Even Grace Grumbles

Brothers, Sisters and Miracles

Holy crap!  It's already spring!  Didn't I just sit down and write my last post?  Oh, wait . . . that was last fall, wasn't it?  It has been forever since I had the urge to write, but lately, it has been following me around like a bad hair day.  There is so much I need to write about that I am to the point of being overwhelmed:

• My 9 year old bonus son now resides primarily with us as of January 1;
• In February I started a new part-time career as a home stager;
• Last month my 19 year old birdie was sick;
• I recently found out there is a new doggie park a few miles from our home;
• This winter my 80 year old mother has started cross country skiing again;
• A little over a month ago, in prepration for a big ice climb, my big brother Dan (that's Dan and my big sister Susanna in the pic) went in to the doctor to find out why his lower back was hurting  and found out he has stage 4 lung cancer;
• My sisters have been nothing less than amazing with coordinating care for our brother, not to mention all of our other family members who continue to provide love, prayer, support and advice;
• Said brother and his only daughter have been in the same room with one another without wanting to strangle one another for the first time in, what, a couple of decades?

Strange how life works.  There are big bold miracles happening all around us, all the time, even if life is whizzing past us at lightening speed.  Every one of those bullet points above is a miracle, from the doggie park to my brother's condition.

When the oncologist came in to tell Dan the full outcome of his tests, he said, "Mr. Belmore, the bad news is that you have cancer and will always have cancer.  The good news is that it is 2012."  He went on to explain that one of the tests they were going to do anaylizes his DNA from a biopsy of his cancer and looks for a mutation . . . the mutation would be the cancer.   The beauty of this is that instead of treating the cancer with chemo via IV (which attacks all cells in the body), it can be treated with a specific drug tageted directly at the cancer cells only.  This is a brand new advancement in the treatment of cancer.

And yes, they found a mutation:) 

And what would have happened if Dan didn't have this back pain (which by the way, is cancer in his L2 which caused it to fracture and therefore pinch his nerve)?  He had no other symptoms, no cough, no shortness of breath, nothing.  This is a 60 year old athlete who works out several times a week at the gym, rides bike races like one called "The Triple By-Pass" over the Colorado Rockies, rock climbs for fun, owns a $5,000+ mountain bike, and has climbed several "14ers."  His cancer is his miracle.  It told him his body needed help.

Go figure.

And his cancer may just be the reconnecting factor between he and his daughter, as well as creating a stronger bond between her and her little bro.  Cancer has a way of making everyone involved understand the importance of NOW, the importance of "there may not be a tomorrow," the importance of forgiveness, of acceptance, of "getting" what is important in life.

And then there is the doggie park.  Wow.  Here we are with 3 large dogs, all labs, all strays, all under 2 years old, all in our house, all in the backyard, all eating and chewing on everything possible because they need more exercise.  I looked for doggie parks in the KC metro area last fall and the closest one was at least a 30 minute drive across town.   Not being the athlete that my brother is, I was not going to take up jogging to get this feat accomplished, so I just kept buying chew toys and stuffed animals at the thrift store for them to rip up (Daisy Duck's leg looked great in Fred's mouth!).   And then "Walaa!"  I find out that a new 3-4 acre dog park was installed just a few miles from our house here in Liberty!  What I've found is that it is not only an outlet for the three of them, but for me too, and for our whole family.  What fun it is to see brother and sister (Fred and Baby Girl) run together at full speed, or Saydie fulfilling her OCD with fetching tennis balls.

Suddenly it is much quieter around the house.

That is, until Ben, my bonus boy, gets home, and then it is all Nerf and Buzzbee guns.  What a miracle he is.   Everyday he learns something new . . . how to cook his own breakfast, butter toast, solve problems with friends, discovers reading is fun, buys his very own first knife, makes healthy food choices, learns how to save and manage money, deepens his relationship with his sister.  I could write a whole book on just the two of them!

And sisters . . . holy crap.  I am so very blessed to have these two beautiful, caring, organized, don't take no crap, let's have a vodka, sweet  souls as my sisters.  All I can say right now without crying is you are truly angels.

And whew!  I am exhausted.

Miracles.  All the time.  All around you.  In your brothers.  In your sisters.  In you.

