Happy Valentine's Day!

Freezer Burn

I led a pretty uneventful life growing up, except for my Father's Alcoholism (which I am just learning to say out loud), and the apparent Co-Dependency that I learned as a young child. This mingled with dance lessons, solo performances, an offer for a gig on the "Steel Pier" in Atlantic City, a Mother who was busy enabling or ignoring (?) and being Co-Dependent of my older drug using Brother, and a nice circle of friends and family, should have been the perfect mix, yes? Apparently not. Apparently some of these things lead to problems later in life. Really, really big ones, especially if no one is around to recognize what is happening to you.

Getting married, having children, and working a decent job has helped me to store away all of yesterday's leftovers from my life. Unfortunately, I didn't buy that upright freezer this past Christmas that was on sale at Sears, so when I least expected it, I ran of out storage space. This of course caused me to have to defrost the freezer and clean out the fridge. Not a pretty sight. I'm working on it two days a week, labeling what I think I can save, and throwing out the rest.  My goal is to have a healthy supply of good things on hand and let the rest go, but honestly, I don't feel like any of it is worth saving.

Allies

I stopped at the Panera Bread in Oakland Sunday, on my way to the PFLAG meeting.  I wanted to grab a quick cup of coffee and some WiFi.  The restaurant was crazy busy with college students and regular patrons, so I knew it would be a struggle to find a quiet corner. Luckily after a few minutes of searching, my efforts paid off.  I found a young couple sitting quietly at a small table, and another just finishing up, heading for the door. Satisfied, I quickly sat, having found my little niche in the restaurant.

I decided to make a quick trip to the restroom, which was all of five minutes. Upon my return to the table, I was dismayed to see that my area had been besieged with a hoard of children and their parents, speaking in a Spanish not typical to me. The children seemed to abound from everywhere. I stood stunned by the sudden disruption to my world.

Taking my seat amongst the chaos, I was determined not to be deterred from my thirty minutes of coffee and Internet,  but for whatever reason I couldn't seem to take my eyes of the children or their parents.  Suddenly, I found myself intrigued; fascinated by their being. Attractive couples with beautiful children straight of out "Parents Magazine," enjoying each other without a care. For a moment it reminded me of the days when my children were small, and we would all gather, spreading our own brand of public chaos.

 I started to listen intently, determined to catch one word of English, so that I might secretly share in their celebration. Suddenly I was able to glean, "Happy Birthday" from one of the men, and with a satisfied smile, I was at the party (at least in my head).  I spent the rest of my time watching and listening and wondering what their lives must be like, and where they must have come from. The children ranged from infants to what seemed around eight years old. The children were speaking fluent English but the parents were talking only in Spanish to each other, and the children.

As I left to go to my meeting, I started wondering what it was like for my Grandmother, immigrating with a 2 year old son and pregnant friend, from a port in Austria in the early 1900's. She was coming to join my Grandfather, who had already established himself here and was working and living in a small coal mining village. 

I wonder what birthday parties were like at my Grandparent's house; it's funny, I never thought to ask my Dad when he was living; he probably would have said, "We didn't know what a birthday party was!"  I am guessing they weren't donning beautiful clothes, using WiFi or ordering Lattes; they were probably going about their daily chores of gardening and mining, and dinner was potatoes and cabbage, just like every other night. I wonder how many times my Grandparent's questioned their decision to come to the United States, or how often they longed for their homeland, or how many tears were shed at their kitchen table at night, after the kids (all twelve) had been put to bed?

I think there is something to be said for the fact that regardless of how awful we think things have gotten in our Country, (how terrible the health care, how outrageous the price of gasoline, or how intolerable our politicians and the crime rates), people continue to come to the U.S., looking for their "American Dream." A dream that might only be in their heads, but a dream to them, worth fighting for.  Worth leaving their homeland and native tongue, their way of life and everything familiar, all to give their children something better than they had.

It was nice to be reminded of the "American Dream," at least for a few minutes. It's easy to lose sight of the struggles that my own Grandparent's and those that came before us, faced.  I'm not sure how much the price of coffee or a boat ride has gone up since my Grandparent's came through Ellis Island, or how much the economy or politics has really changed over the years, but one thing I am sure of is that a picture is still worth a thousand words, even if it's in your head.

Living Life Strawberry

This weekend we celebrated my oldest Daughter's 25th birthday. I made a strawberry cake with strawberry icing and fresh strawberries all around. Then I had a piece. It was marvelous. It was beyond any exciting flavor sensation that I have had in quite some time. There was a party going on in my mouth, indeed.

Since that first bite I have been wondering, what would it be like to live your life "strawberry?"  Growing up, I was always chocolate; dependable, reliable, level headed.  My Brother, he was vanilla. He knew how to pour on the sugar and get what he wanted out of any situation, always coming out clean as a whistle, guilt-free as a "Skinny Cow," but never really having any substance.

