Heartfelt thanksgiving

I love the 'year-end review' that Thanksgiving affords me, and this year is particularly sweet.
- Today is my 23rd anniversary. In May of this year, we were talking about separation. (Actually we weren't talking a whole lot, as we could barely stomach speaking to each other for almost 2 months.) We had exhausted counseling; we were out of grin-&-bear-it; nothing was changing, and we were holding together solely for the sake of our dd's graduation cruise the first of June -- we were going to make it through that and then spend the summer figuring out how people separate. Something happened on that cruise...our hearts were softened (I assure you it was miraculous). We walked through the soul-ripping place of giving up hope, and found hope on the other side of it. My marriage today is completely different from the marriage it was for 22.5 years...we live every day like 2 people who have been to the edge of the cliff and are clinging to each other other to keep from falling, part desperation and part beauty and completely alive. It is something to be thankful for.
- Grayson is alive and whole. Enough happens to him to make a mother's heart quake, and this year's skateboard accident and interstate accident again reminded me how precious each day with him is. It helps make the car accident (#2, with my car), the drinking incident, the secret party incident, and all instances of teenage ingratitude take on less importance in the big scheme of things.
- My soul has life. My conversion at Easter brought me to a place of rest after years and years of restlessness. Sharing this path with my Bill is icing on the cake. The silent retreat this summer helped me come to grips with God, to apprehend God even if I don't comprehend God. There are one or two things that I finally 'get' after a lifetime of just assenting belief.
- My new home. It is a fresh start, without the burdensome sad memories, mostly marital, that the other house held for us. It's got a ways to go before I feel like it will completely be Home; but that is OK -- there's energy between the two of us to make that happen together.
- Chelly seems to have grown up, to have grown into her skin, and to be thriving at college. With her emotional history, with her diagnosis... this makes me so happy. She's here this weekend, and I just can't get enough of her, warts and all.

Those are the biggies, I suppose.

As for Thanksgiving Day, it offered up its own reasons to be thankful:
- My mom behaved. No judgemental observations, no woe-is-me- my-daughter-is-a-papist interactions, no uncomfortable silences, no how-you-should-raise-your-children comments.
- Mack being thankful that he is really, really ridiculously good looking (think Zoolander). My mom not getting the movie reference/joke and giving him a mini-lecture on pride, which did not derail him at all... he just looked at her and disarmingly winked, "But you think it's true, don't you?"
-going with Bill to Walk the Line, and seeing some parallels with my him to the Man in Black.
- Reading last night with Clark. He is hard to connect with; he withdraws into his own interior world and won't let anyone in. He completely resisted my invitation to read with him, coldly clutching the opposite edge of the bed from me as I started, "Once there were four children named Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy...". Narnia sucked him in.
- conversation with Clark:
ME: One of the things I love about you is that you are a deep thinker. You won't share your deep thoughts with me, but I know they are there. I don't know what they are, but I think you're almost always thinking of them.
HIM: Pretty much everything in the world.
ME: Anytime you feel like it, your daddy and I would love for you to let us in on some of those thoughts.
HIM: You mean like about mirrors?
ME: Yeah, like about mirrors. (Having absolutely no idea what mirrors had to do with anything).
(long, long pause)
HIM: I wonder how they work.
ME: You mean, like, how they take ordinary glass and coat the back of it with reflective stuff?
HIM: No, like ... Do you ever wonder if mirrors are really like windows into a parallel dimension, where everything that happens there is just like what happens here, except it's backwards?

Update -- good grief it's been a long time.

Yesterday my dd surprized me by coming home from college for the day (she's 1.5-2 hours away). I was gone all day doing a road rally with a friend of mine, while dh was away in Chicago on business. DD came with 3 friends, whom of course I invited to spend the night. Meanwhile ds (14) had a few friends, of both genders, over as well while I was rallying.

So last night at midnight found me returning from my rally dinner (we finished 23rd of 26!) :-); dh returning from Chicago flight; 2 college girls watching TV upstairs; 2 more straight college girls at a gay bar, who said if they weren't in by 1 am, they'd spent the night at someone else's house; 3 teenager boys in the laundry room dropping themselves down the laundry chute onto all our sofa cushions piled up beneath them; 1 teenager spending the night away; and two preteens watching TV.

Two a.m. found me wondering what noises I kept hearing.

Four a.m. found me wondering why the back door was ajar...turns out the 14 year olds had been skateboarding on the nearby golf course. The TV was still on.

Nine a.m. found me making waffles for anyone who would wake up and come. The 2 college girls who had spent the night elsewhere came in and we all had a nice breakfast together. I learned that the teenagers had been playing "let's drop things out the front window and watch them land" at 2 a.m. Sent 14 year old out to pick up the random things that were littering our front yard, and to put all the sofa cushions back.

Ten thirty found me kissing dd and friends goodbye, going with dh and two of my kids to Mass, forgiving my 14 year old for his I've-had-no-sleep attitude, and being grateful for them all.

Moving Day Eve

Well, after melting down yesterday, and having Bill come alongside me in the best way (frirm, assuring, gentle)....I think I'm better today. Must pack up what remains. I decided that the attic and the garage can just be done another time, and that has alleviated much of the pressure.

The truck will be here in the morning at 8. Hope I'm ready! :-)

Oh, I feel so much better about myself now

Your IQ Is 135

Your Logical Intelligence is Below Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Exceptional Your General Knowledge is Genius

A Quick and Dirty IQ Test

Of course, Bill would agree with the logical thinking deficit. But I'd be killer on Jeopardy.

Can we tell that I have a million things to do today? And what am I doing but taking online personality tests....I definitely have problems with logic. The movers will arrive in 5 hours...the house isn't packed. Oh there are boxes here and there, but nothing like READY. I haven't even been in the attic yet. It's so overwhelming that I think I'll just surf the internet a little more. Ack.

All accounted for

Last night I lost Moses. We noticed when we came home from a walk that he wasn't in the house, but didn't think it unusual. Maybe he went for a walk or something. But two hours later, no phone call, no clues (bike still in garage, phone left in house, no friends had spoken to him), and no leads...we called 911. Where does a 14 year old go after dark, without a word of explanation? As I spoke with the emergency operator, he sauntered in. He'd taken a run, and stopped at a friends, never thinking we might wonder where our son was. All's well that ends well, I suppose, but it certainly gave us a start. Especially since we were in the middle of watching Mystic River. Not a good combination at all....

Not quite moving

We've been living out of boxes for weeks. Our moving date has now been delayed until next Friday, which actually gives us time to get stuff done to the house before we move in to it. We've closed on it, so it just remains to get it in move-in condition. Carpet cleaners, floor refinishers, painter, electrician, invisible fencers, landscapers, deck builder...I think that's it. Anyway, quite a chore, but it will be nice to finally unpack there.

I went to Mass on Saturday night last night, so Sunday morning will be free for me. We've rarely done the Saturday option, but today Bill is training this morning, biking and running for a few hours with his teammates. I think I'll just do ordinary things: paperwork, grocery shopping, laundry. It is amazing how those ordinary things fall by the wayside when the house is overturned. I think of the hurricane victims, and imagine how grateful they'd be to just be able to do normal things. The messages I get in the media are that adrenaline is better, that new adventures are the best adventures. But when life gets topsy turvy, I'm reminded how blessed one is to live an ordinary life. Right now, commonplace sounds good.

That point reminds me of a questionnaire I was given last week. I'm trying to lose weight, and so I went to L A Weight Loss. One of the questions was "Do you eat when you're bored?" To which I replied: I'm never bored. I cannot remember feeling bored. The weight counselor looked at me uncomprehendingly. "I mean, I can't answer whether I eat when I'm bored because I'm never bored." She blinked. "Just answer 'No'."

Weight. There's one we could write an essay about. I'm not genetically large. But in college, I gained weight one summer (up to 140) and immediately went on caffeine pills and lost it. After that my weight was pretty constant (120-125 and a size 6) until I had children. Each child added 5 permanent pounds. So in the end of it, my 'normal' weight was 140-145. Livable, I considered it. But about 7-8 years ago, weight started creeping up on me. In one year I think I gained 10 lbs. I tried losing it (down to 140), and managed to do that. That's when I had my hysterectomy/tummy tuck. So I got rid of the childbirth belly, and a few worn-out organs, but did I lose weight? Nooooo. Recovering from a hysterectomy is hard, no matter what anyone says. It was a year before I felt normal again. But in that year, and in the subsequent one or two, I've packed on pounds. Thankfully, I can say I carry it pretty well. When you have atummy tuck, and have fat cells permanently removed, the up side is a flat stomach. But the down side is that if you put on weight, it no longer goes to your tummy but it does go everywhere else you have fat cells...thighs, butt, etc. It isn't a pretty sight. Now I'm up to 170, and can no longer say that I carry AN EXTRA 40 POUNDS gracefully! Who am I kidding? If I could get to 130 I think I'd feel great and look much younger. So I'm reduced to 2 proteins, 3 starches, 4 veggies, 3 fruit, 1 fat, 1 dairy, and 3 condiments per day. For the record, THAT ISN'T MUCH FOOD! I'm cutting portions in half, making lots of conscious food choices, weighing whether I can 'afford' that creamer in my coffee, etc. It's insane. But hopefully, I can get there. That would be nice.