 

On Taking Wrong Turns

My husband called me this morning at around 9:10 and asked in his oops-I-forgot-something-voice, "What are you plans for the day?"  At first I sighed, then thought, let's see what it is.  He had forgotten a piece of equipment which he required for his work in the afternoon and wanted to see if I would drive it up to him - about an 80 mile round trip.

I took a deep breath and realized that that was exactly what I needed - a drive in the country so I could wrap my head around some unease I was experiencing.  Just before he called I was fussing with finances and had fallen into my old pattern of worrying and focusing on lack.  In the middle of my pity party, I had this tiny bright thought:  "What a challenge!  I am going to make this work this week!  I know I can make all the bills even though it appears there is not enough to cover them!"  And I smiled.  It made me feel good.  I liked the fact that I could have another perspective, the perspective that I had been working on to replace my old pattern.  But I knew that the old pattern, the old road, was still looming nearby.

I told my hubby I needed to wrap some things up I was working on and would be there in about an hour.  When he apologized for the inconvenience, I smiled again, letting him know that he was providing me with exactly what I needed.  I made a monster cup of my hot chai, put on some comfy clothing, and jumped in my little green CRV.  The sun was shining, it was chilly outside, and I knew the perfect back road to take on the first leg of the journey.

The town where he was, Gower, Missouri, is very rural, so no matter what route I took it would be out in the country.  There is this one road that is a beautiful alternate back road route, and I turned north onto it about 5 miles outside of Liberty, where we live.   There are beautiful country estates dotting the sides of the roads, all surrounded with white fencing, along with tiny old farm houses, new barns, old faded barns, horses, cows, one lane bridges over creeks.  The road is curvy a little bumpy and is in need of repair.  All in all, perfect for the mood I was in.

But something was off.  It just didn't look right.  About 5 miles on the road I realized I was on the wrong road.  Although the terrain of rolling hills and clusters of trees looked familiar, it just wasn't quite right.  I thought maybe it was because I usually only drive south on the road instead of going north on it.  Or maybe I just was not remembering it right.  But I thought for sure that it was the right road.  I mean, I had driven south bound on it a couple of dozen times over the years and I just knew I had come out at the same intersection that I had just turned on to from the main road. 

I decided to just keep going.  I knew I would be okay.   Afterall, I knew that the road had to run north/south between two heavier trafficked county roads that ran east/west, so sooner or later I'd have to come out on the one to the north.  Besides, I was sure I was on the right road even if my senses and memory said otherwise.  I must be remembering wrong.

Before I knew it, I emerged onto the east/west road I thought I would.  I thought, "Gee, I must have really been thinking because I don't even remember going past that little country church, Mt. Olivet!"  Then I looked up at the street sign . . . I was not on the road I thought I was on. 

Oh well.  On I went, enjoying the rest of my drive to Gower to deliver the part to my hubby.  I would solve my mystery on my drive home.

The part safely delivered, I started back and took the turn south onto the road I had though I was on earlier.  Heading south, I soon passed the little church, then along came the familiar ranches and horse farms, the creek at the bottom of the gully, etc.  Yup, this was the right road.  Now where in the devil does it come out at?  I just couldn't picture any other intersection but the one I had originally turned on to.  I was very perplexed.

In about 15 minutes I discovered what had happened, why I had taken the wrong road:  Where the road comes out onto the east/west road at it's southern end, a new housing development had gone up and it altered the place the road intersected with the larger road!  It, the entrance, had simply been moved about 200 yards further west from the old intersection!

Hmmm.  What a nice metaphor for my thoughts that day.  The turn had been moved.  That's all.  I wasn't crazy.  I didn't need to get upset because I wasn't sure where I was.  It had simply been moved.  Not only was the path I thought I was on still there, but I discovered that there was an alternate path, a parallel path, that I had  not even thought existed.  And not only did it exist, but it was a good experience; I enjoyed it.

The next time you take a wrong turn, literally or in any other part of your life, remember it just might not be a wrong turn.  Maybe the entrance to the path has just been moved, that's all.  Remember to trust your memory, your confidence, your sense of direction.  Most importantly, remember to enjoy what you are experiencing right now.  On this path.  There are no wrong turns.

 

 

What the Funk?

