello" or "good morning".
Whatever feeling presents itself is what I will do.
(this paragraph makes me sound like a grump. i keep picturing in my head old man Potter from It's A Wonderful Life. I truly don't believe I walked around like that before. I just went about my business like a million other worker ants.
So I've been making this effort, which brings me to the point.....are you shocked that there was one?)
I was on the phone with my academic institution to ask a question the other day. A lady was assisting me with my question and was most helpful. As the call ended, I simply said to her Have a good day.
Pretty innocent. Pretty pedestrian.
I didn't say to her I have the address and phone number to Beckham's house. He's waiting for your call.
I didn't say Oh, I happen to have this extra $1M sitting in my back pocket. Want it?
I simply said Have a good day.
And there was a reaction.
A reaction of shock.
A reaction of pleasant surprise at such an utterance.
(Now listen, I'm not claiming to be this wonderful, always do-gooder.
I know this tale of human interaction is one that could be told a thousand times a day by a thousand other writers who could write it in a more brilliant way. I am simply sharing this experience and the shock of it with you. Sharing it from me, Mrs. Incredible (Tabba) to you, lovely reader.)
I hung up the phone feeling glad that she got off the phone with me in such a way.
And a little sad too.
Sad because it sounded as if she had never heard it before.
How is it that we are so 'busy', so clinical with each other?
I am hopeful though.
Hopeful that things will get better.
Hopeful that maybe if we all could take these resolutions and maybe cram them up - er, that's not nice, T.
(try again)
OK.
Hopeful that maybe rather than worry about driving a car that costs as much as it would to feed a small nation or injecting foreign materials into our faces, or hell worrying about the pile of papers that cram your credenza, desk, and sock drawer
we could just take the time to say
Have a good day.
And smile.
Maybe say hello or good morning.
It sounds idealistic.
I know.
But it makes a difference.
Showing posts with label reaching out. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reaching out. Show all posts
1/2/08
12/3/07
The End or Simply The Beginning
Wow.
Wow.
I can't believe how I have fallen off here.
Fallen off of reading.
Fallen off of writing.
I recently heard myself saying to myself that there simply just isn't enough time.
But myself said back to myself that this is simply an excuse.
That if I really wanted to, I would find a way.
I don't want this to end.
But I don't have anything right now.
So I think a hiatus is in order.
Next week is my last class and the holidays are approaching (who would have noticed? like you need me to point that out!) and I will be on vaca from my little munchkins at the preschool.
Big things have been brewing with me on a spiritual level.
It is something so big I need time to reflect upon it.
This silence of mine has been purely mindful, somewhat meditative, and mostly reflective.
I've been thinking of you all and sending thoughts to you all out into the cosmos and hope that they make their way to you.
I think I may take this time to silence this here space and read what you all have to say.
As I have missed so much.
I may post a song or two.
Maybe a quote or a quick little story.
Otherwise I am silent and will let it flow when it is ready to flow again.
'Til then.
I'll see you.
Wow.
I can't believe how I have fallen off here.
Fallen off of reading.
Fallen off of writing.
I recently heard myself saying to myself that there simply just isn't enough time.
But myself said back to myself that this is simply an excuse.
That if I really wanted to, I would find a way.
I don't want this to end.
But I don't have anything right now.
So I think a hiatus is in order.
Next week is my last class and the holidays are approaching (who would have noticed? like you need me to point that out!) and I will be on vaca from my little munchkins at the preschool.
Big things have been brewing with me on a spiritual level.
It is something so big I need time to reflect upon it.
This silence of mine has been purely mindful, somewhat meditative, and mostly reflective.
I've been thinking of you all and sending thoughts to you all out into the cosmos and hope that they make their way to you.
I think I may take this time to silence this here space and read what you all have to say.
As I have missed so much.
I may post a song or two.
Maybe a quote or a quick little story.
Otherwise I am silent and will let it flow when it is ready to flow again.
'Til then.
I'll see you.
11/8/07
Confessions From A Not-So-New Mom
I have a little girl in my three-year-old preschool class.
Let's call her *E*.
*E* is a darling girl.
She is bright and full of personality.
I have quickly picked up on a few things that a seasoned teacher or a parent who has experienced certain things will pick up.
For example, certain behaviors that I associate with some of Connor's sensory issues.
And a few little other quirky things that are rather telling.
She is around the same age as Gracie and *E* is already on her way to becoming a paleontologist.
She's just flat-out bright.
I really like *E's* mom.
She's easy to talk to and seems down-to-earth.
We've had casual conversations about our kids.
I've told her about some of my observations and we share stories and knowledge.
But I think she is struggling.
In fact, she told me so today.
She feels lost and feels like the kids (her son is about 6 months old) are totally kicking her butt.
I smiled and listened.
And as it happens, I got distracted by some playground shenanigans.
I couldn't help but feel like she was trying to reach out.
She has said on more than one occasion that she feels lost and I've noticed it in the things she doesn't say as well.
I instantly thought of some blog addresses I wanted to send her to.
If she feels she needs to talk, I would want her to know that I could be a source of some comfort or information.
But I don't want to be the unwanted advice giver, or the know-it-all either.
That being said, she seems like she needs an ear and I am careful not to overstep my bounds.(this family has recently moved here from North Carolina and I'm not sure if she has much in the way of support from other moms).
How do you think you would handle this?
How do you think I should handle this?
Let's call her *E*.
*E* is a darling girl.
She is bright and full of personality.
I have quickly picked up on a few things that a seasoned teacher or a parent who has experienced certain things will pick up.
For example, certain behaviors that I associate with some of Connor's sensory issues.
And a few little other quirky things that are rather telling.
She is around the same age as Gracie and *E* is already on her way to becoming a paleontologist.
She's just flat-out bright.
I really like *E's* mom.
She's easy to talk to and seems down-to-earth.
We've had casual conversations about our kids.
I've told her about some of my observations and we share stories and knowledge.
But I think she is struggling.
In fact, she told me so today.
She feels lost and feels like the kids (her son is about 6 months old) are totally kicking her butt.
I smiled and listened.
And as it happens, I got distracted by some playground shenanigans.
I couldn't help but feel like she was trying to reach out.
She has said on more than one occasion that she feels lost and I've noticed it in the things she doesn't say as well.
I instantly thought of some blog addresses I wanted to send her to.
If she feels she needs to talk, I would want her to know that I could be a source of some comfort or information.
But I don't want to be the unwanted advice giver, or the know-it-all either.
That being said, she seems like she needs an ear and I am careful not to overstep my bounds.(this family has recently moved here from North Carolina and I'm not sure if she has much in the way of support from other moms).
How do you think you would handle this?
How do you think I should handle this?
11/6/07
To Reach and To Touch
Last night was my first night of class for the new block ( a block is 7 weeks of a semester, where the classes are one night a week for five hours). The class is Topics in Behavioral Science: Buddhism vs. Western Psychology.
When Rav was finishing up his degree we were fresh into our relationship & he was taking Social Psychology with the same instructor that I have for this current class. He told me fascinating things like the instructor brings his guitar into class every night and often sings as part of his lecture.
While he was taking the class, we ran into this instructor while we were out & about & he was wearing leather and stones. He had long hair and an air of calm about him. For all intents and purposes - a hippie, crunchy, granola, new-agey. And I was intrigued.
And everyone in the class that I am taking has taken many, many classes with him. They follow him from course to course. Sort of like dead-heads.
And I completely see why they do.
Anyway, the course he makes interesting. He shares his experience with being on the path. He is chockablock full of knowledge. And someone you simply don't mind listening to for 5 hours. We had a period of meditation during the class, followed by another period of meditation while he sang a mantra that was....beautiful.
My favorite thing of the evening, if I had to pick just one, was when he was discussing a conversation he had with a mentor on Buddhism (my instructor began practicing about 9 years ago). And his mentor said Spare people. Don't tell them that you are, your family and friends. Just spare them. No need to tell them. Be a Buddah.
~~~~
I was originally scheduled for an Economics class this block and quickly dropped it, after hearing rhetoric that a certain political party spouts. I fought with myself for much of the class and said that I need to stick it out.
I'm so glad I didn't.
I'd be missing out on one hell of a class.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
All of this got me thinking about how lucky I really am.
I work at a place that has a bunch of little munchkins who tell their mommies that Ms. Tabitha is my best friend.
And who have named their baby dolls Tabitha.
I learn just as much from them as they are (hopefully) learning from me.
I work at a place that is abundant with hugs and laughter and sunshine and smiles.
When I show up at a field trip destination my class runs up and hugs me.
I share the knowledge I have of teaching with the heart I now have from being a mommy.
How truly lucky I am to work like this.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I was watching a show on A & E or a similar channel about a parole board & it followed certain inmates for a specific amount of time.
I am fascinated with things like this because I love to watch people's behavior.
I listened to some men who were products of probably some really sadistic things in their pasts, they were mentally ill, and their reality was so far removed from the rest of the world.
One inmate was speaking about something that had happened to him and I don't know why but I thought to myself how horrible it must be to live a life day in and day out - and to never be touched. Whether it be physically or mentally/emotionally.
Days go by and we take for granted that we will come home to the waiting arms of our lovers, spouses, children, housemates, family members, etc.
We are touched by strangers who may walk by and say something nice - a mental hug, if you will.
We have computers and a network of people who offer up virtual hugs.
These things become like the air we breathe. They are so apart of our daily living that we forget that we could have it otherwise.
Imagine a week without one instance of physical contact - not having a heartfelt hug, holding someone's hand, having someone rub your back, etc.
Compound that by months and years.
Could you imagine how locked up, desolate, and lonely you would feel?
I'm not even sure I could go there in my mind.
I guess it is very easy for me to be sympathetic.
I don't work in a correctional facility.
I have not one inkling of what it must be like.
I know Rav would probably have his strong feelings on this.
But I can't push out the idea of that need.
How they need that too.
When Rav was finishing up his degree we were fresh into our relationship & he was taking Social Psychology with the same instructor that I have for this current class. He told me fascinating things like the instructor brings his guitar into class every night and often sings as part of his lecture.
While he was taking the class, we ran into this instructor while we were out & about & he was wearing leather and stones. He had long hair and an air of calm about him. For all intents and purposes - a hippie, crunchy, granola, new-agey. And I was intrigued.
And everyone in the class that I am taking has taken many, many classes with him. They follow him from course to course. Sort of like dead-heads.
And I completely see why they do.