Just desserts

Son #2 ("Moses") and I had a running dialog today, abbreviated below:

MOM: I'll pick you up when school gets out at 1:15.
MOSES: OK. No wait. We have practice. Pick me up at 3.
MOM: OK. 3 it is.

(Phone call at 11)
MOSES: We don't have practice.
MOM: Allright. I'll be there at 1:15.

(Phone call at 1)
MOSES: Can I go to eat at Zaxby's with Herbie? You can pick me up at Zaxby's at 3.
MOM: OK, 3 at Zaxby's.

(Phone call at 2:20)
MOSES: Can you pick me up now?
MOM: I can be there in 15 minutes.
MOSES: No, wait. Nevermind. Can you pick me up at Catina's house instead?
MOM: OK, I'll pick you up at Catina's house in 20 minutes, OK?
MOSES: Yeah, OK.

(Phone call at 2:40)
MOSES: Just pick me up at the tennis center instead.
MOM: Well, I'm turning into Catina's street right now, but I'll turn around and be at the tennis center in a sec.
MOSES: OK.

I pull up to the tennis center at 2:42. No Moses. Drive around once. No Moses. I am supposed to pick up another son (who has only made ONE change in original plans today) at 2:45. I try Moses' cell phone...it is dead. I try the number he called me on. There is no answer. I leave to go pick up other son.

(Phone call at 2:48)
MOSES: Did you try to call me? Where are you?
MOM: (Unleashing a tirade that has been longsufferingly bottled up for obviously quite awhile): Yes I tried to call you. I was at the tennis center, where were you? I wonder if you realize you are not the complete center of the entire universe, and that there are other things I have to do besides be at your beck and call. If you tell me Catina's house, you better darn be at Catina's house; if you tell me tennis center, you better darn be at the tennis center, because I tell you, I am there. I think you better get used to walking, pal. You can walk e v e r y s i n g l e step home, and you can start right now. And next week, the answer is NO; I will pick you up at school every day, and that will be enough. Am I making myself perfectly clear?
MOSES: Um. Yeah. OK.

I go home, feeling rotten. Because there is only a sick satisfaction in blowing it so profoundly; there's not a real happiness. So I mope at being taken for granted, and I mope at being so vituperative to my good-natured son.

I watch the back yard to see him walking over the hill, completing the mile or two walk from the tennis center to our house. I call him upstairs to apologize for my rant. No apology needed it turns out ... he had put me on speakerphone.

"Catina and everybody were wetting thier pants" is the exact description of the effect of my tirade on Moses' friends. Guess we both got what we deserved.

Trial

My server makes an error every time I try to post to my blog. I think it is time for a trip to the computer repairman.

Looking back on the summer

DS is home from the hospital, and is doing much much better. He finally (FINALLY!) seems to have turned the corner. He's returned to school.

Parent orientation tonight at Catholic school. Wow. Dh and I are trying to scrape our jaws off the ground, we're so impressed with everything about the place.

DD calls home every day, and we chit chat about life, in a comfortable way that we didn't when she lived here. All her friends are gay, apparently. She is in the midst of figuring out life. God, hold her hand, because I cannot. We get along beautifully, and of all my children she seems the most grateful for every little thing. Funny, at age 11, it seemed we could never do enough for her, she always demanded more; how she's changed.

Hurricane victims started arriving by plane in town yesterday; our city is housing at least 1000, if the news has the facts right.

DH and I still have the most wonderful marriage. It's been an amazing turnaround. I didn't even blog about this, I guess thinking it might not be for real. But sometime in the middle of June everything turned around. Lots of tears and lots of sleepless nights, and much angst....but everything is different now. We are making the marriage we never had for 22 years. No resentments; no hesitations; no covering things and ignoring things and stuffing things. Just the truth. Just goodwill. It is hard to believe.

We are moving to another house on the 23rd. I have no idea how it is actually going to happen, but I guess it will!

Bill and 2 of the boys have taken to riding their bikes after dark every night. Younger ds was very fearful at first, but now is learning to really like night rides.

I finished another painting today...that's three since school started. I love taking a class because it makes me actually get something done! I did one of clouds (that I gave to my sister and bil for their birthdays), one of a little church in Alaska, and this latest one is of Gettysburg (farmhouse in a field). I've gotta move away from landscapes for awhile now.

Missing my kitty

The cat hasn't come home. Haven't seen her since Friday, and she's never gone for long. What could have suddenly happened? She's a sweet kitty, and belongs to Chel, who is away at college. I'm not a cat person, but have lived with a cat because my daughter is a cat person. But you know, I'm missing the kitty and wish she'd show up.

Good News/Bad News

First the good: my dd has been cast in the next play to be performed at her college! And she's only a freshman! And it's a major part! They are doing The Jungalbook (based on The Jungle Book), and she is Baloo. She's also in a costume class this fall, and is therefore going to be making her own costume! This is good news, but it is nonetheless very stressful, and that worries me. But I'm so proud of her.

Now the bad: my ds (Grayson) had a bad skateboarding accident two weeks ago. No helmet. Head first after flying 20 feet in the air (just lost his balance going down a hill; no half pipes or anything tricky). He got up and walked into a total stranger's house with blood on his hands demanding that they tell him "Who did this to me?", ranting and raving and not knowing anything. We took him to the hospital, and while he fortunately doesn't have any skull fractures (thank you Lord) he does have a massive concussion. He's been throwing up ever since; he still doesn't know why he's hurt; and he is in horrible pain. (This is the same child that rolled the car on the interstate, that wrecked my car, that got hit by a car... you remember the one!) I feel like there's not much left in me...I've had the stuffing pulled out of me for now. I'm so grateful that he isn't looking at brain damage; however, I wish things would just settle down for him, and for us. Post-concussive syndrome is a pretty serious thing, and so we'll be watching him for quite awhile.

Starting off with a bang

I got a call today from the dean of students at the Catholic school. Apparently M did a few little things that didn't set too well with a substitute teacher. By the standard of the school he had been at, they were nothing. But he's not in Kansas anymore, and would have been wise to learn the lay of the land before being totally himself. For example: they were doing the introduction game where you tell one thing about yourself, and everyone tries to match up the comments with the person who wrote them. He writes "I am interested in both men and women". You have to know him to know that this is actually a funny statement....he's completely straight! But this is, after all, Catholic school, and such a comment is apparently very un-funny there. Sigh. I guess the only way to learn is to make mistakes. But I wasn't expecting a call from the discipline police quite so soon. The good news, at least, is that it wasn't G; usually if there's going to be a call from the principal it is usually G. So he's off the hook.

Catholic school impressions from a Presbyterian kid

Yesterday was our first day of Catholic school. What a hoot. I just love my #2 ds...he can always say the funniest things.

He gets in the car:
Mom: How was it??!!
M: Pretty cool actually. There are 15 cool kids in my class. Which is 14 more than I expected. (Editorial note: Yes, the one was himself, and yes, he said it with a twinkle in his eye.) Out of 57 freshmen. It was great. I sat down at lunch and two girls and one guy came and sat at my table, and before long everybody was sort of hanging around. We played games most of the day, and one was a photo scavenger hunt. We had to get a picture of a freshman putting on deoderant, so since I have some good pit hair going, I volunteered. (Editorial note: Just the night before, he had taken the discarded brown ends of the corn silk, and sat down at dinner with no shirt, but with the corn silks bushing out of his armpits. We laughed hysterically.)

Then at dinner last night:
M: During chapel they said this prayer to St. Joseph. Did you know they were talking about JOSEPH, like as in, Jesus' father?
Mom: Yes, I was aware of that.
M: They all seemed to know this prayer and I just mumbled something.
Mom: I doubt anyone cared.
M: Then they said some kind of a 'pledge of allegiance' to Mary. I guess since they just prayed to Joseph they didn't want her left out.
Mom: Pledge of allegiance to Mary??
M: Yeah, kinda weird, huh?
Mom: (with sudden insight) It didn't start out with "Hail, Mary" did it?
M: (wide eyed) YEAH! I thought "What the heck? Why are they talking football?", but then I realized it was some pledge of allegiance thing.
DS#1: You mean Hail Mary isn't talking about football?
Parents are cracking up.
Welcome to Catholic school.

---Beth

Spiritual Retreat

I decided to post on my July spiritual retreat here on my blog. The post below was written in late July. My REAL life today is posted below it. I think I will add a few retreat observations here, over time.