What is it about being grumpy that feeds me sometimes?  I mean, I woke up yesterday with a smile on my face, feeling marvelous after a beautiful, long, peaceful sleep that bookended a lovely weekend with my family, and the next thing I know . . . POOF!  I'm Miss Grumpy Frumby.  What caused this sudden change of feeling?  I don't know.  I mean, it could not have been just that I could not find the remote for the shock collar for our monster dog Fred the Chocolate Lab Escape-Artist-Extreme.  Nor could it have been that I then could not find my favorite coffee cup (I don't even drink coffee), nor the other thing I could not find.  Oh, I don't even remember today what the hell the third thing was, I just know it pissed me off that I could not find whatever it was and that it was critical that I have it, whatever "it" was.

It just made no sense for me to be in a funk.  And, it pissed me off even more that I was.

To combat this grumpiness, I decided to ask my Facebook friends for a little pick me up.  They reminded me I was a good person; that I needed to "Get the FUNK out outta here!" by listening to disco because it is impossible for mental funk and disco to co-exist in the same moment; that there were people I cared about still experiencing the wrath of winter while I looked out peacefully at the creamy white flowers on the ornamental dogwood tree just outside my office window; that there was a full moon the night before AND it was Monday -  DUH!  Who the hell was I to be in a funk?

Taking their advice,  I decided to listen to one of my favorite "pick-me-up" songs, REO Speedwagon's Roll with the Changes, while I ran some errands.  When I got back from paying the water bill at city hall and making a deposit at my little bank (where I was greeted by smiling, friendly faces at both places which forced me to smile back at them), I listened to the all the links my FB gf's posted for me:  the  Brother's Johnson, the Muppets, and Bob Segar, not to mention the funny clips, like Mrs. Brown Gets a Bikini Wax (thanks Patti!).

Then I came across these photos on FB of some crazy surfer dudes riding the waves in a place called Shelter Bay, no, not on the Pacific Ocean, but on Lake Superior, where it is still winter and the icebergs have barely melted.   The guy who took the pics, known as PhotoYoop, said that there are surfers from as far south as Chicago that wait to hear that there are the rollers coming in on Superior and jump in their cars to get up there just in hopes to catch a wave or two.  Wow. 

Now that's perseverance and patience.   Well, and crazy.

I figured, if those dudes can take something that to the rest of the world is completely unusable to humans at this time of year, like the 35 degree temperature of icy Lake Superior, and use it for their joy, for thrill, for creating a connection between nature and human beings, then I could definitely get out of my funk.  In fact, I decided to give myself permission to not even try to figure out why I was in a funk.  I decided I was going to just get the funk out of here.

Although I have no desire to surf anywhere let alone Lake Superior, I did have a desire to clean our desk area, figuring that it was a good challenge, almost like surfing as there was enough garbage and paper to maybe ride a wave when I was done.  I worked for about 2 hours like a mad woman: singing Old Time Rock 'n' Roll, diving into piles and stacks of paper, manuals, receipts, poems,  stirring up dust and dog hair from the dark recesses of the desk, making piles of stuff to be filed, stuff to be organized, stuff to be burned at the stake!

When I finished, I felt much better, like I had just experienced one long exhale.  Suddenly I could think again, as if my thoughts had been bottled up and corked with all of the crap that had crept in and cluttered my desk area, reminding me of the cluster-fuck that I had let my life turn into which had culminated a few years ago . . . that other life of mine, the one that I left . . .

Did someone just yell, "BINGO!"?

Damn . . . and I wasn't going to even try to figure out why I was in a funk.  It was 2 years ago yesterday that I left that life,left my best friend, my husband, my house, my birds, my yard, my stuff,most of my friends, my business, my business associates, left all the things that I had up to that point, that Thursday that was my Tuesday, thought indispensable, inseparable, from my unhappy existence.

Funny how that happens, how when you let go of the need to know the cause of a feeling it miraculously plumps down into your brain, wanted or unwanted.

Today, at my uncluttered desk, in my uncluttered life, I am going to honor my decision to ride my wave 2 years ago by lighting a candle and saying a prayer to my Kikoman Soy Sauce can, the one item I HAD to take from my house that day (see post entitled "Any Tuesday Will Do"), thanking everyone who is in my support system - love you all:D

Sometimes, it really is good to be in a funk, afterall, a funk is just the low spot of the complete wave, right?