Anyway, the course he makes interesting. He shares his experience with being on the path. He is chockablock full of knowledge. And someone you simply don't mind listening to for 5 hours. We had a period of meditation during the class, followed by another period of meditation while he sang a mantra that was....beautiful.
My favorite thing of the evening, if I had to pick just one, was when he was discussing a conversation he had with a mentor on Buddhism (my instructor began practicing about 9 years ago). And his mentor said Spare people. Don't tell them that you are, your family and friends. Just spare them. No need to tell them. Be a Buddah.
~~~~
I was originally scheduled for an Economics class this block and quickly dropped it, after hearing rhetoric that a certain political party spouts. I fought with myself for much of the class and said that I need to stick it out.
I'm so glad I didn't.
I'd be missing out on one hell of a class.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
All of this got me thinking about how lucky I really am.
I work at a place that has a bunch of little munchkins who tell their mommies that Ms. Tabitha is my best friend.
And who have named their baby dolls Tabitha.
I learn just as much from them as they are (hopefully) learning from me.
I work at a place that is abundant with hugs and laughter and sunshine and smiles.
When I show up at a field trip destination my class runs up and hugs me.
I share the knowledge I have of teaching with the heart I now have from being a mommy.
How truly lucky I am to work like this.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I was watching a show on A & E or a similar channel about a parole board & it followed certain inmates for a specific amount of time.
I am fascinated with things like this because I love to watch people's behavior.
I listened to some men who were products of probably some really sadistic things in their pasts, they were mentally ill, and their reality was so far removed from the rest of the world.
One inmate was speaking about something that had happened to him and I don't know why but I thought to myself how horrible it must be to live a life day in and day out - and to never be touched. Whether it be physically or mentally/emotionally.
Days go by and we take for granted that we will come home to the waiting arms of our lovers, spouses, children, housemates, family members, etc.
We are touched by strangers who may walk by and say something nice - a mental hug, if you will.
We have computers and a network of people who offer up virtual hugs.
These things become like the air we breathe. They are so apart of our daily living that we forget that we could have it otherwise.
Imagine a week without one instance of physical contact - not having a heartfelt hug, holding someone's hand, having someone rub your back, etc.
Compound that by months and years.
Could you imagine how locked up, desolate, and lonely you would feel?
I'm not even sure I could go there in my mind.
I guess it is very easy for me to be sympathetic.
I don't work in a correctional facility.
I have not one inkling of what it must be like.
I know Rav would probably have his strong feelings on this.
But I can't push out the idea of that need.
How they need that too.
10/24/07
Self-Involvement Is Hitting An All-Time High
For one reason or another, I haven't written about issues or topics that have been weighing on my mind.
Despite the fact that there are usually many.
I am so wrapped up in the fog that is in my mind and permeating every cell that I cannot even begin to tackle other subjects.
Something has happened to me in the past week and a half.
I'll be damned if I could tell you what it is/was.
All I know is that there is a general discontent,
as well as,
a general goo that has slung itself to my very being.
I feel like I have been feeling like this for way too long.
And I just can't take it anymore.
Reading a blog is like scaling Mt. Everest.
Having energy to just get through the day is unheard of.
Patience?
Gone.
I cannot step outside of this funk long enough to enjoy the good things
or wrap my heart around the not-so-good things.
I'm searching myself and looking back trying to find out what exactly
happened.
And nothing has come to me as of yet.
I know that I have been rather cut-off socially due to the demands of part-time preschool teaching and my full-time student status.
I have not given of myself out here
or in real-life.
Other then in the occupations and roles that I have to employ.
My soul has not been fed.
And I feel it.
Could it be possible that my little old soul has a cold?
What do you think?
Do you believe that a soul/a person's essence can suffer from a "cold"?
I have to say that, right now, I am a believer.
Despite the fact that there are usually many.
I am so wrapped up in the fog that is in my mind and permeating every cell that I cannot even begin to tackle other subjects.
Something has happened to me in the past week and a half.
I'll be damned if I could tell you what it is/was.
All I know is that there is a general discontent,
as well as,
a general goo that has slung itself to my very being.
I feel like I have been feeling like this for way too long.
And I just can't take it anymore.
Reading a blog is like scaling Mt. Everest.
Having energy to just get through the day is unheard of.
Patience?
Gone.
I cannot step outside of this funk long enough to enjoy the good things
or wrap my heart around the not-so-good things.
I'm searching myself and looking back trying to find out what exactly
happened.
And nothing has come to me as of yet.
I know that I have been rather cut-off socially due to the demands of part-time preschool teaching and my full-time student status.
I have not given of myself out here
or in real-life.
Other then in the occupations and roles that I have to employ.
My soul has not been fed.
And I feel it.
Could it be possible that my little old soul has a cold?
What do you think?
Do you believe that a soul/a person's essence can suffer from a "cold"?
I have to say that, right now, I am a believer.
10/8/07
How My Heart Behaves
I truly believe that certain events happen and certain people walk in or out of our lives for specific reasons. We don't always know what they are, but it happens. Sometimes it is subtle sometimes more profound.
I am a firm believer in this.
For example, this morning I got up and made my way straight to the computer (which I usually don't do), I went straight to my blog, and clicked on Oh, The Joys link in my sidebar. There was virtually no thought in it. It was as if I was on autopilot. It was just something I felt like I had to do before I did anything else.
I read her post and thought to myself Thank god I did this. I am so glad I didn't wait any longer.
Granted that her world would not collapse in on itself because she hadn't heard from me yet.
But
I felt that it was so important for me to acknowledge what is going on over her way right now.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
We were in Baltimore this past weekend and not long after we had arrived and began walking our way to the venue, I saw a woman on the opposite side of the street who appeared like she needed some assistance. She was well-dressed, carrying a big purse. And she was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, slouched forward. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She would stumble and sway. I kept waiting for her to just fall right over. People would walk by her and look with puzzled expressions and move on their way.
Included in those people were me, Rav, and the two other people we were with.
I spotted a security guard and was going to alert her to the condition of this woman.
But something else took hold of me and I did not do it.
All night and all of the next day, I would see the woman pop up in my mind's eye and I felt this terrible brick in my stomach for not doing something.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Those of you who have been reading for some time know that I was helping people that I was running into for quite awhile. And my safety may have been jeopardized at one point or another.
And I struggled with how I could do what needed to be done & not be stupid or unsafe.
This problem was compounded even more by the fact that I felt it was happening for a reason.
I felt that I was crossing paths with these individuals for a very specific purpose.
And the thing that I have realized is this:
It feels way worse for me to not do anything and be "safe".
It's this nasty, hard, thick brick in my stomach.
The whole diffusion of responsibility mentality that just doesn't sit well with me.
I think it way worse to not act. To shrug my shoulders and turn my head, close my eyes and
a)hope that the next person who comes along will help.
or
b)be completely cold, empty-hearted, and oblivious.
It's not my style and it just plain old does not feel good.
It feels inherently wrong.
It is a moral issue with me.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I know that I can't cure poverty or eradicate the use of highly addictive drugs.
I know that I cannot cure every ailing soul.
For every one person I help, there is an infinite line of people behind them.
I know that my bagged lunches, my $1 here and there do not solve the world's problems.
I know this. I do.
And I know that it is important for the people who care for me know that I am safe.
However, I know that it is not in me to continue to turn a blind eye.
I simply cannot do it. It doesn't feel right.
And that is just how my heart behaves.
I am a firm believer in this.
For example, this morning I got up and made my way straight to the computer (which I usually don't do), I went straight to my blog, and clicked on Oh, The Joys link in my sidebar. There was virtually no thought in it. It was as if I was on autopilot. It was just something I felt like I had to do before I did anything else.
I read her post and thought to myself Thank god I did this. I am so glad I didn't wait any longer.
Granted that her world would not collapse in on itself because she hadn't heard from me yet.
But
I felt that it was so important for me to acknowledge what is going on over her way right now.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
We were in Baltimore this past weekend and not long after we had arrived and began walking our way to the venue, I saw a woman on the opposite side of the street who appeared like she needed some assistance. She was well-dressed, carrying a big purse. And she was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, slouched forward. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She would stumble and sway. I kept waiting for her to just fall right over. People would walk by her and look with puzzled expressions and move on their way.
Included in those people were me, Rav, and the two other people we were with.
I spotted a security guard and was going to alert her to the condition of this woman.
But something else took hold of me and I did not do it.
All night and all of the next day, I would see the woman pop up in my mind's eye and I felt this terrible brick in my stomach for not doing something.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Those of you who have been reading for some time know that I was helping people that I was running into for quite awhile. And my safety may have been jeopardized at one point or another.
And I struggled with how I could do what needed to be done & not be stupid or unsafe.
This problem was compounded even more by the fact that I felt it was happening for a reason.
I felt that I was crossing paths with these individuals for a very specific purpose.
And the thing that I have realized is this:
It feels way worse for me to not do anything and be "safe".
It's this nasty, hard, thick brick in my stomach.
The whole diffusion of responsibility mentality that just doesn't sit well with me.
I think it way worse to not act. To shrug my shoulders and turn my head, close my eyes and
a)hope that the next person who comes along will help.
or
b)be completely cold, empty-hearted, and oblivious.
It's not my style and it just plain old does not feel good.
It feels inherently wrong.
It is a moral issue with me.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I know that I can't cure poverty or eradicate the use of highly addictive drugs.
I know that I cannot cure every ailing soul.
For every one person I help, there is an infinite line of people behind them.
I know that my bagged lunches, my $1 here and there do not solve the world's problems.
I know this. I do.
And I know that it is important for the people who care for me know that I am safe.
However, I know that it is not in me to continue to turn a blind eye.
I simply cannot do it. It doesn't feel right.
And that is just how my heart behaves.
9/6/07
On Yesterdays and Tomorrows
When I think about how to make this world a better place, I instantly look to the generation that is waiting-in-the-wings.
The ones that don't even know that the weight has been placed upon them.
I think about what a load that is for these up-comers to bear. Considering their ages haven't even hit double-digits yet.
That it is completely up to them to rid the world of the nasties.
But that is faulty logic.
We, the adults - the generation of the now, might not be able to fix things but it is up to us to set the examples and to lead accordingly.
I got to thinking about how my compassionate heart became that way. How as much of a spit-fire I can be IRL, I am or try to be, kind. I tend to see things that others might not where other people are concerned.
And I got to thinking about how that came about.
I reflected on the adults in my life that fashioned and molded me. The adults who made the most postive lasting impressions.