The thought of posting everything about my retreat is overwhelming...and I don't know I'd be able to communicate it effectively anyway. But in order to take a stab at it, I'll just start with the experience of taking a retreat; and then, as I process it more and more, I'll add some of the content of what I gained from it.

I went on an 8 day directed retreat. What that means it that you are assigned a spiritual director who advises you, listens to you, offers ideas for you to meditate upon, suggests scripture that might be meaningful, offers support for the journey. Many people (at least in Catholic practice, perhaps in other faith groups) utilize a spiritual director or confessor as a necessary component of their walk of faith. I think that since seeing the benefit for myself, I'll probably ask my priest about a local director. I have a feeling it is a bit like choosing a counselor, though.... some are a better fit than others.

My director was a grandfatherly Jesuit priest, whose theological leanings (if I had to put them on a continuum) were likely more liberal than my own. However, I'm so glad that I didn't let this color my opinions....I gained so much from him! He offered me points of view I really hadn't considered; he supported my observations; he kept me focused on the goal of it all; he made helpful suggestions.

I checked into the retreat facility on Sunday afternoon. We had a dinner together, then after the initial dinner, we didn't talk again until lunch 8 days later. Every day followed a predictable schedule:
8 - breakfast
9 - session with my spiritual director
12- lunch
5:15 - mass
6 - dinner

If I didn't want to go to any of these, that was fine...nothing was expected of me. But it gave my day a bit of structure. Beyond those events, how I spent my time was up to me entirely.

The food was homecooked and very good. The retreat facility was 'comfortably spartan'. Everything was clean and comfortable, but not more than I needed. In my room (my 'cell', as my friends and family joked) was a double bed, a desk and chair, a Bible, a crucifix, a luggage stand, a comfy chair, and 8 coat hangers. Thankfully I brought my cell phone, so I had an alarm clock...otherwise, I might have missed a meal!

The retreat house had our rooms, a chapel, a conference room, a very small library/book store, a dining room, and offices for the spiritual directors and staff. The grounds were lovely ... 20 acres of woods bordering the river. There was a picturesque waterfall in the stream, walking trails, and benches and 'personal decks' scattered around the property. There was also an outdoor meditation chapel on the top of the hill. And this in Atlanta...just stuck between residential homes. You'd have thought you were in the middle of nowhere.

I kept a journal each day of what I was learning, my questions, my observations on the experience. I described myself in there as "arriving at the beginning of a rainstorm, with few concrete expectations, and a handful of fears." My first morning I noted: "I awake this morning after a great night's sleep at 7:05. Immediately, thoughts push into my mind. I'm amazed at how -- in a place with no demands, no noise, no real schedule -- I can be so assaulted with planning my day, wondering what will be next, second guessing myself, ...conscious thought."

At the outset, they gave us some information about the value of silence. I quote: "Silence creates the climate of interior stillness in which God's voice can be heard. Abstaining from dialog with others unleashes the easy, spontaneous communication with God, which is prayer. Silence enables us to make contact with our innermost self and thus satisfy our anxious quest for self-identity, inner freedom, and self-determination. Silence enables us to marintain the balance between the outward and inward forces in our lives between action and prayer. Too much community depersonalizes; too much solitude leads to sterile loneliness. The therapeutic value of silence reveals itself in a deep and peaceful tranquility. Silence and speech are correlatives; they complement each other. Without periods of silence we can only babble."

I observed on that first day that I was being confronted with all my words that pile up, even in silence, as I think and write ... and I realize I'm not listening yet. It took awhile to get used to eating with people and not speaking to them....felt a bit like we were all characters out of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" or something...silently shuffling around each other! By the end of the week, I was seeing so much value in the silence! One particular benefit that stood out to me was this: I could figure out myself without reference to the people around me; I didn't have to feel compelled to make small talk, to feign interest in the journey of another if it wasn't genuine. I observed toward the end of my week "One reason retreat is so nice is because there are no images -- no friend's faces, no celebrity magazines, no people in the news -- against which I can measure myself. The people here are strangers on a similar journey, about whom I know nothing, and silence forbids me getting to know. It has been refreshing to begin to learn who I am, NOT in regard to those around me, or what I do (for we all here DO nothing!)."

For more info about the retreat center I went to:
www.ignatiushouse.com

The picture is a painting I did earlier this year of Montserrat in Spain. St. Ignatius Loyola (the Jesuits' patron) gave up his former way of life after spending a night on Montserrat. I thought it was a providential symbol of God in my life. I have a chunk of rock from Montserrat, atop a chunk of rock from Ignatius House, on my desk now.

Can't decide if life sucks, or if I should be thankful.

My dd declared yesterday as one to go down in the annals of sucky days. Of course, she had just undergone her first vaginal exam, so what could we expect?

But on the whole the day did have its sucky elements, I have to agree.

First on the list was starting my day dumpster diving. We decided a week ago that we are moving. We are, one month from now, packing 6 people and 2 pets and the detritus of 11 years in one house, driving it a total of, oh, a half mile, and redepositing said persons and belongings into a smaller house that costs more. There is some sense in this move, despite the fact that when it's written out like that, I cannot imagine what that sense is. However, that is an aside. Back to the dumpster. Boxes. Must have boxes. Dumpsters labelled "Cardboard Only" are a mother-lode of boxes. I learned that one should not wear a cute sequined skirt and flip flops when d.diving; that people look at you funny when they come out of Barnes and Noble with their lattes in hand when you are hanging out of a dumpster; and that it really is easier once you actually get completely inside the dumpster to retrieve items. Silver lining: we now have plenty to get started.

Then dd goes to meet new female doctor. Dd is in a rotten mood. I have to take dd, because her car is in the shop. Silver lining: aforementioned exam does not uncover anything worrysome.

Then I pick up ds (17) at high school registration. He spent last night with a friend, assuring me that the friend would drop him at the school. He is dependent again on us for transportation since three weeks ago, he and three friends totalled his Explorer. They were returning from a weekend at the beach, driving at 7 am back from Charleston up the interstate. Ds had gotten sleepy, and his friend volunteered to drive so ds could take a nap. The friend fell asleep. The Explorer swerved into the grass and the friend overcompensated (waking to find himself heading toward the concrete base of a road sign), rolling the car onto its roof and skidding, 4 wheels in the air, to within three feet of the sign. Miraculously, all three boys were wearing their seat belts. Miraculously, they kicked out the back window and got out of the car. Miraculously, there was not even a scratched knee or a bumped head. The worst injuries were fire ants bites, from all the dirt that was deposited to the inside of the car. But that is an aside. Back to school registration. The friend could not bring ds to the school, so I learned that ds rode the friend's gas-powered scooter 10+ miles to school that morning, sans helmet. Silver lining: ds and friends are still alive to register for school. Ds is resourceful. Ds survived the scooter ride.

Off to dh's office, to pick up my 'paycheck' for the week. His secretary is out sick for the second day, and he's in a meeting. He's left the check at the front desk for me. I look like #$%$ from aforementioned dumpster diving (95 degrees, 90% humidity), but pick up the check and take it to the bank on the first floor of his office building. The teller kindly informs me that there are insufficient funds to cash the check. I call dh's cell. He's in the meeting so doesn't answer. I need to shop for dd's back to school needs, as she's heading to college in two days, not to mention things like groceries, gasoline (which costs about as much as groceries now), etc. I drive back home from downtown. Silver lining: dh and I are in a better place, so I don't immediately assume really nasty thoughts about him. He calls back, and had written my check out of the wrong account (one reason I normally get it from secretary). Still, I have no money in my wallet and I've lost my ATM. Silver lining: Even Chick Fil A takes a credit card.

We have now worked our way up to the afternoon. Ds (17) takes my car to pick up his own paycheck, and to go to his own doctor appointment. I lie down on bed with phone book, and call mobile providers to compare plans, since dd is moving away and we need to make adjustments. I call internet providers, dish TV providers, land line provider, duly writing down all the features and costs of all the options, so that I can intelligently discuss the topic with dh tonight. I notice as I'm speaking to James from the cable company that my cell phone beeps in call waiting; I ignore; my home phone rings; ignore; my cell again beeps in; I feel that I should wind it up with James. As I'm thanking him for his help the home phone again rings. I answer only to hear, "Mom, I'm really sorry." Not good. Ds has wrecked MY car. Silver lining: DS is fine. I now know that my insurance policy will provide me with a rental car (since I JUST TURNED IN the rental car YESTERDAY from previous accident).

DS misses his doctor appointment. DH goes (in the only remaining car we have, a two-seater) to pick DS up on side of road. I call my father, since I am now stranded without a car and ds (13) needs to be picked up from the church, where he's returning at 3 from an overnight trip. His soccer practice is at 4, assuming he made the team (which I haven't had time to check the final cuts, but odds were good). I get to the church at 3:05, only to learn that ds rode home in another car with Trey, a high schooler whom ds did not have permission to ride with. At 3:15 we phone Trey's cell phone and learn that Trey decided to stop and GET A HAIRCUT on the way home. I calmly, but with a slightly bitchy edge, tell ds that he picked a really bad day to make a stupid decision, and to please GET HIS BUTT in some vehicle and get to the church. I take my longsuffering father home and return to the church. Silver lining: ds makes it back despite being driven by a 16 year old male driver.

