Fear Vs Anger "The Dance"

I'm moving soon.  In preparation, I am not only packing, but sorting through things that I may not be able to take with me.  Not everything will fit perfectly into my new apartment, so I've chosen to offer some items to friends of mine who will no doubt put them to good use.  My wooden kitchen kart is one such item.  A coworker of mine asked if she could have it and promised to come with her husband to pick it up and get it out of my way before moving day.

As thanks, she suggested that her husband take down the ceiling fan in my dining room (which I had installed myself which much difficulty) and put back up the chandelier that had hung in its place when I'd first moved in.    I was a little concerned about having her husband do the extra work, because I know him well enough to accept the fact that he's a mean spirited, abusive and angry person.  He disrespects his wife constantly.  I guess it would be fair to say I can't stand him.  When I voiced my concerns to my friend, she said that he'd been better since her mother had passed and she was sure it would be just fine.  With quiet uncertainty I agreed, and I was truly grateful for the help.

The day arrived hot and humid for my friend and her husband to come over.  From the moment he entered my apartment, I felt uncomfortable. I managed to  exchange pleasantries, showed them the kitchen kart and turned off the correct circuit breaker so that the electrical work could be done.  The removal of the fan went smoothly enough, but when it came time to reinstall the chandelier we discovered that the screws that I had were not exactly ideal for the fixture.

And so my friend's husband began to struggle in the heat with the hardware that I had, getting one screw to find purchase in the ceiling but unable to get the other one to do the same.   He said nothing, except to voice terse commands, to find a flashlight, hold the chandelier higher, and hand him his tools.  I watched as his jaw clenched,  his eyes became hard and focused and his face changed to a mask of absolute fury.  I recognized the signs of an angry man only seconds from exploding into cold hard rage.  God knows I'd seen it often enough in my father's face and in Rudy's.

His wife and I became silent partners in a dance between his anger and our fear as we tried everything we could to keep him calm and avoid the disaster that we knew was only a whisper away.   After what seemed like hours but was probably only a few tense minutes, the screw began to grab hold of the ceiling base and we all exhaled in relief.  I thanked him profusely, walked them down the hall to the front door with the kart and returned quickly to the safety of my apartment.

I closed and locked the door behind me and stood there with my back pressed firmly against it.  The tremors began then.  They started with a fluttering sensation in my chest that made it nearly impossible to breathe.  Soon they traveled down my arms to my hands which began to shake uncontrollably.  I slid slowly to the floor as my shaky legs gave way and sat their simply allowing the waves of emotions to wash over me.

All the years I'd spent being strong, taking care of myself and my children, making a life for myself confidently and proudly were swept away by one man's anger.  I was a little girl again afraid of her own father.  I was a grown woman being cursed by the man I thought loved me.  I was terrified.  And with that knowledge came the tears, unbidden, unwelcome; a liquid testament to my weakness.

Happy or Proud

I talked to MG last night (alias MariGrace) and we caught up on what's been going on in each others lives. She's happy for once in her personal life and struggling in her career.  Me?  I'm just putting in my time until retirement and happy as a clam to simply "be" and watch my kids and grandkids grow and prosper.

MG told me about her future education plans and her concern that the only jobs available to her right now in the nursing field might not fit into those plans.  I mentioned her sister Sarah's struggle to juggle full time nursing with continued full time college courses and I told MG how I just did not understand what motivated the two of them to go through all this stress to further their careers.  I stated plainly that such over achievement certainly did not come from me.  And that I did not know how or why they did it.

She blew me away when she said "We're just trying to make you proud."

Are you kidding me?  I stuttered and was at a loss for words.  Then I tried to tell her in the only way I knew how that I would be happier if they were happy than I would be proud of their success!  "Does that even make sense?",  I asked her.  And she said, "Yes."

Do I want them to be successful?  Of course I do.  But what I really want, what I've always dreamed of, was for them to be happy.  I mean really happy at whatever they chose to do.  Call me simple, call me unmotivated, just call me and tell me you are in love with your life and your choices and your partners and your future.

Does this make me a bad mom?  I don't think so. I love my daughters.  They are the one thing in life that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I did right.  Nothing matters to me except their happiness.

A Lesson Learned

A friend and co worker of mine  took time off this morning to attend an award ceremony for the Senior class of her daughters High School.   Over three hundred students were to be honored for various achievements within both the athletic and the scholastic field.   Awards ranged from simple plaques to financial scholarships.  She was proud to share this moment with her daughter who was a possible recipient of the Valedictorian title.