 

 

Valentine's Lessons

It's Valentine's Day.  As a kid I loved the little holiday that appeared in the middle of the coldest month of winter up in my hometown.  February is brutal up there and spring is no where in sight until late March, so the warm hearted day was always welcome.

We had a blast in school making cut-out hearts and lace hearts and cards for our parents, not to mention filling out those bright pink and red valentine cards for our classmates, decorating our card bag, and then reading all of the cards your friends dropped in it for you.  Some of them even had candy!  My mom would always make heart-shaped sugar cookies or cupcakes with with red and pink frosting for us to bring in to school for our party.

As my new roll in my new family, I have learned that Valentine's Day is a little different these days.  Mom's are not allowed to send in homemade anything for school parties - everything has to be store bought.  And although kids may make a card for their parents, they actually expect to receive a Valentine gift from their parents.  Last year, my first VD with my new fam, I almost missed this important fact.  Well, to tell the truth, I pretty much forgot about it this year too, but at least I remembered before the date hit.   My stepson reminded me a few days before, "Nini, do you have my Valelntine's Day present yet?"  (hint hint)

In my past life, my ex-husband and I usually downplayed the holiday because our anniversary was just a few days afterward.  He would sometimes get me roses for both occassions.  Usually we'd just have a beer, which isn't so bad.  But this year was a first for me.  I was totally surprised by my husband and the gifts he gave me:  a dozen roses, a box of my favorite chocolates (http://www.grocersdaughter.com/), and, a cell phone.  Believe it or not, it was this last gift that surprised, and touched me.

See, I have not carried a cell phone in about a year.  And there is a reason:  I have been detoxing from about 15 years of having a cell phone attached to my ear.  It started with a bag phone that was attached to my car, and I just kept graduating from then on out - to a large flip open, to a cute little Samsung that fit in my pocket, to a blue tooth that sucked, to a smart phone that did everything but make dinner, you name it, I had it and it was in or on my ear.  I could drive, eat, text, take a picture, talk to clients in my car and plan a meeting on my phone all at the same time.

I admit, there have been times when it has been inconvenient to not have one, like when I forget my grocery list, but most of the time, it has been like a vacation.  Like I've checked out from society.  Like I actually have control over when and where I am really accessible to others.  Like, I, well, like I have grown to like it, this being free of having to be tied to a phone.

So when I opened up my Valentine's Day present, I was surprised to see a phone number written on a post-it-note on top of a box, and a phone inside the box.  I was even more surprised to hear the following:

Madison:  Anita!  Now I can text you and call you whenever I want!  Yea!

Mitch:   Anita, now I can "not" worry because I will be able to reach you and I can send you love notes again.

Ben:  Is this all I get?  (Okay, Ben wasn't even paying attention, he is 8 afterall.)

I just about started crying - they gave me a phone so they can reach me because they love me and really want me to be in their lives as much as possible. 

Hmmm.  God, thank you for letting me know I am now ready to handle having a cell phone again.  Thank you for letting me learn the lesson to "relax" and to learn how to manage my life in a simplistic manner.  Thank you for my family who WANTS to be in touch with me at the push of a button.  I am so very blessed this Valentine's Day.

BTW - My phone is the simpliest our carrier had - it is an old person's phone.  It just calls and texts.  It even has a "Help I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up!" button, a "reminder" button to help me keep on track with taking my "pills," and a "fitness trainer" button!  I love it!

 

On Unconditional Love

Most of my life has been contrary to itself because my logical brain naturally prompts me to think-act, but my emotional heart has been to wait-and-see what others think first.   It has been a battle I have fought over just about everything in my life, well, up until a few years ago when the think-act side pretty much beat up the wait-and-see side. 

It's not that the wait-and-see side is bad, nor is the think-act side.  It's just that I realized that by putting so much emphasis on the wait-and-see side I was keeping myself from acting on things that were actually good for me, even if other people didn't think so.  When I made this change, it freaked out some of the people in my life, several of them so much that they vanished from it:)  This is not a bad thing because it has opened up more space in my life for other people, other lessons, other experiences.  But, there are some people who, no matter what I do, who I am with, how I act, are always there and always love me.  Two of these people are my Auntie Bonnie and Uncle Bruce.