DS and I dash off to soccer practice. He didn't make the team.

Tired of looking for silver linings. Silver lining: People learn more from failure than from success. DS takes it like a man. Coach calls ds to explain her decision to cut him, and seems to truly care. (Doesn't make it a good decision though! GRRR.)

Run home, get ds (12) and take him to Tae Kwon Do. He doesn't get a tip, and is worried that he will not be able to test for his green belt next week. Silver lining: he's finally in TKD found something he's interested in doing.

In the 45 minutes he's there I go home and fix dinner. Cannot eat dinner with rest of family because I have to pick DS from TKD. Silver lining: Dinner is still good cold. I have a car, albeit my dad's, to pick up child.

Dinner conversation about Fight Club, trying to uncover the meaning of it all. Is it saying that we are all capable of great evil? Is it merely the story of the descent of one man? Is it mental illness? (try having a discussion about split personalities and imaginary persons with a child who has a schizoid disorder...) Silver lining: Said child is blissfully unaware that such horrors could be part of her future. But I'm not.

After dinner, discuss cell phone options with dh. I've written all the pertinent info into carefully parallel columns, listed pros and cons, etc. Discussion goes pretty well, actually, until dh (innocently, teasingly) says, "I can't believe it is 11:00! This conversation should have taken five minutes! You should never ever consider a career as a financial analyst." Big teardrop. Followed by another. Silver lining: dh realizes he just said the wrong thing.

Pack it in. Tomorrow is another day.

Life changed

I see that it has been since May that I posted.
I feel like that was almost like another lifetime ago. Isn't that crazy?
Sometime between when we gave up on our marriage and decided to go on the planned cruise with our kids (but then we'd probably separate after that) and pulling back into Port Canaveral after 7 days at sea....somewhere in there, God brought healing.

Maybe it started when we went to Father Newman, and he told us there could be no fundamental change to our marriage, because we would always fundamentally be the same people. Maybe it started when we agreed to postpone arguments on the cruise for the sake of the children. (We DIDN'T postpone arguments, but we previously agreed to, and maybe that agreement was part of the healing). Maybe it was just admitting to God in prayer that I didn't have the stuff to stay in it anymore, that enough was enough. I really cannot say. But the cruise certainly marked a turning point.

We fought and fought, knowing that the alternative was an end to 'us'. That brings a focus to the fighting....it became a sense that we were fighting FOR us -- for the survival of our marriage-- rather than against each other. It was hard, so hard that I remember nights where we were too tired to physically lift our heads off the pillow to kiss and makeup at the end of it. The Kleenex ran out. Our voices became hoarse whispers. But we made it through to the next day having resolved some small piece of the problem. We slowly realized we weren't backing down, then that we weren't giving up, then that we might just make it. We recovered trust. We recovered respect for the other's perspective. We recovered affection, and desire. Hope was truly the thing with feathers; it would flit in and out. Some days I would have no hope; some days I thought perhaps I could at least imagine having hope. And at some point, I guess I realized that I must have had hope all along, because I was in a position of looking back, realizing that I had held on. I don't know how.

I wish I could patent the process and replicate it for the benefit of others. But I cannot. It is so particular and so precious. I can only stand on the other side and know what it took from myself and from dh to get here. There are still a few niggly issues that haven't been really covered yet. And there are circumstances that uncover the same old rush of feelings....but we are different. We are able to hang on to one another, draw strength from each other, and fight through the conflict (and the desires to flee, to lash out, to withdraw, to sweep under the carpet for the sake of 'peace'). I can now say I love my husband. I really love being married to him. And it's been years since I felt that deeply, in the way I do now. Funny thing is, if you know me IRL, you'd think we had a pretty good marriage....two people who laugh frequently, who seem compatible and well suited, who have been together for over 20 years. But now, there is an immediacy and an intimacy that's never been there before. It is a costly intimacy, because the suffering we've both undergone to have it has been real enough to taste.

I pray to God that he will restore to us the years that the locusts have eaten.

Hope is good

After meeting for four hours with a friend that we both thought could offer some perspective, we came away with a lot said, and a plan for getting us started on the path back from the edge. We aren't off the edge, but we're both sensing that it is worth the work it will be to save ourselves from this hellhole we've been dancing around the rim of. The plan is this:
- Table controversy. Not forever, but just for now. Write it down to come back to later, but for the time we're on the cruise, just defer conflict till we get back. Use this trip to have fun and reconnect with one another and our children. Refuse to be drawn into anything that doesn't serve that goal. When we get back, we'll talk about the situations we've written down, but not until we get back.
- Dh needs to spend time one-on-one with this friend, searching out some of what's going on inside him.
- She suggested that I get away for a solitude of at least 2 weeks, maybe three. Alone, or perhaps with the help of a spiritual director. She observed that I need to find out who I am, unrelated to whose daughter, mother, and wife I am. She said I needed time without everyone around to rediscover the nugget of who I really am, at core. I have been wanting a spiritual director, and lo and behold, she gives me a brochure of a local ministry of spiritual direction -- that has both Catholics and Protestants on the board, and among the directors.

In the past few weeks, I've had 5 glimmers from God that he's out there, and I'm not forgotten.

One was a momentary flash of just how great a marriage ours could be...it lasted a nanosecond, but that instant was filled with images of what dh and I could look like if our marriage existed at the level it should and could. A

Another glimmer was a searing insight (in a McDonald's bathroom, along I-26, of all places): what IF there's a big ol' problem in myself and it isn't primarily dh's problem? This insight wasn't a capitulation to his perspective, but rather an opening myself up to do the internal work that I (and only I) can do.

The third glimmer was a phone call from this friend we met with, last week. I hadn't heard from her in ages, and I had spent the day in tears. Finally I threw a pair of socks on the floor and told God, "ENOUGH. I've had enough. You're going to have to do it, because I've had ENOUGH." Within a few minutes, she called, and we set up the meeting that we just attended.

The fourth glimmer was the snakebite. It really gave me a metaphor for life.

My last glimmer was the solitude/spiritual director angle our friend suggested....I had been wanting that, but didn't know where to find what I was looking for. It's almost like, if this had been a script, it would have tied itself up too neatly to be believed. But it isn't a script, it's my life. And somehow all these threads wove together to lead me to a spiritual director.

League Tennis

You learn a lot from playing tennis. I returned last night from the state championships with my little team of 2.5 players (beginners). We wanted to win, but it wasn't a higher priority than savoring the experience. Everyone on the team is supportive of one another, so it has been an amazing season. We're not 'friends' really, just a group of women who play tennis together more or less once a week. That's it. But it clicked, and we all had fun. Can't say that about some of the teams we played though!! Really, tennis can bring out the not-very-ladylike inner bitch in some women. But not us. We had fun.

The day before we left for the state championships, we were told to come to the clubhouse for team pictures. We showed up at the appointed time (noon) and were ushered into a private dining room. The table was set with cloth and china, fresh flowers, rose petals scattered over the tablecloth, and a rose at each place. Under each rose was a wrapped package from a local jeweler, with a little rosebud lapel pin attached to the center of the bow. The package contained an engraved Reed and Barton silverplate pictureframe. There were champagne glasses at each place as well.

We were stunned. A 'secret fan' had treated us all to a surprize luncheon in our honor. I was floored. This is the first year we've been together as a team. There's not a shared history. As the cameras snapped and the glasses were raised, we felt like princesses. One of the women, married 38 years, ventured, "I think this might have been my husband. He knows the jeweler, and he knows that crepes are my favorite." He just happened to be dining in another part of the building, so she sent for him, and found out that it was his doing. He just beamed at having pulled off a surprize on every one of us, and we all tripped over one another to thank him.

He developed the pictures, and sent each one of us prints.

Can you imagine the generosity and thoughtfulness that would do this for a group of women he didn't even KNOW? Just for love for his wife. I'm still speechless.

Views of Reality

Dh and I finally talked last night.
I'm not sure it made me feel any better.
Here's his take:
1. Through hours of prayer he's come to believe that his outbursts are not anger, but frustration with me.
2. What he says does not matter to me.
3. I am defensive, and he believes it is because I have something to hide.
4. If I observe my belief that something he says is incorrect, it is proof of #2.
5. Therefore he cannot talk to me, with any hope of anything good coming of it.

Here's my take:
1. It's not me who is throwing pans and hitting people. So let's keep that in mind.
2. He has such an ability to sublimate pain and to dissociate from the pain of reality, that he in actuality 'splits.'
3. He has such abuse (sexual, physical, verbal) in his childhood, which he has only recently come to remember the full horror of, that it colors all his observations.
4. I recoil from his anger, frustration, and shame both in its outward forms (tantrums, harshness) and its quiet forms (passive aggressive behaviors, blaming the victim).
5. Therefore, I cannot talk to him, with any hope of anything good coming of it.