Living life strawberry would never get old. It would be like never having any worries. Like taking life by the horns and riding it as long and hard as you could, then landing softly on large thick cushions. It would be perpetual happiness, like living in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, or with Santa Claus at the North Pole, or flying along in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang with Dick Van Dyke. It would be having or doing whatever it takes, to always have a smile on your face; or maybe, it would just be living with eyes closed.
 

The Mashed Potato Effect

My therapist is Hungarian so she doesn't always have the exact word or phrase that she is looking for; as a result we work well together because it keeps me from feeling inadequate about my ability to get across what I am trying to say.  As a result of trying to explain my husbands family to her this past week, she referred to  them as a "large bowl of mashed potatoes;" that works for me.

Although my husband has a great family, they are extremely dependent on one another. For example, there is (and has been) overwhelming pressure and an unrealistic expectations to be present at most events that go on for each other and our children, regardless of cost or inconvenience (we live in MI, PA, and FL).  My husband has told me time and time again that people at work joke with him about being crazy for the amount parties and traveling that goes on, for something as small as a childs birthday party.  If someone is not in attendance or does not plan on being in attendance,  it becomes the family topic before, during, and after the function itself...in a caring way, of course (more Kool Aid please).

From my own couch, I think my  husband suffers from  Dysthymia, a mild chronic form of depression that people often times don't realize they are suffering from. About a year ago I convinced him to ask his doctor for something for anxiety (I knew he would bring up depression) and he came home with Wellbutrin. He said it was to stop smoking. I did notice a change in him for the better, not seeming as stressed, but he stopped the medication after about 3 weeks.

Honestly I didn't really notice a change after he quit so maybe what I thought I noticed was nothing at all. Maybe it was just me being hopeful or him putting forth more effort. I'm not sure if he was aggrevated with just me or his family; I am hoping it was his family because that would mean he is getting tired of all of the expectations and might start taking a stand, and learn to say, "no."  He is very weak in that area with them.  Being the oldest child, one would think he would hold more of a power position but sadly, he has forgone the thrown and left it to his Sister's.

Having gone through two terrible break-ups with his prior fiance's, I think that maybe my husband found so much solace in being with his family, that it overtook his ability to think rationally for himself and any ability to say no (to his parent's or siblings). Needless to say, the trickle-down effect although a little better, remains in place today.

Starting to realize that I've done more damage to myself, than good for my marriage over the years, (always going with the flow and trying to keep the peace)  I find myself feeling a bit like the lump in the potato that just won't blend in. I keep putting in butter and cream and turning the beaters on high speed, but I fear all I will have left in the end will be something gooey and sticky that I can't wait to shower off.  I guess time will tell.

Spiders in My Head

I'm not really sure what normal is anymore. I seem to go in and our of my own realities like a child to an ice cream truck, over and over all day long. Sometimes I can't wait for sleep to come just so it will stop. It's exhausting.

Now paying a professional to listen the woes in my screwed up head, I find myself in a long line of mental paperwork and never ending sessions of  "past gathering." All of this while I fight my way through cobwebs old and new, constantly being spun in my head. At what point do I get to form a fresh thought?  How do people so much worse off than me, survive this?

I can barely stand to be in the company of other's unless it is with purpose; there is no rest or relief in sight. My mind shrieks with thoughts of  retreating full speed in the farthest direction while my body sits serene and calm in the company of others, in order that they might not know my plight.

Maybe that's the key, maybe that's how you keep your sanity through all of this. Maybe that's what everybody else is doing, putting on a pretty face and smiling. I would like to think I am not alone.

Do Lord, Oh Do Lord, Oh Do You Remember Me?

Thought I had died and gone to Heaven the other night when I can home with a Chuck Brown/Eva Cassidy CD "The Other Side."  Discovering that Chuck Brown too has passed on, all I am left with is the ebb and flow in my head, of what inspired their soul-filled renditions of Jazz and Blues. Both hailing from the Washington, D.C. area, they were most famous to locals and those who knew them,  achieving a certain level of notoriety before their deaths.

The title of my blog is one of the songs that Eva Cassidy does on the CD. It reminds me of my Grandmother listening to her Southern Gospel, Oakridge Boys style; or her playing the "Old Rugged Cross," self-taught, on her organ. She and God "had it going on." You wouldn't think so when you first met her because of her vivacious personality, fabulous good looks and extraordinary style, but after you chatted awhile, it was obvious. She was very much before her time and there are no words to express how much I admired her. She too, is now on the other side.

Sometimes I wonder how things will be for me when my time comes. Will He remember me? Will He turn his head in shame? Will He be so disappointed that He has no words and cast me away with the wave of His hand, or will He embrace me with open arms and say, "well done good and faithful servant."