You all are probably rolling your eyes and sighing, saying to yourselves Yeah, we know. We know. Your dad and that damned reggae music. Sheesh. Shut your pie-hole, would ya?
And while yes, my dad had the major positive influence on me, my compassion, my kindness, my manners came from my grandmother (my dad's mom).
She was the one that taught me to think of others first.
To always be polite.
To welcome anyone - to try and make them feel at home.
If anything, my grandmother was about propriety. And I don't mean that in a snooty way.
She just strongly felt that you should act a certain way to other people. And that way was always kind and polite.
And many others had their hands in the pot as far as the shaping-of-me went.
There were religious leaders, parishioners of our church, teachers, other relatives, etc.
It certainly wasn't any one person.
There were many.
I see how our society really gears toward the individualistic approach to things and I can't help but to think how sad it is.
And I reflect about how we push our kids to be independent, to not need anyone. Or at least need others as little as possible.
And then how shocked we are when they do find their wings and find their way and gain that independence, we scratch our heads and wonder
Why don't they need us? Why don't they come around?
I think about the gaping hole that would be left behind in my spirit or creative mind had I not been influenced by Mrs. Duncan, my 4th & 5th grade art teacher.
The battered little girl (emotionally) who never asked for hugs, but got them on a daily basis from Mrs. Bridge nee Pokoiski.
Or the feeling of belonging to something bigger at Christ Episcopal Church because of Rev. Lindermann, Mrs. Budd, Mr. & Mrs. Warren, Mr. Mitchell, Mrs. Bright, Mrs. Bonner and all of my friends in my sunday school class.
Or the unconditional love from Aunt Marie, Aunt Vicki, my Dad, Eileen (my stepmom), and my younger brothers and my mom.
The list could go on.
I might be in my metamorphosis stage right now. And I am certainly still working on myself to help better the world. I'm still trying to figure out what that means for me, exactly.
And those people above had a hand in it.
When I feel my heart overflow for someone, it is because of the love and caring that these people have showered on me.
And adults everywhere should be so mindful of the little eyes that look up to us and the little hands that need holding.
While they may be the future
We are the now.
The ones that don't even know that the weight has been placed upon them.
I think about what a load that is for these up-comers to bear. Considering their ages haven't even hit double-digits yet.
That it is completely up to them to rid the world of the nasties.
But that is faulty logic.
We, the adults - the generation of the now, might not be able to fix things but it is up to us to set the examples and to lead accordingly.
I got to thinking about how my compassionate heart became that way. How as much of a spit-fire I can be IRL, I am or try to be, kind. I tend to see things that others might not where other people are concerned.
And I got to thinking about how that came about.
I reflected on the adults in my life that fashioned and molded me. The adults who made the most postive lasting impressions.
You all are probably rolling your eyes and sighing, saying to yourselves Yeah, we know. We know. Your dad and that damned reggae music. Sheesh. Shut your pie-hole, would ya?
And while yes, my dad had the major positive influence on me, my compassion, my kindness, my manners came from my grandmother (my dad's mom).
She was the one that taught me to think of others first.
To always be polite.
To welcome anyone - to try and make them feel at home.
If anything, my grandmother was about propriety. And I don't mean that in a snooty way.
She just strongly felt that you should act a certain way to other people. And that way was always kind and polite.
And many others had their hands in the pot as far as the shaping-of-me went.
There were religious leaders, parishioners of our church, teachers, other relatives, etc.
It certainly wasn't any one person.
There were many.
I see how our society really gears toward the individualistic approach to things and I can't help but to think how sad it is.
And I reflect about how we push our kids to be independent, to not need anyone. Or at least need others as little as possible.
And then how shocked we are when they do find their wings and find their way and gain that independence, we scratch our heads and wonder
Why don't they need us? Why don't they come around?
I think about the gaping hole that would be left behind in my spirit or creative mind had I not been influenced by Mrs. Duncan, my 4th & 5th grade art teacher.
The battered little girl (emotionally) who never asked for hugs, but got them on a daily basis from Mrs. Bridge nee Pokoiski.
Or the feeling of belonging to something bigger at Christ Episcopal Church because of Rev. Lindermann, Mrs. Budd, Mr. & Mrs. Warren, Mr. Mitchell, Mrs. Bright, Mrs. Bonner and all of my friends in my sunday school class.
Or the unconditional love from Aunt Marie, Aunt Vicki, my Dad, Eileen (my stepmom), and my younger brothers and my mom.
The list could go on.
I might be in my metamorphosis stage right now. And I am certainly still working on myself to help better the world. I'm still trying to figure out what that means for me, exactly.
And those people above had a hand in it.
When I feel my heart overflow for someone, it is because of the love and caring that these people have showered on me.
And adults everywhere should be so mindful of the little eyes that look up to us and the little hands that need holding.
While they may be the future
We are the now.
9/4/07
Dignity In The Diner
Lately I've been thinking a lot about growing old and maintaining dignity.
I've been thinking about how I envision myself still vibrant and active when I hit my elder years.
I don't know if that is what will happen.
But that's what I hope for myself.
I've seen many an elderly person turn into a bitter shell of the young people they once were.
I listen to the lonely in their voice and think I'd probably sound just as scared and bitter when faced with this kind of lonely and/or this kind of pain on a daily basis. Who could stand to live with such physical pain?
Not to mention, feeling worthless and left behind.
I think each gender struggles with that worthless feeling, but in different aspects.
Males feel it after a life spent working and providing and no longer being able to do so.
And females feel it after a life spent working and caretaking and no longer feeling needed and valuable.
And of course growing old with dignity, I'm mindful of how our bodies and our minds can turn on us on a dime and we have no control over that either.
And again, just how scary that must be.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
On Saturday, we rolled out of bed early, threw on some clothes and took the kids to our favorite diner for breakfast.
And can I quickly just tell you how much I adore going out to breakfast on a weekend morning?
I LOVE it. I love sitting down to a cup of coffee made by someone else and being waited on.
The anticipation of the meal.....
Anyway...we all love this diner.
We walk in and there is a crowd by the door waiting to be seated.
Gracie is hanging out in my arms "being shy".
And Connor is dancing around the register counter waiting to pick out his lollipop (don't ask) with Rav.
Gracie and I head off to one side as the door/register/waiting area are very close together and we are trying to leave room for people to walk through.
And as we're standing there I look over to my right (where there is an alcove of sorts with about 6 booths and a narrow walkway to get to those booths) and there is an elderly gentleman with a walker. He is trying to make his way to his table and gets stopped by a fellow female patron who knows him. He apparently has been battling a cold and has stopped to ask him how he's feeling and just generally speak to him.
As they are speaking a waitress and a female buser (is it with 2 s's?) are waiting to get by.
The waitress gets huffy and walks away.
And the buser tries to scoot past and can't.
So she waits.
Another female buser walks up to her and they begin speaking in their native language and are most obviously talking about this gentleman.
The waitress then walks back and sees he is now making his way back to his booth, very slowly, but is making his way nonetheless.
And as she is standing behind him, she is shaking her head and muttering nastily under her breath.
The poor fellow gets the wheel to his walker stuck, which hinders his forward motion, and her agitation grows.
(Mind you, this woman - the waitress - is middle-aged. Probably in her late 50's).
I was so taken aback by such passively cruel behavior.
Never once did she offer to help him.
Never once did she try to move him along by simply talking to him and escorting him to his table.
And he didn't even know the subtle "cruelty" that was being pushed in his direction.
Which is probably for the best.
But I saw it.
And it bothered me.
And I did nothing.
I worry about elders and those incapable of caring for themselves being subjected to cruelty in facilities - let's face it, it happens - it's happening in my home state right now. Today.
And fret over what is being done to these people or not done.
And I can't do anything about it.
I'm one person who can't save the world.
But here I was in a public place and saw such a disgusting display of intolerance.
And I chose to do nothing.
Because I was waiting in line with my family to get served a $5.00 breakfast.
And I chose to not act.
This got me thinking about all of the times we choose not to act over things we think are "little" or "benign". And how they really add up.
We might not see how one action or inaction effects the other, but they do.
I again do my infamous projecting and wonder if I would want someone to stand up for me or help out if that were me or Rav in that restaurant.
And of course, the answer is yes.
Those of us who can, need to rally for those who can't for themselves.
Little kindnesses.
Little kindnesses.
Growing older and growing period, with dignity.
I'm still working on it.
I've been thinking about how I envision myself still vibrant and active when I hit my elder years.
I don't know if that is what will happen.
But that's what I hope for myself.
I've seen many an elderly person turn into a bitter shell of the young people they once were.
I listen to the lonely in their voice and think I'd probably sound just as scared and bitter when faced with this kind of lonely and/or this kind of pain on a daily basis. Who could stand to live with such physical pain?
Not to mention, feeling worthless and left behind.
I think each gender struggles with that worthless feeling, but in different aspects.
Males feel it after a life spent working and providing and no longer being able to do so.
And females feel it after a life spent working and caretaking and no longer feeling needed and valuable.
And of course growing old with dignity, I'm mindful of how our bodies and our minds can turn on us on a dime and we have no control over that either.
And again, just how scary that must be.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
On Saturday, we rolled out of bed early, threw on some clothes and took the kids to our favorite diner for breakfast.
And can I quickly just tell you how much I adore going out to breakfast on a weekend morning?
I LOVE it. I love sitting down to a cup of coffee made by someone else and being waited on.
The anticipation of the meal.....
Anyway...we all love this diner.
We walk in and there is a crowd by the door waiting to be seated.
Gracie is hanging out in my arms "being shy".
And Connor is dancing around the register counter waiting to pick out his lollipop (don't ask) with Rav.
Gracie and I head off to one side as the door/register/waiting area are very close together and we are trying to leave room for people to walk through.
And as we're standing there I look over to my right (where there is an alcove of sorts with about 6 booths and a narrow walkway to get to those booths) and there is an elderly gentleman with a walker. He is trying to make his way to his table and gets stopped by a fellow female patron who knows him. He apparently has been battling a cold and has stopped to ask him how he's feeling and just generally speak to him.
As they are speaking a waitress and a female buser (is it with 2 s's?) are waiting to get by.
The waitress gets huffy and walks away.
And the buser tries to scoot past and can't.
So she waits.
Another female buser walks up to her and they begin speaking in their native language and are most obviously talking about this gentleman.
The waitress then walks back and sees he is now making his way back to his booth, very slowly, but is making his way nonetheless.
And as she is standing behind him, she is shaking her head and muttering nastily under her breath.