One summer day when I was a kid, our house was all a buzz because "Bruce and Bonnie are coming in from Indiana!"  Mom couldn't stop saying that because she was so excited to see her baby brother.  We were in awe when they pulled up in our gravel driveway in their shiny new purple Chrysler sedan - it was the color of lilacs.  It was the coolest car we had ever seen:  big tail fins, white leather seats, and electric everything.  We had never seen anything like it!

A few years later they moved back to Marquette and took up residence in the home Uncle Bruce and my  mom grew up in over on the corner of Fair and Cox streets.  As a teenager, I would go over to that little blue house, that was about a hundred degrees inside, whenever I felt lonely.  Auntie Bonnie would always greet me with a huge hug and a plate of food, a ritual that occurred until I moved away in my early twenties; a ritual that I now do with my step daughter's friends.  I spent time with Uncle Bruce learning how to do boy stuff, which I enjoyed much more than playing with Barbie.  He taught me how to ride a dirt bike, snag suckers on the Little Garlic, work as a lumber jack, and ride shot gun. 

The winter I was fifteen I remember having a terrible cold or flu.  It was so bad I couldn't get out of bed to get food.  Auntie Bonnie learned I was sick, so she brought me over some of her homemade chicken soup, also a ritual I practice to this day.  I cried that day.   I cried because someone acted on my behalf when my parents did not.   I have talked to Auntie Bonnie about the impact her act of kindness had on my life.  She said, "Well darlin', what else was I supposed to do?  When one of your babies is sick, you  feed it and love it."

In my late teens, I was initiated into the "Bruce and Bonnie Omelet Club."  This is how it worked:  you are dead asleep in your warm bed at 2:30 in the morning, dreaming of a herd of buffalo;  suddenly your bedroom door is opened, the light is on and the buffalo are in your room, laughing and jumping on your bed; you get up, get dressed, pile into the Holy-Wa mobile and go around waking up other people to see who will make omelets for you or pile in the truck with you to move on to the next victim.

Fast-forwarding a few decades, okay, three to be more accurate, my new family has been introduced to Auntie Bonnie hugs and Uncle Bruce fishing lessons, and, of course, Auntie Bonnie size rum and cokes.  To this day, when they pull up in our driveway with their big white truck, we all get that same feeling I did as a kid seeing them pull up in their shiny purple car.  The air gets electric with their energy and it is contagious.  

Auntie Bonnie and Uncle Bruce have taught me to think-act in so many ways, and to know to trust that my heart will guide me to think-act in a positive, loving way.  It doesn't matter what other people think because my instincts are solid, be it when to pull back on the fishing line to hook the sucker, or give someone a hug, or to change your life completely.  I have been blessed to have these two people impress upon my character the importance of family, unconditional love, and forgiveness.  When I turned my life upside down those few years ago, they were right there for me, teaching me to think-act and trust in myself.

I love you two - get healthy so you can jump in that truck and pull up in our driveway.   It has a reserved sign on it just for you.  In the meantime, I'll be sending you some chicken soup and love.

http://ww5.komen.org/

 

Kong to the Rescue!

Our three dogs, all labs of some sort, all strays, all under a year old, will simply eat anything.  This Christmas, they ate all of the tree decorations, lights included, that were in their reach, along with a couple of trays of Christmas cookies that were on the table.  They have eaten a big bulb for a flood light.  They eat wood, charcoal, books, the game Pirates Dice, sticks of butter, whole tubs of coffee grounds, a bag of uncooked rice, and a potted plant, pot and all.  Have I mentioned the two pair of reading glasses, two pair of sunglasses, one of which were a pair of Smith's, a tape dispenser, a wireless mouse, several pairs of shoes and several pair of Victotia's Secret under garments?  And I haven't even begun on the list of gargage and recycle items - I mean, they eat whole cans!