She and her daughter arrived on time and eager to celebrate with other high achievers.  To their shock and disappointment only about thirty of the honorees and their parents actually showed up on time to participate in the awards ceremony.   These proud and grateful families waited patiently until half an hour past the scheduled start time.  It was at this point that the officials of the school made an announcement that, due to the lack of participation, the ceremony would be rescheduled for a later time.  Since all graduating seniors had to be present later in the day to receive their caps and gowns, these officials thought attendance would improve for the  presentation of the awards if it were rescheduled for that time.   Attendance was mandatory for those who were to receive financial scholarships and apparently these education experts thought it would be prudent to make these gifts more convenient to those students and their families who did not care enough to show up on time for the scheduled event.

And so, in their great wisdom, they sent everyone  home with apologies and asked them to return that afternoon instead.  For most this meant that they had thrown away several hours of scheduled time off from their jobs and would have to ask their employers for even more time later that day.  In reality, they punished those who followed the rules and changed the rules to make it easier for those who obviously didn't give a damn about any of it.  Considering the fact that these decisions were made by high level educators, it makes one wonder just what exactly are we teaching our students today?  Certainly not respect,  gratitude or responsibility for their actions.

 In my opinion the ceremony should have gone on exactly as planned with those thirty deserving students and their proud families.   The awards which were to be presented to the non attendees should have either been thrown away or distributed equally between those present.   Letters of explanation should have been sent to those who chose not to attend with a reminder that choices lead to consequences.   One final lesson taught to a very spoiled and unappreciative Senior class.

In the end my friend stood proudly (later that day) and watched her daughter receive the highest honor a Senior can achieve, that of Valedictorian.    Shame on the board of education  for tarnishing that moment of honor with their lack of leadership.

Justice Or Mercy?

If we were governed by the law  "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth",  most of us would be sipping our dinners through a straw while being led around by our seeing eye dog.   We have all murdered in one way or another.   Perhaps not with life ending bullets but at the very least with  words which caused the death of someones dream or spirit, cutting deeper into their heart than any sharpened sword.

Constantly demanding justice, we search for the perfect punishment to fit each crime, real or imagined, that has been perpetrated against us based on our own limited morals and experience.   We call ourselves righteous or even worse, Christian, and we set out on our own little Jihad holding court with ourselves as both judge and jury.  And in the end we imagine the world a better place because of it.

I am basically a good and loving person, and I believe there is good in almost everyone, but during my lifetime I have made many mistakes, committed many crimes against my fellow man, some conscious choices and some purely accidental.  In return I have been wounded,  purposely maimed, and once even had my own children injured during the conflict.

At this point in my life I'm not afraid to say I'm sorry, to take responsibility, and to make restitution when it is due.  I no longer seek justice and I sincerely try not to make judgements on others.  I believe that this world would be a better place if we stopped holding court all the time: stopped throwing stones.   I have learned that some laws are better than others, that no one is truly innocent,  that justice is an illusive concept, and that mercy and forgiveness win over punishment more often than not.

Where Do Cougars Shop?

Funny how life flows  quickly by without so much as a warning that you are becoming a Senior Citizen.   I have always enjoyed occasional trips to my local Kohls store to peruse and eventually purchase really nice lingerie.  I love the way it feels knowing that I'm wearing something colorful and cute and, yes, even sexy underneath my every day clothes.  Come on, what woman doesn't like that extra little ego boost that fine underwear gives her?  I'd planned this past weekend to treat myself to just such an extravagance, and even carved out some time on Saturday to make the trip to Kohls.

Once inside the store I began searching the seemingly unlimited aisles within the lingerie department, delighting in the color selections and textures of the different fabrics and styles.  I even got so far as to select a few items and head to the fitting room, until I began noticing the prices.  What are those bras made of anyway?  I mean is the underwire in the them platinum or something?  I hesitated just long enough to remember a co worker's posting on FaceBook a few weeks ago stating that Kohls gives a Senior discount.  So I wandered over to a cute young clerk and asked her what the rules for such a sale were.  She explained that the discount was given only once or twice a month and that I had not missed it as their store had chosen the following Tuesday and Wednesday for just such a sale.  Good for me! I thought.  Then I turned back to the her and said, "Thank you." and she politely replied, "You're welcome Ma'm."   GGGGGRRRRR

I placed my selections back on the appropriate racks and headed  home with a smile on my face and an even sillier notion in my head.  Oh yes!  I'd be back on Tuesday all right.  And maybe, just maybe I'd purchase one of those colorful little thongs, place it on the check out counter and plop down my Golden Buckeye card for my Senior discount.  This Cougar is shopping at Kohls!

Secrets

Secret:  That which is hidden from others.

Most secrets are best kept unspoken, concealed carefully within the heart of their originator.  Unfortunately, many people cannot bear such a weight alone.  They feel the need to share the knowledge with a friend, a spouse, or a parent.  Unwillingly, perhaps, many of us are forced to receive this unwanted burden.   In so doing, our hearts become the burial urn which must carry and conceal forever, the ashes of someone else's broken dreams, deviant desires, or unforgiven sins. We are forced  to hold these ashes in the very same vessel that contains our own hopes and dreams, forever muddying that which is precious to us.   We carry the weight of  undeserved pain to our death if need be, sacrificing our own fragile peace of mind along the way.