The poor fellow gets the wheel to his walker stuck, which hinders his forward motion, and her agitation grows.
(Mind you, this woman - the waitress - is middle-aged. Probably in her late 50's).
I was so taken aback by such passively cruel behavior.
Never once did she offer to help him.
Never once did she try to move him along by simply talking to him and escorting him to his table.
And he didn't even know the subtle "cruelty" that was being pushed in his direction.
Which is probably for the best.
But I saw it.
And it bothered me.
And I did nothing.
I worry about elders and those incapable of caring for themselves being subjected to cruelty in facilities - let's face it, it happens - it's happening in my home state right now. Today.
And fret over what is being done to these people or not done.
And I can't do anything about it.
I'm one person who can't save the world.
But here I was in a public place and saw such a disgusting display of intolerance.
And I chose to do nothing.
Because I was waiting in line with my family to get served a $5.00 breakfast.
And I chose to not act.
This got me thinking about all of the times we choose not to act over things we think are "little" or "benign". And how they really add up.
We might not see how one action or inaction effects the other, but they do.
I again do my infamous projecting and wonder if I would want someone to stand up for me or help out if that were me or Rav in that restaurant.
And of course, the answer is yes.
Those of us who can, need to rally for those who can't for themselves.
Little kindnesses.
Little kindnesses.
Growing older and growing period, with dignity.
I'm still working on it.
8/26/07
Sunday Morning Song of the Moment
Last night, Rav & I joined his parents, his three older brothers and their wives at a wedding for a childhood friend of all of the Ravioli brothers. (if you'd like to check out my brother-in-laws post on the wedding and some pictures of the famiglia de Ravioli, check out fatmarc)
It is very rare that all 8 of us (the brothers and the wives) are together in one room anymore because of busy lives, geography, kids, etc.
So when we all get together it really is a treat.
And we are often looked upon as that table or oh, those people.
It's not a bad thing. In fact it's quite funny.
The wedding took place in a beautiful church in center city Philadelphia.
The bride and groom were stunning.
Both families looked wonderful, proud, and happy.
The bride is of Philippine descent and it was lovely to see some of her culture blended into the ceremony.
All of the guests made the walk to the venue which was just a few blocks away.
And the reception venue was absolutely gorgeous.
Rav & I have become quite the wedding connoisseurs lately, as we have been to approximately 11 weddings in 4 years.
And this wedding was pretty tops for many reasons.
The friendship, love, and harmonious blending of different cultures, backgrounds, orientations was so elegantly pulled off.
And there are many details I could delve into.
But the bottomline is that all of the exterior things, the things that categorize people really shouldn't matter.
And this couple got that - gets that.
At the end of the day, love is love. It has no bounds and it doesn't exclude.
It is there in the beginnings and endings of the days despite the petty trappings we try to confine love to.
Love doesn't always conform and love doesn't look for norms.
Love just is.
When we were seated at our tables we were given a card that thanked the guests for celebrating, it offered an email address where you could send any pictures you have taken of the day to share with the bride and groom. And on the back of the card was this wedding favor:
In lieu of favors we have made a donation to "Freedom to Marry" to support those who are denied the right to enter the institution of marriage. Today we celebrate the finest and most noble expressions of marriage - love, commitment, and responsibility - while rejecting discrimination and prejudice.
http://www.freedomtomarry.org/
It is very rare that all 8 of us (the brothers and the wives) are together in one room anymore because of busy lives, geography, kids, etc.
So when we all get together it really is a treat.
And we are often looked upon as that table or oh, those people.
It's not a bad thing. In fact it's quite funny.
The wedding took place in a beautiful church in center city Philadelphia.
The bride and groom were stunning.
Both families looked wonderful, proud, and happy.
The bride is of Philippine descent and it was lovely to see some of her culture blended into the ceremony.
All of the guests made the walk to the venue which was just a few blocks away.
And the reception venue was absolutely gorgeous.
Rav & I have become quite the wedding connoisseurs lately, as we have been to approximately 11 weddings in 4 years.
And this wedding was pretty tops for many reasons.
The friendship, love, and harmonious blending of different cultures, backgrounds, orientations was so elegantly pulled off.
And there are many details I could delve into.
But the bottomline is that all of the exterior things, the things that categorize people really shouldn't matter.
And this couple got that - gets that.
At the end of the day, love is love. It has no bounds and it doesn't exclude.
It is there in the beginnings and endings of the days despite the petty trappings we try to confine love to.
Love doesn't always conform and love doesn't look for norms.
Love just is.
When we were seated at our tables we were given a card that thanked the guests for celebrating, it offered an email address where you could send any pictures you have taken of the day to share with the bride and groom. And on the back of the card was this wedding favor:
In lieu of favors we have made a donation to "Freedom to Marry" to support those who are denied the right to enter the institution of marriage. Today we celebrate the finest and most noble expressions of marriage - love, commitment, and responsibility - while rejecting discrimination and prejudice.
http://www.freedomtomarry.org/
I thought this to be the most noble gesture two people could make on a day to beat all noble gestures.
My heart forever melts for this couple who so rightly love each other and love others so eloquently. I raise my glass to J & K. A couple so deserving of a love and life full of endless possibilities.
This song is for them (it is the song they danced to) and for all of those who have someone but by some ridiculous right-wing agenda cannot enter into the institution of marriage.
I hope you enjoy Forever by Ben Harper8/6/07
Summer Doldrums
I've noticed that, as the summer heats up and the days meld into one another, I have become less and less active out here in this blogging community that I have found.
The thoughts are harder to grasp at.
I have to scratch and dig and heave.
The raw emotions and passionate thoughts are not flowing like the river that they once were.
My mind has become an arrid wasteland.
Every so often a thought bumbles and rolls around inside my head and is quickly gone.
Much like the tumbleweed in a bad Western movie.
It makes its entrance.
Skitters across the screen.
And then it is gone.
The flame and flicker of my heart, my passionate heart
my often electric mind and spirit
is a tiny, dull blue flame.
It is still there.
Just not quite the presence it once was.
I stare at my blog page, my sidebar, and long for you all.
I long for your stories.
And I long to comment.
I find that it is all an immense effort.
To construct a post.
To comment properly.
Reading is the easy part.
It's just trying to get around to all of you whom I adore.
And to comment.
What I am finding though, is that many of you seem to be in a similar boat.
That there are larger gaps of time between posts.
Which is to be expected.
The summer is a busy time.
However, what I am detecting is a tired.
A blanket of blue.
Is that my perceptions/projections?
Or are a lot of just feeling.....
meh?
The thoughts are harder to grasp at.
I have to scratch and dig and heave.
The raw emotions and passionate thoughts are not flowing like the river that they once were.
My mind has become an arrid wasteland.
Every so often a thought bumbles and rolls around inside my head and is quickly gone.
Much like the tumbleweed in a bad Western movie.
It makes its entrance.
Skitters across the screen.
And then it is gone.
The flame and flicker of my heart, my passionate heart
my often electric mind and spirit
is a tiny, dull blue flame.
It is still there.
Just not quite the presence it once was.
I stare at my blog page, my sidebar, and long for you all.
I long for your stories.
And I long to comment.
I find that it is all an immense effort.
To construct a post.
To comment properly.
Reading is the easy part.
It's just trying to get around to all of you whom I adore.
And to comment.
What I am finding though, is that many of you seem to be in a similar boat.
That there are larger gaps of time between posts.
Which is to be expected.
The summer is a busy time.
However, what I am detecting is a tired.
A blanket of blue.
Is that my perceptions/projections?
Or are a lot of just feeling.....
meh?
7/5/07
Navigating Through The Knowing
-He's a boy.
-Boys are just very active.
-He needs to be disciplined.
-I don't see these things you are talking about.
The kickers:
-You're crazy
-It sounds like you want him to have something wrong with him.
-Why are you saying there is something wrong with him?
The above list would be filed under the category friendly fire. You'll need to know this for later on in the post.
***********************************************************************
It's the first day of preschool.
You're so proud of your son.
You walk him to his classroom. And the hallway is filled with this, almost, pageanty/competitiony air. Proud momma peacocks and little peacock babies, walking under wing.
As you stand in the hall, waiting for the day to begin, you look ahead to what a wonderful year it will be.
Friends to be made.
Activities to participate in.
The endless painted, glued, glittered, pipe cleanered art projects.
New songs to sing.
You delude yourself for awhile that all will be well.
But then comes the day where you get a negative report at pick-up time.
Then days and weeks meld themselves together into this unstoppable train of bad news.
Negative reports and gut wrenching, hands-in-the-air exasperation.
You leave in tears.
Day after day.
As you walk out the door to head for home, with pitying eyes bearing into the back of your neck and skull, you look down at your boy, the chubby still toddler face, the fat fingers pressed in your hand.
And he looks crestfallen.
His chubby, little hand tenses in yours. It's even sweaty.
His eyes are sad.
He simply is not happy.
See, he wants to be good.
He tries to be good.
He is good.
He just operates a little differently.
And he - at 3 - has no idea how to
handle this
or the fact that his mommy cries for him everyday.
And he sees it.
But if you stopped and read his eyes
and really listened
that is what he would say.
If he could.
He's the most caring, heartfelt boy.
But affectionate, he is not.
He's wickedly funny and smart.
But intensely serious and pensive.
When he laughs, you think he hasn't a care in the world.
But he is full of anxiety and worry. He worries about it all.
You talk to him and think he hasn't heard a word.
But he hears it all. He remembers everything he hears and sees. And he notices the smallest changes.
He lives in the moment and lives with wild abandon.
But he cannot transition from one thing to another easily.
He loves input and action.
But he becomes so overwhelmed by it all.
He loves to build intricate contraptions with Legos.
But he has no attention span.
He is so easy to understand.
And so complicated.
*************************************************************
You just want everyone - teachers, his friends, your friends, family members, his daddy, even yourself - to understand this Rubicks Cube of a boy.
And to accept him.
Without shame.
Without guilt.
Without their "friendly fire" opinions.
All you want is for them to put aside their misconceptions, pigheaded opinions, and learn about this fascinating boy, his wide-open mind, his immense heart.
You just want him to sit still at circle time.
Three minutes. That's it. Sit still for three minutes.
Like if he accomplishes that, it makes all the difference
between
what and what, really?
You just don't want to feel completely alone in the accepting, the grieving, the crying, the rejoicing, the understanding, the being thankful.
You feel that your only friends, at times, are the developmental specialists, the psychologists, the speech language pathologist, the occupational therapist.