I wonder how this marriage can weather this.

Snakebite

Something happened yesterday that I think is a metaphor, if God indeed sends metaphors into our lives.

Dh went adventure racing this past weekend. He came home Sunday afternoon, showered, slept from 5pm to 7 am, and went to work. After work he went to the gym, realized that his ankle was killing him, and looked down. Lo and behold, 4 fang marks. Then it all came back to him. He had been racing Saturday night on his bike. He was pushing his bike up a hill and suddenly his ankle felt like it was on fire. He commented on it, but did not bother to think WHY it might be burning so badly; the race was taking all his concentration, so he compartmentalized the pain away to get back to later. He didn't think about it again until at the gym two days later. We looked on the internet last night, and learned that only poisionous snakes have fangs, rather than teeth. Apparently, they can opt for poison (which burns like fire and serves as a last defense warning) or they can opt to inject poison and venom (which could kill someone who was doing strenuous exercise and miles from medical assistance). Fortunately the snake opted to only send him a warning.

Warnings. Metaphors. Slices of providence. Thin places, where the spiritual and the physical brush past each other.

All the What - Ifs

In an effort to take my mind off my misery, my friend Julie tagged me to answer these much-more-enjoyable what-ifs than the ones I've been contemplating lately!

If I could be a scientist…the world would be in sad shape. Like, there would be no advances.
If I could be a farmer… I'd farm out the work.
If I could be a musician…I'd play the cello. That way I could get in a good cry everytime I practiced.
If I could be a doctor… I'd be a damn good one.
If I could be a painter… I'd think I'd gone to heaven. To be able to paint like I want to paint....ah.
If I could be a gardener…I'd love to be able to have fresh flowers in every room. And some yummy fresh food.
If I could be a missionary…I'd hate living on 'support'. I hate fundraising.
If I could be a chef…it would sure come in handy for the family. I'd create tasty, healthy, attractive entrees.
If I could be an architect…I'd meld beautiful design with 'green' technology, and no one could afford me.
If I could be a linguist…I'd go nuts.
If I could be a psychologist…I'd carry the weight of everyone's problems. But I'd be good at it.
If I could be a librarian… I'd be frustrated at all the books I'd want to read, and never have time to.
If I could be an athlete…I'd choose an extreme sport, or a funky unknown sport.
If I could be a lawyer… I'd clean up. But I'd probably lose my soul.
If I could be an inn-keeper… I'd stress out. When will all these people leave me alone?
If I could be a professor…I'd love it.
If I could be a writer…I'd capture a phrase like Forster and I'd plumb the depths like Dosteyevsky.
If I could be a llama-rider…just shoot me and put me out of my misery.
If I could be a bonnie pirate…I'd be rich and promiscuous, but I wouldn't live long.
If I could be an astronaut…I'd hate the math, but I'd love the missions.
If I could be a world famous blogger…I'd be content with that. Gotta have a forum for life.
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world…it would be a magistrate's office. Help the little people.
If I could be married to any current famous political figure…Arnold, of course.

New month

I wish I felt more hope with the beginning of May. But in actuality, I still feel the same old numbness. Marriage isn't really marriage; parenting feels more like an effort to be informed as to their lives and plans...but not really MOTHERHOOD. I have to wonder about the future, but I dare not wonder too much, for fear I'll make it happen. For the future I envision, or rather the options I mull constantly, is not something I want to participate in.

Every day I ask dh when we are going to talk. Every day that he doesn't just ignore me, he answers that he doesn't think there's going to be one talk that settles everything once and for all. Fine. But give me a conversation for starters, then. I think he is operating under the assumption that he can delay, and delay, and we can go back into our comfortable intimacy-vacuum, and this will all blow over. But I'm tired of that life. I'm tired of no sex. I'm tired of cordiality. I'm tired of conversation about the day, and nothing more.

I don't want the marriage to end; but neither do I want it to go on status quo. I called the counselor today, I emailed the priest last week, I called the lady who prays sometimes for and with dh....and I've heard back from no one. I don't really want a counselor, actually. I don't want someone to reflect and clarify what I'm saying and empathize. I really want someone to tell me what to do. I feel incapable of deciding the next step....there aren't any next steps that seem agreeable. So I stand paralyzed and crying in my cereal. It sucks.

Family assessment

I haven't gotten in this blog habit. I'm not sure if it is because there isn't regular interaction (except you, Jules). Or because my life is so dull. Or because my computer time is often spent elsewhere. Or just why. But it's been over a month, and I wonder why the lack of reflection.

Tensions around here are cut-with-a- knife-thick. Sometimes I wonder, will there be a straw that breaks the camel's back, or will there just be the slow erosion of warmth and trust to such a degree that we never find our way back? This week has seen both event and erosion. Marriage is hard work, and it's disheartening to write that statement after 22 years of it. I don't want to leave; he doesn't want to leave; we love each other. But things get so thick with misunderstanding. It's a bit like opening my swimming pool for the season....we didn't cover it; the pump doesn't always work properly so that the water inadequately circulates; there are so many leaves in our yard. The bottom is coated with a winters-worth of dead stuff, and in the heat of spring, the algae is blooming profusely. I put in chemicals, I scoop out leaves, but after hours of work for the last 4 days, I'm still left with a pool that still cannot be swum in. I vacuum the water to waste, realizing that it's too dirty to even filter clean. Then I add more water, which throws off the chemical balance; now I must go to the store to get more chemicals, and I'm out of money. So I'll go next week after payday, by which time the algae will have bloomed again. I'm the only one working on getting it clean. I went out yesterday and there was a dead bird floating on the water. A bird! I wonder if maybe we should just fill in the pool; it's so much work for so little personal reward. This is my marriage at present ... the swimming pool after winter.

In other news, my children are growing up. My dd is trying desperately to graduate. Actually, I am trying desperately for her to graduate! I've hired a math tutor for her and ds, who is similarly flunking math. Hopefully they can pull it off. Worst case scenario is that she's still accepted into university, but she has to go to summer school and take Math For Dummies or something less rigorous than precalculus at least. I can't imagine how life is going to work for her at university; or rather, I can't imagine how her roommate will make it. She has so many challenges, that I get discouraged on her behalf. She seems blissfully unaware; I suppose that is its own sort of blessing.

G. What will I do when G flies the nest? That will be my undoing, I imagine. It is so lovely to have him here, even though most times he's out with friends, at work, at school, or doing some fun thing as he spreads his wings. Why is he so dear to my heart? He mumbles, and shuffles, and isn't particularly solicitous. But he's the child that I intuitively relate to, even though I rarely know what's going on inside that head. Bill resents G, notes all his faults. I'm sure that elicits a sympathy from me that wouldn't be there otherwise. Don't mess with one of mama's boys. Maybe it is trust. I just trust that my heart is safe with him, and I think he feels the same way. Some days I just want to capture him and stop time and cherish him like he deserves to be cherished. He'll be gone a month this summer -- it will be sad for me.

Moses scares me. Not so much what I see, but what I don't see. What I see is a kid who is handsome, talented, smart, personable, funny, sharp, has everything in the world going for him. What I don't see is the softer side, the aching side, the fearful side, vulnerability. Surely it must be there, but it's been disassociated out of him, I fear. Within five minutes of witnessing a moment of anger and violence, he can be chatting to his friends on the phone as if nothing has happened. Where is my little boy? What is he doing with his observations? He's angry at me for becoming Catholic; why does that strike deep, when other things seem to bounce off him?

And then there is the complex bundle that is C. Sad. Silly. Baby of the family. Wise old man. I adore him. He exasperates me.

My little ark. I'm trying to keep it afloat.

Confirmation, Easter, and other mysteries

The service of Easter Vigil is like everything in the church rolled up in one! Three of the seven sacraments are celebrated, and so it has a very festive but dignified feel to the entire occasion. After seeing the church completely bare on Good Friday (no cloth on the altar, no candles, no water in the font, statues and crucifixes covered, silent), it is so delightful to see the church decked out in its finery for Easter, the front awash with lilies, music, candles, everything spit and polished.

We got there an hour early to get a seat, so there was plenty of time for reflection. That's one of the things I love...everyone comes in and sits....there's no talking or visiting, just praying, meditating, reading Bibles, etc. All my children came, and all the boys wore suits. Real suits, with ties and starched shirts and everything. That is the first miracle of my Catholic life. And we were on time, even.