I beg you.  Do not share your secrets with me. For they mar my spirit, tear at my soul, and often compromise my own dreams.  Once spoken, secrets become confessions and I am not a priest.  I do not have the faith of the clergy  to  lay your burdens at the feet of a higher power and so I must continue to bear them myself.   Each day I silently pray that the time does not come when my heart breaks and the ashes spill out scattering your secrets to the winds.

The Convict And The Cougar

It's hard to believe, but I actually have the Grafton Rehabilitation and Correctional Facility on speed dial. It is, in fact, the only speed dial number on my cell phone. You ask why? Well it's a long story and a truly unique one. Care to listen? Then pull up a chair.

I have continued to write and visit my ex boy friend's brother, Steve, who is incarcerated at the Grafton prison facility because? Well simply because he's a nice guy and he asked me to please not leave him behind like all of Rudy's other wives and girlfriends, when Rudy decided to dump me for his ex wife. So here I am on a Super Bowl Sunday speed dialing the prison to make arrangements for a simple visit next Saturday with Steve. It will be Valentines Day weekend so the lines are constantly jammed with people trying to visit their loved ones. Me? I'm just trying to make arrangements to visit a very dear friend. Steve asked me to come this particular weekend because they pass out flowers to all visitors during this romantic holiday. Flowers which he personally has grown in the prison green house and re potted in preparation for this weekend. Steve wants me to have one of those plants. Well, actually he doesn't want me to have just any plant.

Since we write each other on a regular basis, Steve is aware of the fact that I'm not partial to flowers. If you can't eat it, I don't want to grow it. So he has created a very special gift for me. It's two different flowering trees set together in one pot. One produces variegated red flowers and the other produces white flowers. He actually believes that I won't kill it with my black thumb. So I have to be there this Saturday to receive this gift which is being guarded by another inmate who is his trusted friend.

Steve and I have formed the most amazing friendship, and whether or not the world understands, has simply become irrelevant. He's an honest, gentle and wise man whom I consider it an honor to be friends with. He sees me as some kind of angelic woman who visits him as a person instead of a convict. We laugh at the ridiculous friendship we've formed and affectionately label ourselves "The Convict and The Cougar" In case you don't get the joke, he's the convict and I'm a whole lot older than him so I'm the cougar. But none of this really matters when we spend four hours together laughing and talking and just being friends.

When I write him and ask, " What if our families get upset about our visits?" he simply says, "What if I become the best friend you've ever had?" When I discuss relationship issues with him he solves the most difficult problems with simple wisdom that always takes me by surprise. How could one be incarcerated for over twenty six years and be so wise? I'll tell you why. Because he deals with the most intense individuals you will ever encounter in the most volatile environment you can imagine, and he does it with tact and a cool head instead of violence. He has turned survival into an art form and has not given in to the cruelty or hardness of his environment.

Hold on! After twenty three minutes of speed dialing I have a ring tone!

At last, the visit is arranged and we will be able to enjoy each others company for four hours next Saturday. He will be allowed to present me with a gift of his own making, which I pray I will not murder. And life will blossom into whatever absurd reality we make of it.

Are we crazy? Perhaps. But you know what? I really don't care anymore. I'll match our Convict and Cougar stigma with anyones narrow minded and hypocritical judgement. Do you know what Steve's goals are when and if he receives early parol? He wants to give back to everyone who gave to him. He wants to pay back all that he took from society. As his friend, I will stand proudly beside him and  pay it all forward.

F***ing Perfect

When I cannot rise above the losses or block out the pain that surrounds me, I pace aimlessly through my apartment searching for God knows what to stop the madness that screams inside my head. I want to cover the mirrors, erase all that I've ever written, and run away from my friends and family. I probably don't deserve them anyway.  I recount every mistake I've ever made, and I've made a lot of them.  Receiving forgiveness from everyone but myself I allow the mantra of my critics to loop through my brain over and over again.   And then I hear a new song, one written for people just like me by the most unlikely source.  Once again Pink knows more about me than I know about myself.

She belts out her latest lyrics  F***ing Perfect and tells me to ignore the critics.  She says I'm mean when I talk about myself and I'm wrong for doing so.  Encourages me to change the voices in my head and make them like me instead.  And then she begs me "Pretty pretty please don't you ever ever feel like you're less than f***ing perfect because you're perfect to me."  She's been where I've been and understands that I need someone to say those exact words to me at this exact time in my life.  And so I listen over and over again, changing the negativity that has paralyzed me to redemption and hope for a better tomorrow.  I pass a mirror and smile at the woman looking back at me.  I remove my finger from the delete button on my computer, and I share the words of this song with a friend whom I think is pretty f***ing perfect!