Because they corroborate what you already know
and all of the other stuff, the good stuff too.
Yes, he's got a diagnosis.
But he's also got an above-average IQ, his cognitive ability is great, his speech is stellar.
They've got your back.
You can count on them.
You just wish that you had that security from people you
have actual relationships with.
Not strangers.
There comes a point where you feel you are fighting everyone (except for your stranger, specialist friends).
And you're exhausted from it.
All that you want to do is scream at everyone:
All I'm doing is what is best for him. I'm only thinking of him and what will help him!!!
Again, with the looking back.
And the realization that of all things
the diagnosis was the easy part.
-Boys are just very active.
-He needs to be disciplined.
-I don't see these things you are talking about.
The kickers:
-You're crazy
-It sounds like you want him to have something wrong with him.
-Why are you saying there is something wrong with him?
The above list would be filed under the category friendly fire. You'll need to know this for later on in the post.
***********************************************************************
It's the first day of preschool.
You're so proud of your son.
You walk him to his classroom. And the hallway is filled with this, almost, pageanty/competitiony air. Proud momma peacocks and little peacock babies, walking under wing.
As you stand in the hall, waiting for the day to begin, you look ahead to what a wonderful year it will be.
Friends to be made.
Activities to participate in.
The endless painted, glued, glittered, pipe cleanered art projects.
New songs to sing.
You delude yourself for awhile that all will be well.
But then comes the day where you get a negative report at pick-up time.
Then days and weeks meld themselves together into this unstoppable train of bad news.
Negative reports and gut wrenching, hands-in-the-air exasperation.
You leave in tears.
Day after day.
As you walk out the door to head for home, with pitying eyes bearing into the back of your neck and skull, you look down at your boy, the chubby still toddler face, the fat fingers pressed in your hand.
And he looks crestfallen.
His chubby, little hand tenses in yours. It's even sweaty.
His eyes are sad.
He simply is not happy.
See, he wants to be good.
He tries to be good.
He is good.
He just operates a little differently.
And he - at 3 - has no idea how to
handle this
or the fact that his mommy cries for him everyday.
And he sees it.
But if you stopped and read his eyes
and really listened
that is what he would say.
If he could.
He's the most caring, heartfelt boy.
But affectionate, he is not.
He's wickedly funny and smart.
But intensely serious and pensive.
When he laughs, you think he hasn't a care in the world.
But he is full of anxiety and worry. He worries about it all.
You talk to him and think he hasn't heard a word.
But he hears it all. He remembers everything he hears and sees. And he notices the smallest changes.
He lives in the moment and lives with wild abandon.
But he cannot transition from one thing to another easily.
He loves input and action.
But he becomes so overwhelmed by it all.
He loves to build intricate contraptions with Legos.
But he has no attention span.
He is so easy to understand.
And so complicated.
*************************************************************
You just want everyone - teachers, his friends, your friends, family members, his daddy, even yourself - to understand this Rubicks Cube of a boy.
And to accept him.
Without shame.
Without guilt.
Without their "friendly fire" opinions.
All you want is for them to put aside their misconceptions, pigheaded opinions, and learn about this fascinating boy, his wide-open mind, his immense heart.
You just want him to sit still at circle time.
Three minutes. That's it. Sit still for three minutes.
Like if he accomplishes that, it makes all the difference
between
what and what, really?
You just don't want to feel completely alone in the accepting, the grieving, the crying, the rejoicing, the understanding, the being thankful.
You feel that your only friends, at times, are the developmental specialists, the psychologists, the speech language pathologist, the occupational therapist.
Because they corroborate what you already know
and all of the other stuff, the good stuff too.
Yes, he's got a diagnosis.
But he's also got an above-average IQ, his cognitive ability is great, his speech is stellar.
They've got your back.
You can count on them.
You just wish that you had that security from people you
have actual relationships with.
Not strangers.
There comes a point where you feel you are fighting everyone (except for your stranger, specialist friends).
And you're exhausted from it.
All that you want to do is scream at everyone:
All I'm doing is what is best for him. I'm only thinking of him and what will help him!!!
Again, with the looking back.
And the realization that of all things
the diagnosis was the easy part.
7/2/07
The Process Of Knowing and Accepting
Upon giving birth to your children, there are certain thoughts that you can't easily wrap your mind around. Dizzying thoughts, frightening thoughts. And you push them away. And you don't dare speak of them. For you fear that the very utterance of such things will actually bring them on.When you hold your children in your arms for the first time, you finally get to look at actual features. Rather than the ones that you painted on a tiny face in your mind - features of your own design. The canvas that allows you to paint on it the perfect, button nose. The biggest, widest, inquisitive eyes. Perfect baby curls. Baby pink skin. You never stop to think about the underneath.
The Code. The perfect fusion of separate genetics that have to come together.
That's a painting class you skip over when painting features on your baby.
Making sure you add perfect strokes and fusions of color to certain pieces of code.
You can't. You contribute what you have and hope it's for the best.
So you hold your baby and look at a face that is brand new to you, but you can't even imagine a time that it didn't exist in your life. Despite the difference it clearly has in regards to what you had imagined.
It is all foreign.
And familiar.
For nine long months you imagine what this new life will bring. At the very least, endless possibilities.
And in your mind's eye they all lead to extraordinary things.
All that you can think about and do is how to harness all of this potential. This potential for greatness that we are all born with, but is exceptional when you hold it in your own hands.
Tabula Rasa.
Their slate is perfectly clean.
You can read to them in languages - any language - and their little minds are wired to accept it all.
You can sing and talk and they know your voice.
A voice they've heard in their water cocoon.
You can touch and be touched.
And these sensations trigger chemical and physical reactions that begin the bonding process.
And they are an integral part of the development of their greatness.
They are so perfect in that no harm has touched them.
The world is a sensory smorgasboard.
And you are just trying to provide every perfect opportunity and experience of all the things the world has to offer.
And they are so perfectly willing to take it all in.
As a parent, you dream for them all of the dreams that have slipped through your fingers.
You want them to know no bounds to the wonders that they can accomplish.
Time moves on for a bit and there is a shift.
A brick in your gut.
You are beginning to slowly become aware of one of the thoughts that you initially couldn't wrap your mind around. And again, you don't speak it for fear that it will surely come true.
You feel in your gut that, at 8 months old, your child is just
different.
You can't put your finger on it. And when you say it in your head, it sounds quite silly.
And in fact, you feel like such a fool, that you keep the insanely green, new mom thought to yourself.
You keep that thought to yourself for 2 years.
However, it begins to creep its way to that space in your brow where the lines begin to deeply crease. When the pediatrician offers you her wisdom in the form of:
Don't be surprised if....
Don't worry though. There's still time. He's still very young. He could just be immature.
You shake this off, like any good mom would do.
You leave the office and shove that statement to the bottom of the diaper bag. Right next to the bag of smashed crackers and Zweiback toast that has probably been there since he was teething at 5 months old.
All that you can think about and do is how to harness all of this potential. This potential for greatness that we are all born with, but is exceptional when you hold it in your own hands.
Tabula Rasa.
Their slate is perfectly clean.
You can read to them in languages - any language - and their little minds are wired to accept it all.
You can sing and talk and they know your voice.
A voice they've heard in their water cocoon.
You can touch and be touched.
And these sensations trigger chemical and physical reactions that begin the bonding process.
And they are an integral part of the development of their greatness.
They are so perfect in that no harm has touched them.
The world is a sensory smorgasboard.
And you are just trying to provide every perfect opportunity and experience of all the things the world has to offer.
And they are so perfectly willing to take it all in.
As a parent, you dream for them all of the dreams that have slipped through your fingers.
You want them to know no bounds to the wonders that they can accomplish.
Time moves on for a bit and there is a shift.
A brick in your gut.
You are beginning to slowly become aware of one of the thoughts that you initially couldn't wrap your mind around. And again, you don't speak it for fear that it will surely come true.
You feel in your gut that, at 8 months old, your child is just
different.
You can't put your finger on it. And when you say it in your head, it sounds quite silly.
And in fact, you feel like such a fool, that you keep the insanely green, new mom thought to yourself.
You keep that thought to yourself for 2 years.
However, it begins to creep its way to that space in your brow where the lines begin to deeply crease. When the pediatrician offers you her wisdom in the form of:
Don't be surprised if....
Don't worry though. There's still time. He's still very young. He could just be immature.
You shake this off, like any good mom would do.
You leave the office and shove that statement to the bottom of the diaper bag. Right next to the bag of smashed crackers and Zweiback toast that has probably been there since he was teething at 5 months old.
************************************************************************
A year or so later, the summer is winding down.
The sun is beginning to set a little earlier. The air has a new crispness to it. Change is making its way through the air, down to the plants in the gardens, the water, even the grass. And you have no idea that it is extending to you, too.
You hold a camera up to your face.
You want to capture a moment in time. A moment you'd love to hold on to for a rainy day.
Your finger presses down and you can't begin to imagine the striking change you've just captured. You have no way of knowing yet. And you won't see the picture for a few days.
In hurried anticipation, you tear open the envelope. You pull out the photos.
And in that instant there can be no more denying.
The little boy in the photos is a shell of the boy you know and love.
The little boy in the photos is a shell of the boy you know and love.
For all of the life you know he possesses, there isn't a sign of it in his eyes.
They are vacant.
A dead brown.
In a rush you tally changes up in your mind:
In a rush you tally changes up in your mind:
-the absence of good eye contact
-the aversion to certain textures of foods
-the explosive tantrums
-the anxiety
-the sensitivity and overreaction to sunlight
-the impulsivity
-the hyperactivity
All of these things, singled out, are not really that big of a deal.
But when you weigh them together, you are deeply entrenched in the knowing.
You yell at yourself for not listening to your gut.
You yell at yourself for not listening to your gut.
And then rational, reasonable thoughts whisper in your ear that it probably wouldn't have made much difference.
Really.
You have conversations with yourself about how it could be so much worse.
And you know that.
But the reality you face now is a bit more muddled and foggy when placed next to its predecessor.
The reality you had before.
Back then.
Despite all your knowing the good things, the positive things, the it-could-be-so-much-worse things, you know that you have a road to travel that will be different from the easy, meandering country road you had envisioned.
You know that it will, hopefully, get better.
But for now, you have to prepare yourself for a war-torn road.
Not to mention
frequent run-ins with friendly fire.
6/27/07
The Toot-Toot Of Me Own Horn
Nothing big to report. Nothing that a million other, way more talented bloggers out there couldn't accomplish....
But.