The service lasted two and a half hours, but it was one of those times when there is so much happening that you really don't feel like so much time has passed. If they had not omitted some of the readings, it would have been more like three hours. Two of my Catholic friends, and one Protestant friend were there joining in the event. One sadness for me is that my family did not choose to attend. I have really had to struggle with forgiveness, and I guess I'm still struggling with it, since I'm mentioning it! It's a bit like them not liking the guy I was going to marry, so refusing to go to the wedding. The similarities of the service (and of what I was doing!) to a wedding kept occuring to me. The next day at Easter lunch, no one in my family even mentioned our confirmation the night before, so opposed to it are they. Funny thing though ...the front page picture of the local newspaper on Easter morning was a photo of the very service (we could even pick ourselves out in the crowd) so the family was reminded of it without our saying a word!

Anyway, the service goes like this (none of you may want to know all this, but it does me good to write it down!):

- First the fire is built outside the church. This is struck from flint (symbolizing the stone of the tomb from which emerged Jesus the Light of the World). The fire is fed with holy oil, so you hear what sounds like french fries spattering in hot grease coming into the church. This fire is used to light the Easter candle, which burns until next Good Friday. The priest invites everyone to celebrate saying: "Dear Friends in Christ, on this most holy night, when our Lord Jesus Christ passed from death to life, the Church invites her children throughout the world to come together in vigil and prayer. This is the passover of the Lord: if we honor the memory of his death and resurrection by hearing his word and celebrating his mysteries, then we may be confident that we shall share his victory over death and live with him for ever in God." The candle is blessed and processed down the aisle (that's what happening in the picture)

- Easter is proclaimed. THe cantor chants this truly sublime text, which reminded us very much of the declaration of Passover in the Jewish Haggadah. My favorite line: "Night truly blessed, when heaven is wedded to earth and man is reconciled with God!"

- Liturgy of the Word: there are nine readings but our church elected to omit some for the sake of time (in parenthesis). The pattern is Reading/Psalm (which is sung responsively)/Prayer. These are the reading used:
Genesis 1:1-2:2, Psalm 104
Genesis 22:1-18, Psalm 16
Exodus 14:15-15:1, Psalm is Exodus 15
(Isaiah 54:5-14, Psalm 30
Isaiah 55:1-11, Psalm is Isaiah 12
Baruch 3: 9 -4:4, Psalm 19
Ezekiel 36:16-28, Psalm 42-43)

After the last Old Testament reading, it is so exciting. All the light immediately are turned up (the church has been candlelit up to this time), the churchbells all ring, it sounds like a fire alarm going off! -- and the organ and trumpets and congregation begin singing the "Gloria". The Gloria is sung every Sunday except in Lent, but this is the Gloria to end all Glorias! "Glory to God in the Highest and peace to his people on earth..." It's one of those moments where you feel like you are almost doing justice to the resurrection! Then the New Testament readings continue:

Romans 6:3-11, Psalm 118
Matthew 28:1-10.

I love how the readings all tell an interwoven story, and the psalm beautifully reflects upon the theme of the reading preceding it. While the readings do take a lot of time, you feel like you are really hearing what the heart of your faith is, and you get a sense of the overarching idea that the Bible (taken together) is communicating. At least, that's how I experienced it!

- The liturgy of baptism. At Easter Vigil, anyone who wants to become a Christian comes for baptism. They have prepared for several months, learning about the faith and deciding for themselves if this is truly the move they want to make. The priest reads their name, and they with their sponsors (godparents) process to the rear of the church where the baptismal font is located. (While they process, we sing the litany of the saints, which is the only really glaringly CATHOLIC part of the service; it involves asking a whole mess of saints to pray for us!) The font is placed at the rear of the church rather than the front to symbolize that one must be baptised to enter the church. Everyone, upon entering the church, dips into the baptismal font and makes the sign of the cross, to remind themselves of their own baptism. After each person is baptized, the choir sings them an anthem! I think we had 10 people baptized, so that was a lot of singing!

- Receiving those who want to come into full communion with the Catholic church. This is my part He calls us individually with our sponsors, and we process to the rear of the church, where we stand while he asks us the question you must answer affirmitively if you want to become a Catholic! "Do you believe all that the Catholic Church teaches to be true?" (or something close to that). Then all those who've been received, either by profession of faith or by baptism, then proceed forward to receive the sacrament of confirmation. Never having been in a church that practices confirmation as a sacrament, I didn't quite know what to expect. You must choose a name of someone, particularly a saint, who you feel an affinity for or who you admire their spirituality. This is the name you are addressed by in confirmation. The sponsors walk forward beside each person, introducing them to the priest by their confirmation name. The priest says "Be sealed with the Holy Spirit of God" and makes the sign of the cross on your head with oil mixed with balsam. It smells nice. You say, "Amen." I think we had 70 or so people come into the church and be confirmed.


When all this is done, the priest asks the congregation to renew their baptismal vows (the vows sound very archaic and quaint, but they are: Do you reject Satan? And all his works? All all his empty promises? This is followed by Do you believe...(statements from the Apostles Creed). Then the priest takes this funky thing that holds water, and he walks down the aisles sprinkling everyone with water, to renew their vows.

- Then the regular liturgy of the eucharist is celebrated, allowing all those who've just come into the church to receive their first communion. Oh, and somewhere in there was the homily...I think after the New Testament readings were done.

After Mass, the priest addressed those in the congregation who were not Catholic, thanking them for their part in the spiritual formation of those received into the church and reminding them that becoming Catholic is not a repudiation of other Christian teaching; it is simply someone wanting to be express their faith in the context of the the Catholic church. He said that the Catholic church is like a huge mansion, that you can spend a lifetime rambling through without ever running out of new places to explore. I liked that.

For feeling like I've gone around the world to get to this place, I don't feel like the core of my faith has changed so much, really. I still am a Christian. That didn't change. And that's pretty major, I think. Many people's faith either evaporates, or changes so significantly that a change of religion is called for. What has changed for me is how I both perceive and practice my faith, not actually the content of my faith. I don't know if that makes sense. I guess many I know (like my parents, for instance) would say that my faith has changed enormously. But it still feels like me; it still feels like Christianity; it still feels like a western, 21st century, understanding of unseen realities.

I lost faith in my former understanding of Christianity, that is true. I'm more liberal in certain understandings than I was, though just as conservative in other areas; I'm more open to the truth that others find elsewhere; I'm less worried about MY way being normative for others; I'm looking over my shoulder less (not at all, actually); I feel a part of something much bigger that supercedes time, space, and death; I feel like I'm on the path to life in God; I marvel more and presume less; I'm more trusting and open to the process of God working in mysterious ways; I can be myself and feel a part of one great big gracious collection of people; I feel like a million second chances lie before me, so I don't need to fear getting it wrong this time; I feel more connected to my humanity and the shared human experience; and I hope to God I'm a better person.

43 and counting

I passed my 43rd birthday with all the attendant requisite hoopla. Little did I know when I embarked on this marriage, this family what a job I was taking on. Maybe it is a good thing I dove into this live blind and young, neither set in my ways nor sure what those ways were. It's a good life, don't get me wrong; more good things than I can count. And I don't need to toil laboriously like so many in the world. But this life -- my life -- has taken more strength and perseverance than I ever dreamed I possessed. That's all. It hasn't been pretty, but I don't know that anyone gets a guarantee of "pretty". I've tried to make my small world better, that's all I can say.

I got these questions from another blogger, and I'm posting the rules to this game here.

The Official Rules of the Interview-Game
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions
6. I will answer reasonable follow up questions if you leave a comment.

Here are my questions, thanks to julieunplugged.com.

1. What themed party would you love to create and host some day (forget about the cost-sky's the limit)?

Right now, after having staged an audition film around this theme, I think it would be fun to have an Amazing Race party. You'd get clues, have tasks, and travel in groups of 4 all over a city (or limited area), and at each task there would be some 'local' food and drinks. Since cost isn't an issue, I'd have cameramen go with each group. Then at the Pit Stop, there would be great food, dancing, etc. Meanwhile the camerapeople would edit their film down and put together a 30 minute show of the highlights of the race. The winners would get some special nice prize, and maybe the "congeniality couple" would get a prize as well.

We went to a similar party last year, called a Road Rally. There weren't tasks, but there were clues you had to follow and questions you had to answer. At the end of the day, we all went to a great restaurant and had a fantastic party.



2. Which book is on your nightside table? Why did you put it there—why are you reading it?

The Daily Readings for the liturgical year, and Mary: A Biography of the Virgin Mother. My dd gave me this for my birthday: it's a feminist, non-Catholic biography of Mary, taking in the culture and customs, etc. It looks well-written and interesting.

3. What prayer (or call-response or creed) in the weekly mass is the most meaningful to you and why?

It changes, but consistently, I'd say it is this response before communion: "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word, and I shall be healed." It reminds me, if I've forgotten, that I'm not perfect; and if I'm well aware of my imperfections, it gives me the hope of grace in the form of healing and wholeness. So it speaks to whatever state my heart is in.

4. How can someone make you weak in the knees?

The last time I was literally weak in the knees (couldn't stand up) was when I thought Clark had gone missing from the house. The cops were there getting a recent picture and calling in the helicopters. I remember falling to the ground, unable to take it.