Mike had approached me about submitting one of my posts to IndieBloggers.
And I listened to him.
After agonizing about the fear of rejection, I happened to check over at IndieBloggers and saw that they accepted my post.
Pretty cool.
Not only that, SlackerMommy has awarded me with the Rocking' Girl Blogger Award.
She's always been so good to me. Thank you, Kristie. You're such a sweetheart.
And now I have to work on my nominations. for the Rockin' Award.
But.
Mike had approached me about submitting one of my posts to IndieBloggers.
And I listened to him.
After agonizing about the fear of rejection, I happened to check over at IndieBloggers and saw that they accepted my post.
Pretty cool.
Not only that, SlackerMommy has awarded me with the Rocking' Girl Blogger Award.
She's always been so good to me. Thank you, Kristie. You're such a sweetheart.
And now I have to work on my nominations. for the Rockin' Award.
6/16/07
A word to the wise, from Rav...( I think that's an oxymoron)
In light of all that has been going on around here I just wanted to put some information out there. Some of you may know that I am a Law Enforcement Officer. As such, I am sometimes placed in high stress situations. Nothing I have ever dealt with prepared me for seeing my son choking. Through my current job, and jobs I held in the past, I have been trained in CPR and First-Aid for almost 10 years. Standing there, witnessing what was happening, I remember thinking, "What do I do?". All of a sudden, even though I couldn't put two coherent thoughts together, I reacted. Fortunatley, this situation had a good outcome. All of the training had prepared me, and I acted almost unconciously. The point of this is that if you do not know CPR, please learn it. Below is a link to the American Red Cross Website. There is a blue box on the right side of the screen, click on the find a local chapter to search by zip code. It doesn't have to be Red Cross, but please, particularly if you are often by yourself with your children, or the children of others, find the time to attend a CPR course. It could be the difference between life and death.
http://www.redcross.org/services/hss/courses/
http://www.redcross.org/services/hss/courses/
6/13/07
Little Boy Lost - John Vincent
This little guy has a sad story. He was left abandonded under a shade tree in the parking lot of our local hospital.....Christiana Hospital. Luckily, a nurse walking into the hospital heard him crying and picked him up. She carried him into the marternity ward. Taking her time and scanning the waiting room/lobby for a sign that someone was looking for him.
This story has been the talk of our state. And I'm not sure if it has made national news or not. But I felt that I had to post his story.
Next to his picture is a note that was allegedly placed inside his diaper bag. It's hard to make out, so I'll retype what it says:
"Please help my baby John Vincent I can no longer take care of him. Lost job, lost medical. God have mercy on me"
There is so much to say in regards to this story.
Obviously, I feel for this sweet boy.
I also feel for the mother (or father) who felt so desperate, who felt that this was the absolute best that they could do for him.
Let me start off by saying that he was found well-fed, properly bathed, and in excellent health. It was quite obvious from observations by doctors at the hospital that he has been well cared for.
I'm posting a link to the articles regarding little John Vincent.
All I'm asking you to do is read the story and take a look at his picture.
Because no one in our state has come forward with any information.
Maybe someone out there has seen him before.
5/25/07
Of A Small Bagged Lunch
Wednesday night, in between Rav getting home from another long day at work - post maternity offender and my road trip with Cracky McCrackster, I needed to run out for a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk. As I was pulling out of the parking lot of the store and heading for home, I happened to see, sitting on a bench in front of an elementary school, a person. And next to that person, a cart.
Once again, there is nothing in the car. Besides the loaf of bread and the milk. This does not make for a practical "meal". I head home and quickly whip up a sandwich, grab a bottle of gatorade, a banana, some crackers, and some cookies and a paper towel. I place it all in a brown bag and head back out the door.
My error? I knew that Rav would not be pleased about what I was doing. So I didn't tell him. I just ran out the door stating I'll be back in a minute.
I pull in the school parking lot and he is still there. Tiny thing he is. Much like the tiny woman a few weeks ago at the shopping center.
I approach him & he appears to be sleeping. I say Excuse Me? as I approach him. He opens his eyes and sees what I have in my hands. I tell him that I have some food inside for him, if he's interested. He says, Yes, that'll be fine. And he pats the empty space on the bench next to him for me to sit the bag lunch down on. And I do.
I tell him that I saw him at the store just a few minutes ago. That I wanted to help him however I could. So I ran home really quick and made him a sandwich and gave him what food I did have. I apologized for it not being much as I hadn't been to the grocery store for awhile........(and then I felt so, so small. I wanted to grab both of my feet & stick them into my mouth). He looked at me, shocked and said You did? You ran home to make me the food? I just smiled and said Yes.
This time, I'm better prepared for questions. I ask him if he has a place to stay. He tells me that his money just ran out.
(Our state gives out motel vouchers to the homeless).
He says he did have a car that he was living in, but he lost his car & he couldn't afford the gas anymore.
I asked him about shelters.
He says that he has a hard time making it all the way into Wilmington in time to make it before they close their doors at 4:00 p.m.
On one hand, I felt terrible even asking these questions because I can offer him no solution.
He tells me how he has a niece that lives nearby, but she leads a crazy life. And then he says My problems are my problems. I don't want to bother people. I've got to make my way.
I nod my head. For I know to try to tell him otherwise is fruitless. The man is well into his 50's or 60's.
He asks me what religion I was brought up in. I tell him that I was raised Episcopalian. And that I haven't been to church in quite a long time. But I try to do the right things. If I feel something in my heart, I try to do it.
Then he looks at me in his slow, underwater movements and says Well, you worked it out with me today. I was here. You were over there and saw me.
Again, he's making me smile. This gentle, quiet man.
I said, I'm Tabitha, by the way.
He says, I'm William. If you see me around, you can call me William.
He tries to say my name and has a hard time.
I say, A lot of people just call me Tab.
He chuckles and says, T-A-B?. OK, Tab.
He then starts talking about how he tries to save his money so that he has a place to stay during the cold, winter months. And that he just does what he can when the weather is warmer.
I listen to what he is saying and take in the realities of his years....the tides that bring him in and push him back out.
We part ways and this time, I leave feeling a little better about the whole thing. Better than I did the last time. As best as I can feel, anyway. Leaving him there to sleep wherever he can.
I come home and fill Rav in. And he's pretty upset.
He's worried about me just walking up to someone who will become violent or pissed off at me for offering something.
He warns me of the dangers of what I am doing.
He understands that I want to help.
But again, fears for my safety.
I really don't know how to reconcile his sensibility and my desire to do something. After years of wanting and never doing.
On one hand, I feel like a teenager being told no to do something and saying The more you tell me no, the more I'm going to do it anyway.
I'm just naturally rebellious that way.
That too, is a genetic predisposition.
I apologized to him for leaving and not telling him where I was going. And I said, Next time, then. You're coming with me. Would that make you feel better?
And what I don't say, and maybe I should is that I'm of the mindset that these things happen for a reason. There was a reason that he was there and that I saw him.
And that, I just can't shake.
Once again, there is nothing in the car. Besides the loaf of bread and the milk. This does not make for a practical "meal". I head home and quickly whip up a sandwich, grab a bottle of gatorade, a banana, some crackers, and some cookies and a paper towel. I place it all in a brown bag and head back out the door.
My error? I knew that Rav would not be pleased about what I was doing. So I didn't tell him. I just ran out the door stating I'll be back in a minute.
I pull in the school parking lot and he is still there. Tiny thing he is. Much like the tiny woman a few weeks ago at the shopping center.
I approach him & he appears to be sleeping. I say Excuse Me? as I approach him. He opens his eyes and sees what I have in my hands. I tell him that I have some food inside for him, if he's interested. He says, Yes, that'll be fine. And he pats the empty space on the bench next to him for me to sit the bag lunch down on. And I do.
I tell him that I saw him at the store just a few minutes ago. That I wanted to help him however I could. So I ran home really quick and made him a sandwich and gave him what food I did have. I apologized for it not being much as I hadn't been to the grocery store for awhile........(and then I felt so, so small. I wanted to grab both of my feet & stick them into my mouth). He looked at me, shocked and said You did? You ran home to make me the food? I just smiled and said Yes.
This time, I'm better prepared for questions. I ask him if he has a place to stay. He tells me that his money just ran out.
(Our state gives out motel vouchers to the homeless).
He says he did have a car that he was living in, but he lost his car & he couldn't afford the gas anymore.
I asked him about shelters.
He says that he has a hard time making it all the way into Wilmington in time to make it before they close their doors at 4:00 p.m.
On one hand, I felt terrible even asking these questions because I can offer him no solution.
He tells me how he has a niece that lives nearby, but she leads a crazy life. And then he says My problems are my problems. I don't want to bother people. I've got to make my way.
I nod my head. For I know to try to tell him otherwise is fruitless. The man is well into his 50's or 60's.
He asks me what religion I was brought up in. I tell him that I was raised Episcopalian. And that I haven't been to church in quite a long time. But I try to do the right things. If I feel something in my heart, I try to do it.
Then he looks at me in his slow, underwater movements and says Well, you worked it out with me today. I was here. You were over there and saw me.
Again, he's making me smile. This gentle, quiet man.
I said, I'm Tabitha, by the way.
He says, I'm William. If you see me around, you can call me William.
He tries to say my name and has a hard time.
I say, A lot of people just call me Tab.
He chuckles and says, T-A-B?. OK, Tab.
He then starts talking about how he tries to save his money so that he has a place to stay during the cold, winter months. And that he just does what he can when the weather is warmer.
I listen to what he is saying and take in the realities of his years....the tides that bring him in and push him back out.
We part ways and this time, I leave feeling a little better about the whole thing. Better than I did the last time. As best as I can feel, anyway. Leaving him there to sleep wherever he can.
I come home and fill Rav in. And he's pretty upset.
He's worried about me just walking up to someone who will become violent or pissed off at me for offering something.
He warns me of the dangers of what I am doing.
He understands that I want to help.
But again, fears for my safety.
I really don't know how to reconcile his sensibility and my desire to do something. After years of wanting and never doing.
On one hand, I feel like a teenager being told no to do something and saying The more you tell me no, the more I'm going to do it anyway.
I'm just naturally rebellious that way.
That too, is a genetic predisposition.
I apologized to him for leaving and not telling him where I was going. And I said, Next time, then. You're coming with me. Would that make you feel better?
And what I don't say, and maybe I should is that I'm of the mindset that these things happen for a reason. There was a reason that he was there and that I saw him.
And that, I just can't shake.
5/24/07
Alternate Universes and a Sensibility Tug O' War
The past 48 + hours have been completely bizarre. I almost feel like I have been wandering around in an alternate universe.
Let me set the stage first by saying that every month, my PMS symptoms intensify. And I really need to get to a doc. I feel like every month, I'm presented with a test that I always fail. I get sick. Very sick. Each and every month. Sick as in, it is leaving me unable to function.
So, that sets the stage just a bit.
Let me start, also, with mine & Rav's late, late, late night on Tuesday. Rav works the second shift on Mondays & Tuesdays. He called me late into his shift on Tuesday to say that he would be late. He & some other officers had to take in an offender to court for an active warrant. And she was claiming that she was having a miscarriage. So, this wasn't going to go smoothly. He said he would call after they were done at the JP Court.
Fast forward to 11:30 (his shift was over at 10). He calls me from the hospital. He tells me that the woman started flipping out in court. She urinated herself and said her water was breaking. Rav & the other officers take her to the ER. The offender is giving the hospital staff the run-around in regards to her due date, how far along she is, etc. So, they (Rav, other officers and offender) were just waiting for the doctor to do the test to determine if she had, in fact, urinated herself or her water did break.
Long story short, Rav finally got home at 2:30 a.m.
And this seems to mark the start of everything weird.
I have to back up just a bit.....to get to the weird part that involves me.
Last week, on a particularly beautiful day, I went outside to wait for Connor's bus. I was pruning some of the plants in the front yard. I was working on my fern hanging baskets. At the same time, I see a woman walking down the street. And I really didn't think much of it. She yells something. She yells again. This time, I realize she's talking to me. She walks up my driveway. Compliments my ferns. And then asks is she can use the phone. I give her the phone. She makes a quick call.
I ask if she's OK. She says Yes. It's just that my legs hurt. I just took my medication. Can you give me a ride? Just to the corner.
My pulse quickens. It's not that I don't want to help her. But I have one kid inside of my house. I have one that I'm waiting for. And I hate to say it, but my judgements got the better of me. Because see, she looked a bit.......questionable.
I tell her hat I can't leave. My daughter is inside & I'm waiting for my son to get dropped off. What I was leaving out was that Rav was upstairs with Gracie. In my heart of hearts, I was hoping that this would turn her away. She then asks to sit down. So she sits on my front step.
I look over at her & say If you can wait a few minutes. I'll take you to the corner. But I have to wait for my son to get home.
She agrees.
Connor gets home. I deposit him in the house. I shut the door quickly.
We get in the car, I drive her to the corner. And now the corner turns into the next street over. The next street over turns into the next street over from that one. I drop her off at a house and leave.
To be perfectly honest, relief at the fact that she's out of my car. And relief that I'll probably never see her again.
Boy was I wrong.
Last night, Rav & I begin the slow descent into veg-ville. We're both exhausted from the late night of the early morning hours we had kept due to maternity offender(more so him than me, but as he wasn't home & in bed, I couldn't sleep). Our front door was still open as it was not quite dark yet & again, an especially beautiful evening.
We're just entering deep veg mode when there is a slight knock on the door.
Rav gets up & I hear her voice. She says to Rav Is the lady of the house in? I think to myself God, she's good. She's got every line for every occasion.
I'm sorry, but I thought once Rav saw her, he would prevail. He was so good at lying to the little boys next door when they came a-calling. I thought surely I'd be off the hook. He says Yes, she is.
I swear, my bottom jaw hit the ground. My eyes were big as saucers. I figured at this point, he was just letting me lay in the bed I had made.
I go to the door & she starts with her usual. A compliment.
Then she goes into some story about how this guy says she has to be in by 9. She told him no it's 10. She needs a ride. Can I give her one? Oh, here's the guy. He's following me. Your ferns are so pretty. Can you give me a ride?
I tell her to hold on a minute. I come back in the house & am in full panic mode. There is no way out of this one. And I can't think of any good reason - for myself or for her - to tell her no. I just cannot.find.the.words.
I grab my shoes, I grab my cell. I deliberately leave behind my purse (I'm terrible, I know).
I take her back to the same house.
Now let me stop there and explain that when she approached my house last night she was wearing jeans. And the fly was WIDE open. I will spare anymore details.
So, of course........no one is home. She asks to use my cell. She makes a few calls. And she locates who she is looking for. Just a few minutes away. She tells him (HIM) to stay there, she's got her "girlfriend" with her & we'll pick him up.
Again with my jaw to the ground and my eyes as big as saucers.
We begin our drive.
By this time, it's taking way longer than Rav would've expected. I know that he's a bit peeved to begin with. I'm trying to be vague on the phone with him.
I get off the phone & promise to call him back in two minutes.
We get to the house. She gets out. I get a glimpse of the guy I'm to give a ride to. He's drunker than drunk. The woman who answers the door at the house says straight away to my "girlfriend", He's being an asshole.
I roll my eyes. And say to myself Oh, hell no.
I begin backing out of the driveway. But there is a bunch of traffic & I can't back out in time.
My new "girlfriend" is yelling at him, there is a bit of a scuffle. She gets him to the car & deposits him in it. He reeks. He's trying to be charming. Again, with the compliments. My new girlfriend tells him Be nice. She's straight.
Again, with being out of my element.
I fly as fast as I can to get these two anywhere. I just want to be back in my little, messy, kid-filled house.
I drop them off. And now he begins with wanting to "repay" me by kissing me. On both of my cheeks. I chuckle.
And as I drive away, relief washes over me that, for now, this is over.
I get home & recall the events for Rav, who is shaking his head at the whole thing. And then I say to him, We can't keep the front door open anymore. Because in a few days, she'll be back.
I need to find a way to stand my ground. What can I say to her?
Let me wrap this whole thing up by saying the whole dynamic is a bit much for me right now. And the reason is this: I've always had a hard time saying no. My mom & I have been on "the wrong side of the tracks" for our fair share when I was growing up. Not only that, I've always been a safe person for people. In school, I was always picked to be the buddy for the kids who need help, the peer counselor for the spec. ed. - which I totally enjoyed. But honestly, being in 6th grade and having someone see you have the capacity for something you don't even know you have yet is a tad overwhelming. The list goes on.....teachers felt safe with me to entrust me with these tasks of fostering a safe relationship with others. And I'm not complaining. It's just that I've always had this role. But with this role, I never learned to be politely assertive. It's a weak point.
Now add to this, a dash of law enforcement in Rav. He sees the ugly parts, the scary, unsafe parts. He has seen needles pulled out of body parts where they were kept for safe-keeping. He has seen weapons and drugs and violence on a regular basis. He just wants me to be safe.
And I want me to be safe too. I'm straddling a fence between my caring, underdog fostering and sensibility.
And I'm not sure which one of me is winning.
**I've deliberately left out the story of me making a bag lunch for a homeless man I saw yesterday before my road trip with my new girlfriend and the discussion that started between Rav & I. Because, quite frankly, this post is way too long as it is. I'll have to get into that another day.**
Let me set the stage first by saying that every month, my PMS symptoms intensify. And I really need to get to a doc. I feel like every month, I'm presented with a test that I always fail. I get sick. Very sick. Each and every month. Sick as in, it is leaving me unable to function.
So, that sets the stage just a bit.
Let me start, also, with mine & Rav's late, late, late night on Tuesday. Rav works the second shift on Mondays & Tuesdays. He called me late into his shift on Tuesday to say that he would be late. He & some other officers had to take in an offender to court for an active warrant. And she was claiming that she was having a miscarriage. So, this wasn't going to go smoothly. He said he would call after they were done at the JP Court.
Fast forward to 11:30 (his shift was over at 10). He calls me from the hospital. He tells me that the woman started flipping out in court. She urinated herself and said her water was breaking. Rav & the other officers take her to the ER. The offender is giving the hospital staff the run-around in regards to her due date, how far along she is, etc. So, they (Rav, other officers and offender) were just waiting for the doctor to do the test to determine if she had, in fact, urinated herself or her water did break.
Long story short, Rav finally got home at 2:30 a.m.
And this seems to mark the start of everything weird.
I have to back up just a bit.....to get to the weird part that involves me.
Last week, on a particularly beautiful day, I went outside to wait for Connor's bus. I was pruning some of the plants in the front yard. I was working on my fern hanging baskets. At the same time, I see a woman walking down the street. And I really didn't think much of it. She yells something. She yells again. This time, I realize she's talking to me. She walks up my driveway. Compliments my ferns. And then asks is she can use the phone. I give her the phone. She makes a quick call.
I ask if she's OK. She says Yes. It's just that my legs hurt. I just took my medication. Can you give me a ride? Just to the corner.
My pulse quickens. It's not that I don't want to help her. But I have one kid inside of my house. I have one that I'm waiting for. And I hate to say it, but my judgements got the better of me. Because see, she looked a bit.......questionable.
I tell her hat I can't leave. My daughter is inside & I'm waiting for my son to get dropped off. What I was leaving out was that Rav was upstairs with Gracie. In my heart of hearts, I was hoping that this would turn her away. She then asks to sit down. So she sits on my front step.
I look over at her & say If you can wait a few minutes. I'll take you to the corner. But I have to wait for my son to get home.
She agrees.
Connor gets home. I deposit him in the house. I shut the door quickly.
We get in the car, I drive her to the corner. And now the corner turns into the next street over. The next street over turns into the next street over from that one. I drop her off at a house and leave.
To be perfectly honest, relief at the fact that she's out of my car. And relief that I'll probably never see her again.
Boy was I wrong.
Last night, Rav & I begin the slow descent into veg-ville. We're both exhausted from the late night of the early morning hours we had kept due to maternity offender(more so him than me, but as he wasn't home & in bed, I couldn't sleep). Our front door was still open as it was not quite dark yet & again, an especially beautiful evening.
We're just entering deep veg mode when there is a slight knock on the door.
Rav gets up & I hear her voice. She says to Rav Is the lady of the house in? I think to myself God, she's good. She's got every line for every occasion.
I'm sorry, but I thought once Rav saw her, he would prevail. He was so good at lying to the little boys next door when they came a-calling. I thought surely I'd be off the hook. He says Yes, she is.
I swear, my bottom jaw hit the ground. My eyes were big as saucers. I figured at this point, he was just letting me lay in the bed I had made.
I go to the door & she starts with her usual. A compliment.
Then she goes into some story about how this guy says she has to be in by 9. She told him no it's 10. She needs a ride. Can I give her one? Oh, here's the guy. He's following me. Your ferns are so pretty. Can you give me a ride?