But I don't think that's what you were talking about! :-)

I guess, nibbling on my neck! :^D A second runner-up (that I don't get often enough!) is getting a massage, a foot massage, a scalp massage that isn't (A) too rough - I don't want all the knots in my body attacked! and (B) too rushed, wanting to get on to something else!!!

I am hard-pressed to say what emotional or verbal thing someone could do to make me weak in the knees. That isn't one of my more common emotions.

5. What is the first movie line that pops into your head? What does it mean to you?

OK, honestly it was Napolean Dynamite : "I caught you a nice bass"
Which, of course has no meaning to me! As for meaningful movie lines, this one probably scores up there:

- "You want answers?"
- "I want the truth!"
- "You can't handle the truth!"

This one seems reflective of so many people, and I don't want to be one. This line was also used on me to good effect by my dh....unfortunately, he had a point.

Lenten thoughts

This weekend I did two things: I finished the book Quo Vadis, and I saw the movie "Therese". The novelist won the Nobel Prize a century ago for his work; the screenwriter of the movie will win NO awards, I'm sure. But what tied these two events together for me was the almost unimaginable portrayal of saintly people they both painted. In Quo Vadis, the early Christian martyrs were fleshed out in a way that looked like authentic Christianity --like what we all wish we would see around us, and what, if we did see it, might serve as strong evidence of Christianity's veracity. I don't see that kind of faith fleshed out around me. Then in Therese, the story of St. Therese of Liseux was told. I didn't think the movie was good at all, but I just went to familiarize myself with the saint, not for the movie-going experience. The piety and devotion seemed almost like a parody of piety and devotion. And yet.... if it were genuine.... it would give me hope that such a faith is humanly possible.

As I ruminated on these examples of Christianity, I thought how much our culture makes such holiness virtually impossible to achieve, working within the culture. The media dishes out to us irony, sarcasm, violence, cheapness, shallow expressions of deep emotions and issues, entertainment..... and we take it and want more. We're inundated. It seems like the only way to avoid it would be to become a hermit in a convent. Yet, holiness and integrity must be possible in any setting. In ancient Rome, the setting for Quo Vadis, surely the entertainments and the prevailing cultural attitudes were worse than our own. So how is it that in a predominantly "Christian" society we have similar cultural mores as pagan Rome?

My life is not countercultural. I don't really want beauty, truth, charity, grace, forgiveness, redemption, perfection of my humanity, because I'd have to live counter to the prevailing culture. How would my corner of the earth be different if I really took the teachings of Jesus at face value and lived them out? What would fill my days? What would love look like? What would I be entertained by? What would I abhor? Is it necessary to be a hermit to live a good life? Surely not. But then, how is it accomplished? It must rely on internal transformation to enable the externals to be congruent. But the internal being fleshed out....where the rubber meets the road....what does that look like in 2005 America?

In talking to my friend Julie, she mentioned how Christianity can be seen truly in its cultural emphasis on freedom for the oppressed. That the people in 'power' cannot really relate to the Christian message as long as they are preserving their power. That the message of Bethlehem was identification with the lowly. This certainly would have been true of the early Roman Christians. They themselves were the minority, the underdogs. But as for me, I live in the most powerful nation on earth, I'm white, I'm well off enough. What is Christianity for me? I think personal piety is a part, but if Julie's suppositions bear out, that cannot be the crux of the gospel. Who are the oppressed now? I think of the unborn, the victims of violence, old forgotten people, ....what have I ever done for them? Is action on their behalf what I'm to be doing? How can I incorporate such action into my life?

Interestingly, it was Mother Teresa of Calcutta who was inspired in her life by St. Therese of Liseux. St. Therese advocated a simple way of life. I'd like to figure out what that simple way looks like for me. Anyway....all sorts of thoughts roiling my brain tonight.

Seinfeld on the spiritual walk

Observations on my faith journey:
One thing that has been difficult in discussion with people here at least is that I'm happy for anyone whose faith is real and nurtured. Just because I've gone elsewhere to find that doesn't mean I think everyone should go where I have. I'm genuinely happy. But it is either hard for them to understand, or hard for me to communicate, the grace of acceptance. They must feel that since I've gone elsewhere and thus have repudiated where they are, that I must hold out some secret resentment for them still being there. It's weird. (What grates me is the unreality of some people's faith experience, the smallness of its scope, the suppression of its questions. But that's their business...!)

Actually one thing I've noticed is a generational thing. Many of my younger post-modern contemporaries have more of a 'whatever works for you' mindset, so they don't respond unfavorably. But of the senior citizens I know.... the reaction is incredulity. I think there is much less that resonates within them of a personal quest, or the value of individually seeking to find whether one buys into what has always been taught. Or maybe it is just anti-intellectualism at work. Or maybe a fear that Truth shouldn't be questioned. It seems to shake the foundations -- and I guess in reality it DOES shake the foundations -- to look at both the fruit and the roots and to decide if you're climbing the right tree! :-)

I feel like this: if one is afraid of something, that's probably the thing one SHOULD look at. Perfect love casts out fear, we're told. So the presence of fear in the context of one's faith should be a sign that something isn't right. Sometimes I feel like the boulder that people trip against....if I just weren't there, they'd mosely happily down their path. But because I exist in the path, and must be confronted, I'm a problem. Most people just try to walk around the boulder with as little contact with it as possible.

This changing of path in midstream is viewed suspiciously! I really don't know how the majority of people respond to the news because they say nothing of it to me.

I remember the Sienfeld episode where Elaine says to her 'Christian' boyfriend Puddy, "I am not going to hell and if you think I'm going to hell, you should care that I'm going to hell even though I am not." So they go to the priest for counseling, and he says "Let me see if I understand this. Elaine, you're concerned that he isn't concerned that you're going to hell." Then when Elaine and Puddy mention that they are not married, just sleeping together, the priest replies, "Oh, well then it's simple. You're both going to hell."

Somewhere in that episode, I see a smidgen of truth about Catholic/Protestant relations!

Long time, no blog

An account of trying to talk to my parents about my upcoming conversion to Catholicism.

- It's all about MOM. I've humiliated her. How could God lead me somewhere he didn't validate for HER to be the right path? I've dishonored her. I've rejected her.
- She does not believe my reporting. I cannot possibly be following God because God cannot lead people into error and away from Truth. So while she KNOWS I'm not lying, while she SEES that I'm sincere and not just being flippant...there's no way to explain my story that is congruent with her beliefs except by denying my report of reality.
- She doesn't want to know about my faith, but she's sad that she cannot share hers with me. I responded that I don't feel that way, and that she can share her life with me. But because openness won't be reciprocated (I cannot tell her what is going on at MY church, for instance)... it's hard to think much depth of relationship is going to occur.
- She cannot have joy in the daughter that she has been so proud of for so long. She cannot accept it. (To which Dad leaned over and said, "You've GOT to") :-)

Dad was a charm. Only once did he start to get going about a theological point (purgatory, no less!), and he backed away pretty quickly. He wants a relationship. He thinks we're mistaken. Move on. He asked me to tell my story and listened well, as did mom.

It actually went as well as could be reasonably expected. Mom only teared up once, and so it wasn't a huge emotional thing (thank goodness for public places!)

We were able to talk about the kid's school and I think maybe they believe me that parochial school is because it's a good school, and not because it is our way of getting the boys to be Catholic. (Of course, if it WERE our reason, that's not really their biz, but I digress...) I admitted that I did not know what would happen to the children as far as their faith. I'm hoping mom and dad don't take that to mean it's open season for my children! If they take the kids on as their projects though, the kids will just withdraw and not have much time for their grandparents. I hope that mom and dad will respect the kids and not try to undercut us to them. But I don't know. (Dad probably will. Mom probably won't.)

The funny thing is that mom accused me of buying into a "ME" philosophy...that [b]I[/b]'ve led [b]my[/b]self down this path because it makes ME happy (as opposed to being led by objective Truth -- Presbyterianism -- which is supposed to make me...what?...unhappy??!:P). But ironically, I think she's the one who is into it being all about HER...how this all makes her look (humiliated) and feel (rejected).

My mom said she hates that she feels like she cannot share her spiritual self with me anymore. I"m like, 'Why? You can talk to me about what matters to you anytime.' She cannot imagine a world in which people are curious about each other's (spiritual) lives without condoning everything they believe to be true. She can't conceive that I'd be interested in something I've 'rejected'. And she will NOT herself be interested in my spiritual self...she said as much. It's a sad way to live, I think, because it shuts down relationship with people, until finally you're living in the ghetto of your own shared beliefs.

Bitter days of motherhood

I want to get back the nice mom I was for so long.

I want to enjoy my children. These last few days have been rough with all of them.

I need to go clean their rooms and love them for the unique (but messy) people they are, and realize that I am privileged to serve them....they are alive; I can stay home and mother/nurture them, and many people can't; they are healthy and so am I. I've got to recapture that grateful attitude, because I like myself better as a grateful person, than as a bitter one.