I tell her to hold on a minute. I come back in the house & am in full panic mode. There is no way out of this one. And I can't think of any good reason - for myself or for her - to tell her no. I just cannot.find.the.words.
I grab my shoes, I grab my cell. I deliberately leave behind my purse (I'm terrible, I know).
I take her back to the same house.
Now let me stop there and explain that when she approached my house last night she was wearing jeans. And the fly was WIDE open. I will spare anymore details.
So, of course........no one is home. She asks to use my cell. She makes a few calls. And she locates who she is looking for. Just a few minutes away. She tells him (HIM) to stay there, she's got her "girlfriend" with her & we'll pick him up.
Again with my jaw to the ground and my eyes as big as saucers.
We begin our drive.
By this time, it's taking way longer than Rav would've expected. I know that he's a bit peeved to begin with. I'm trying to be vague on the phone with him.
I get off the phone & promise to call him back in two minutes.
We get to the house. She gets out. I get a glimpse of the guy I'm to give a ride to. He's drunker than drunk. The woman who answers the door at the house says straight away to my "girlfriend", He's being an asshole.
I roll my eyes. And say to myself Oh, hell no.
I begin backing out of the driveway. But there is a bunch of traffic & I can't back out in time.
My new "girlfriend" is yelling at him, there is a bit of a scuffle. She gets him to the car & deposits him in it. He reeks. He's trying to be charming. Again, with the compliments. My new girlfriend tells him Be nice. She's straight.
Again, with being out of my element.
I fly as fast as I can to get these two anywhere. I just want to be back in my little, messy, kid-filled house.
I drop them off. And now he begins with wanting to "repay" me by kissing me. On both of my cheeks. I chuckle.
And as I drive away, relief washes over me that, for now, this is over.
I get home & recall the events for Rav, who is shaking his head at the whole thing. And then I say to him, We can't keep the front door open anymore. Because in a few days, she'll be back.
I need to find a way to stand my ground. What can I say to her?
Let me wrap this whole thing up by saying the whole dynamic is a bit much for me right now. And the reason is this: I've always had a hard time saying no. My mom & I have been on "the wrong side of the tracks" for our fair share when I was growing up. Not only that, I've always been a safe person for people. In school, I was always picked to be the buddy for the kids who need help, the peer counselor for the spec. ed. - which I totally enjoyed. But honestly, being in 6th grade and having someone see you have the capacity for something you don't even know you have yet is a tad overwhelming. The list goes on.....teachers felt safe with me to entrust me with these tasks of fostering a safe relationship with others. And I'm not complaining. It's just that I've always had this role. But with this role, I never learned to be politely assertive. It's a weak point.
Now add to this, a dash of law enforcement in Rav. He sees the ugly parts, the scary, unsafe parts. He has seen needles pulled out of body parts where they were kept for safe-keeping. He has seen weapons and drugs and violence on a regular basis. He just wants me to be safe.
And I want me to be safe too. I'm straddling a fence between my caring, underdog fostering and sensibility.
And I'm not sure which one of me is winning.
**I've deliberately left out the story of me making a bag lunch for a homeless man I saw yesterday before my road trip with my new girlfriend and the discussion that started between Rav & I. Because, quite frankly, this post is way too long as it is. I'll have to get into that another day.**
5/14/07
Watching A Rose Bloom In Reverse
Her small body was almost lost against the backdrop of the shopping center. And despite wearing a black hooded sweatshirt that was in sharp contrast to the tan of the stucco buildings, she was as close to being invisible as one could possibly be. She was slight, sitting there on the bench. Next to her mounded cart. She almost appeared to be folding in on herself. Like watching a rose bloom in reverse. She appeared to be trying to make herself even smaller than she already is.
But I saw her.
And I couldn't take my eyes off of her.
I looked this way and that. To my left. To my right. To see if anyone else noticed her as I drove my car. Guiding it to a parking space as quickly as I could without harming any number of shoppers. Shoppers who washed up in this shopping center. Just like she did somehow. Just like I did.
I am frantic to find something inside this child-ized vehicle. Anything that she might be able to make use of.
Nothing.
Not even pack of crackers.
After I focus my gaze straight ahead, disappointed that my kids are too old for me to lug around the 5 million snack-laden bags anymore. I look up and I see a Five Below store. I exhale and say to myself It's better than nothing. I'll find something in there.
I scan the snacks that, to a 5 year old, are heaven. But to an adult can barely constitute food.
I find some snack size fig newtons. A box of Ritz crackers. I grab some slim jims. A cold Ginger Ale. Two bottles of water. And a pack of eclipse gum. It checks out at a mere $8.19. That hardly seems like it's enough.
I fish in the bag for the gum. I slip it in my back pocket and I make my way.
I make my way out of the store. Toward her.
I am shaking. I feel so scared. What if I offend her? What if I can't find the right words to say?
As I approach, I'm quite certain that I am the only person that has seen her. People walk by. And they don't see her, this tiny little lady sitting on a bench. I'm wondering if she is a ghost. A ghost of all those I may have walked by before in a different, self-involved life. I have a flash of when I was in Santa Monica some eight years ago. I walked in for breakfast at a McDonald's and was astounded at the number of displaced souls. And beyond taking note of how uncomfortable I felt, I did nothing.
Still I walk on. Despite being so nervous, so sad, that I feel sick. But what is a little case of the jitters compared with being invisible?
I walk up to her. I look her straight in the eye. I smile. A lame, nervous smile. But I smile. I say I have a few things for you. If that is OK.
Oh, sure. That would be fine. She says.
There are a couple bottles of water, a soda, some crackers, figs, slim jims. I know it's not much.
I reach out and rub her small arm as I talk to her. As I look down, while she inspects the treats, I see around her neck a gold chain. A gold chain with three "rings" on it. Each with a different birthstone. Is she a mom? Is she a grandmom? Surely, she is at least one of these things.
She looks in the bag. She smiles a brilliant smile. And her eyes are full of light. She thanks me.
I tell her Happy Mother's Day.
She smiles and says Happy Mother's Day to me.
I smile at her and look her in the eye. Trying to find some way to make this right. And there are no words. No bags of snacks that I come at her with that will do that. As I open my mouth to speak, all that comes out is Take care of yourself, OK?
She agrees to this lame, pedestrian advice.
And I walk away.
When I walk away, I feel like something isn't right. I feel like I've left something behind that was left in my care. I feel like I've left my mother, my grandmother, or my child there. No matter how many steps I take away from her, I can't shake this feeling that I shouldn't be walking away. The distance between her and I has done nothing to stop my heart from breaking. From feeling her small shoulder under my hand, seeing the eyes full of life and light. Her necklace.
I walk away and beat myself up inside for not sitting down next to her. For not spending a minute and ask her her name. To tell her mine. To ask if she has any place to stay tonight.
I wonder how she managed to make it to that shopping center. How long it's been since she has eaten. How hot she must be sitting in that blazing sun in those thick, heavy clothes. How loaded with belongings her cart is. How can someone so little push that heavy cart?
How no one else seemed to care.
How they could walk into Old Navy and DSW like she wasn't even there?
But I saw her.
And I couldn't take my eyes off of her.
I looked this way and that. To my left. To my right. To see if anyone else noticed her as I drove my car. Guiding it to a parking space as quickly as I could without harming any number of shoppers. Shoppers who washed up in this shopping center. Just like she did somehow. Just like I did.
I am frantic to find something inside this child-ized vehicle. Anything that she might be able to make use of.
Nothing.
Not even pack of crackers.
After I focus my gaze straight ahead, disappointed that my kids are too old for me to lug around the 5 million snack-laden bags anymore. I look up and I see a Five Below store. I exhale and say to myself It's better than nothing. I'll find something in there.
I scan the snacks that, to a 5 year old, are heaven. But to an adult can barely constitute food.
I find some snack size fig newtons. A box of Ritz crackers. I grab some slim jims. A cold Ginger Ale. Two bottles of water. And a pack of eclipse gum. It checks out at a mere $8.19. That hardly seems like it's enough.
I fish in the bag for the gum. I slip it in my back pocket and I make my way.
I make my way out of the store. Toward her.
I am shaking. I feel so scared. What if I offend her? What if I can't find the right words to say?
As I approach, I'm quite certain that I am the only person that has seen her. People walk by. And they don't see her, this tiny little lady sitting on a bench. I'm wondering if she is a ghost. A ghost of all those I may have walked by before in a different, self-involved life. I have a flash of when I was in Santa Monica some eight years ago. I walked in for breakfast at a McDonald's and was astounded at the number of displaced souls. And beyond taking note of how uncomfortable I felt, I did nothing.
Still I walk on. Despite being so nervous, so sad, that I feel sick. But what is a little case of the jitters compared with being invisible?
I walk up to her. I look her straight in the eye. I smile. A lame, nervous smile. But I smile. I say I have a few things for you. If that is OK.
Oh, sure. That would be fine. She says.
There are a couple bottles of water, a soda, some crackers, figs, slim jims. I know it's not much.
I reach out and rub her small arm as I talk to her. As I look down, while she inspects the treats, I see around her neck a gold chain. A gold chain with three "rings" on it. Each with a different birthstone. Is she a mom? Is she a grandmom? Surely, she is at least one of these things.
She looks in the bag. She smiles a brilliant smile. And her eyes are full of light. She thanks me.
I tell her Happy Mother's Day.
She smiles and says Happy Mother's Day to me.
I smile at her and look her in the eye. Trying to find some way to make this right. And there are no words. No bags of snacks that I come at her with that will do that. As I open my mouth to speak, all that comes out is Take care of yourself, OK?
She agrees to this lame, pedestrian advice.
And I walk away.
When I walk away, I feel like something isn't right. I feel like I've left something behind that was left in my care. I feel like I've left my mother, my grandmother, or my child there. No matter how many steps I take away from her, I can't shake this feeling that I shouldn't be walking away. The distance between her and I has done nothing to stop my heart from breaking. From feeling her small shoulder under my hand, seeing the eyes full of life and light. Her necklace.
I walk away and beat myself up inside for not sitting down next to her. For not spending a minute and ask her her name. To tell her mine. To ask if she has any place to stay tonight.
I wonder how she managed to make it to that shopping center. How long it's been since she has eaten. How hot she must be sitting in that blazing sun in those thick, heavy clothes. How loaded with belongings her cart is. How can someone so little push that heavy cart?
How no one else seemed to care.
How they could walk into Old Navy and DSW like she wasn't even there?
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