Isolation

This has been a painful weekend for me. It started on Friday when I delivered a written message to my mother. Rather than mailing her this letter, which I thought would be cold, I had a nice visit with her and then as I was winding up to leave, I told her I had written her a response to her request that I "prayerfully read" a book she had given me. She asked, "Did you read it?" I replied, honestly, "No." She welled up with tears.

My history with mom is 42 years long. She's a dear woman and a good mother. But she's perennially disappointed in anyone who does not tow the line of her making. Control is such a part of her nature that she mistakes it for love. She doesn't really know how to love without control. Imagine her disappointment when, after a lifetime of Presbyterian Church (including Presbyterian college), I challenged my religion and found it lacking. Fortunately, I was able to salvage it by reimagining it in a Catholic skin. So I'm in the process of becoming a Catholic.

Since revealing this to my parents, my mom (she's more of the controller of the two) has gone to my friends, my children, my husband....anyone... to try to talk me out of this. She's given me a book ("Traditional Protestantism") and has left anti-Catholic books conveniently scattered throughout her house. At first, she believed that I was being influenced by someone to do this. Now she's changed her tune and she's sure that I'm "enamored" with all the liturgy and ritual and finery of the Catholic Church. But her provincial view is that one CANNOT be led by God into the Catholic Church. In fact, Friday she swore she would go to her grave convinced that I was rebelling against the Truth.

I think to myself how grateful she should be that I'm a Catholic. I could have lost my faith entirely....I've watched some of my friends at the same juncture and this IS what happened to them. Or I could have cobbled together a faith that was very liberal (in mom's parlance), something that her sisters did and she never got over. Or I could have found faith outside of Christianity. But, grateful she is not.

Interestingly, during the conversation Friday she admitted that she had been praying for me and God had told her to 'humble yourself and in due time, you will be lifted up'. I think she imagines this "lifting up" meaning that I would come to my senses and re-embrace her version of faith. But I wonder....maybe humbling means coming to a place of admitting that maybe the Presbyterians don't have the corner on the truth that she imagines. But far be it from me to speak for God!

Among the things my mother told me were:
-in her life, her greatest sorrows were her brother (who molested her) and my turn to Catholicism. So I'm up there with a pervert in causing my mother sorrow. Gee, I even beat out my brother, who abused drugs for 15 years before being run over and killed by a bus.
- I'm rebelling not only against her (when is it OK to just be an adult, I must wonder?) I'm rebelling against the Truth. I wonder how she is so sure her version is the Truth....is it because it is Her version? Would her world crack and shatter if she leared that another religion had it right? Isn't this just a tinge of spiritual pride? I mean, I don't want to accuse, but it sure seems a bit confident to say that one's little denomination is the last bastion on earth of the Truth.
- Catholics are corrupt ("The Church is corrupt! It has ALWAYS been corrupt!") and they are idolators. Therefore, what could possibly be the eternal destiny of someone who wants to join up with such ilk??

Anyway. I held it together pretty well the rest of Friday, but Friday night the dam broke, and I felt the isolation that her words conveyed. I'm not the same inside. It is amazing how much, no matter one's age, one wants validation, blessing, affirmation from one's parents. Steeling myself for such rejection took all my emotional resources so Saturday I walked around with puffy eyes, and just wanted to be left alone. Thank God my husband is supportive of me. I am not sure without him I'd be able to swim upstream to find a faith that really works for me. In fact, he told me that I should try to avoid any conversations about the matter without him there to back me up. He's pretty good at unvarnished communication.

My bottom line is, mom and dad need to accept and respect my faith, whether they agree with it or not. Mom needs to lay off trying to manipulate and control the outcome to her desired ends. If she has faith in God anyway, why not just leave it in His hands? Unless they can make this attitude adjustment, there is going to be a lot more distance in the relationship than there is now. I am not willing to live awaiting her approbation.

Unless something comes up, I'll be joining the Catholic Church at Easter vigil this year. And it's likely my husband will join me.

Life lately

I've been so remiss to update this blog. It's a hard habit for me to get into.

Scattered occurences:
- I'm doing better with my new year's resolve to eat healthily. OK, at yesterday's wedding reception I did eat a lot of cheese biscuits. And a bucket of popcorn at the movie last night. But... What I"m trying is to eat no more than one lunch and one dinner out over the course of a week. I'm also trying a more static meal plan to keep costs down, so that I may offset buying organic. Now that we have a large organic grocery store nearby that seems a doable goal. I'm not perfect, but I'm doing better.
- My son who applied to Catholic school wrote the headmaster a note saying he realized that St.J's would be better for his long term interests than the public school his friends were heading to. The headmaster had asked him to drop him a note indicating that he was willing to give it a chance (since in his admissions essay he stated that he was being made to attend there!) When I asked him about the note, he said, "Well, if I'm going to be going there, I figured I might as well have a good attitude about it." Tonight a girl from St.J's IMed him (he showed me the log) to tell him that all the girls at St.J's thought he was really "hot". How did she get his screen name? Poor kid. Enviable problem, though. Everywhere he goes, girls feed his ego like crazy. I just hope he can handle it without becoming obnoxious. He's always been a cutie, and the girls have always noticed him. But now that his voice is changing, and he's 6'0" (at age 13), and his face is becoming more angular (and he's got a short haircut now that really shows it off)....he really is a head-turner. Dear Lord, deliver him from fast women!

- DH told me yesterday that he is at peace with joining the Catholic Church. Scrape me off the pavement! I've been heading in that direction for a few years, but never encouraged him along the same path. So apart from influence from me, he started attending the classes this year. I figured it was just curiousity, because I don't think he really knows all the doctrine, etc. But .... maybe God doesn't lead through a doctrinal jungle; maybe some people just come because for whatever reasons, it is attractive to them.
- I'm finding a new calling in helping my friends "flylady" their houses. www.flylady.com I've so far helped 2 friends declutter their homes, and I have two this week set up. Of course, as I type, my desk is covered with three 12" stacks of crap. It's so much easier to toss other people's junk than it is one's own!
- I miss my 16 year old. I don't feel like I have good points of contact with him, and he's not around the house much. I'm not sure what to do. I wish he had more points of contact with dh, but they also are on two different wavelengths. I want him to have his life, and enjoy it. I just wish there were more intersections with my life. Dinnertime (when he's here) is about it.

- I don't have any good books I'm reading right now. I think I"ll start my book club selection now. I usually have a stack I want to get to, but not now. I'm reading Michael Crichton's newest, but I'm not finding it very compelling. The last three or four I've started, I've just dropped for lack of interest (The Strange Case of Jonathan Norrell, Rule of Four, some Maeve Binchy paperback, as well as my entire nonfiction pile). I want a book that I'm dying to pick up, and I haven't had that in a long time.

Epiphany

Yesterday was Epiphany.

The beginning of something. Of God being available to the gentiles, not to just one particular people. That's what the significance of the Wise Men is, I think. That God is bigger than a small corner of Palestine, or a small corner of modern Christendom, can hold. He shines with a star as a herald (a star is remote, but certainly out there for all to see), and people keep looking for him.

And the end of another. The end of a season. Christmas is over, and so is the holiday break. It is back to the salt mines this morning, back to the routines, back to the new year's resolutions, back to normal life. There is a part of me that would like to hold on to the holiday, but another that is grateful for the normal routines of everyday life. Holidays are great, but everyday cannot nor should be a holiday.

So today, I embrace the ordinary, while reflecting upon the Extraordinary. They both have their place. I'll do my laundry, and run my errands, and tidy up my corner of the globe. And surrounding it all, woven within the molecular spaces of my life, there will be a Presence that I do not feel or see. But it Is. And it's that Divine pervasiveness upon whom I wait. To let me perceive, or not. Epiphany doesn't come every day, after all.

Omens

Why do people, married 22 years, still find themselves fighting over the same old stuff? Why is it that despite years of trying to address problems, some subjects are so rife with minefields that they become too delicate to tackle? Money, sex, children, religion, politics, family.... who wants to bring up misunderstandings on those subjects?

After having a great 2004, in which I felt like dh and I had turned a real corner, I found myself on New Year's Eve wondering if we hadn't just gone around the block, and returned to exactly the same spot. So rather than a romantic, or fun, or wild, or exotic, or ... whatever kind of new year celebration floats your boat, we went icily to bed before awaking at midnight to dig our teeth into a fight. Hurt. Blame. Defensiveness. Mischaracterization. Retreat. Snarling. Sniffling. Trying. Failing. Praying. Withdrawing.

In the morning we tried again to get things understood and resolved. It took 30 minutes of sitting in silence because no one wanted to be the first to get the ball rolling. Maybe there is progress, since we did eventually get to a point of digging for the roots, of understanding, of apologizing.

I'm just left wondering what kind of an omen this is?