We run a pretty tight ship with our finances here at the Wixon household, using the envelope system based off of teachings from Dave Ramsey.   I have been budgeting $20 a week for doggie toys and shop for sales on rawhide bones because they are not cheap.  I buy the rawhide "chips" once in a while but our dogs eat them like they are potato chips.  For tennis balls, like the one in the picture on Fred's nose (he ate half of it), I shop the thrift stores where I can find a can of 3 for a buck as opposed to a buck or more a piece at the pet store, Wallie World or Target'.   I also pick up stuffed animals from the thrift store for  a buck or 2 that they can destroy.  I don't care that the stuffing gets all over, I have to sweep every day anyway, besides, it catches the dust, right?  You should have seen when they got ahold of the Big Bird stuffed animal I picked up for them - poor thing looked like some tortured, twisted Big Bird from a zombie movie.

Off of the advice from a friend, I broke down and increased the doggie treat envelope to $40 today and bought a Kong.  I can't stand purchasing things that are a total waste, like dog toys that just get eaten up but, ahhmm, based on the list of eaten items above, I guess I have already been spending way too much on unofficial doggie treats.  Hell, the Smith's alone were a couple hundred dollar doggie treat.

So I put a little peanut butter inside that thing, gave them a wiff, and all three of them went into a trance!   That's it.  I'm going back to the store and buying 3 more, even if it comes out of the "beer and cigar" envelope.  Wait.  That's going a little too far.  Let me see if I have another pair of sunglasses around here . . .

Thanks Mike for the push I needed to make a measly $10 investment!

P.S. LOVE Dug from the movie UP! => http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0alkpQEtvU  What a great dog!

#@%!?& Computer!

One of my favorite Queen songs keeps playing in my head whenever I think about my latest computer crash, Another One Bites the Dust.  It's dead.  Kaput.  And, of course, I did not have a recent back up of the hard drive, and yes, it was the hard drive that fried.  Everything gone.  Poof.

The funny thing is, is that I didn't get upset.  Not even over the loss of several hundred pictures I had on it.  Not even over all of my writings, including 3/4 of a play, a poetry book containing a couple of years of my writing, the outline and first draft of a novel, a compilation of these writings on Even Grace Grumbles.  Gone also is the copy of the database from my real estate business, compiled over a 15 year career.  Oh, they might be able to retrieve some of the files and maybe the pics and I could always contact my ex to request a copy of the data.  I've had a couple of computer geeks take a look at the fired piece of electronics.  But I'm in no hurry.  Honestly, I really feel like God has once again blessed me, so why get upset?  Afterall, I don't know the real reason everything got wiped out, do I?

In fact, about a week prior to my pretty little Toshiba Protege, about a $2,100 piece of equipment that was less than 3 years old, biting the dust, I caught myself thinking this while driving down the road, "Wouldn't it be nice to get a new computer?"  I stopped the thought immediately, almost slamming on the brakes at the same time!  "We can't afford a new computer Anita!  Besides, mine is working just fine!  Be careful of what you think because it always comes true!"  I admit, I harbor some negative energy around my Toshiba:  it was purchased by my ex-husband for me to use in our business; it wasn't what I wanted; at the time; I had really wanted a computer that would just be a simple thing to use for me to write on; I didn't feel I deserved to "just" be a writer back then.  But still, "Wouldn't it be nice to get a new computer?"

Anyay, it was too late.  I had already had the thought.  It was out there and the giant genie in the sky was  working freverently on my wish.  Less a a week later, the thought materialized, manifested in an "Error reading Drive C" message on my screen on morning as I turned it on.  Hmmm.  My first thought was, "Ahhh.  I'm free now to do it differently." 

Maybe I'm crazy, but I do believe with all my heart that God wants me to write, even if she decides to wipe all my to-date compiled manuscripts off the face of the earth.   Oh, I've got hard copies of my stuff as most of it I write in my journal first, or here in cyberspace.  But I'm supposed to figure out, or be open to, a different way of presenting it, or writing it ever so slightly different.  Or maybe not.  All I know is that I am a writer, and the stuff that fills my head will continue to come out, whether it stays on a hard drive or gets printed in a book or posted on a blog.

Besides, they are not mine, these thoughts that pour out of my fingers.  I just happen to be an easy object for God to flow through because I like to write.  Makes sense, doesn't it?  I mean, it would be silly for God to flow her thoughts she wants expressed in writing through someone who hates to write, right?

As for the evaoprated pictures?  Well, I have them in my head and in my heart.  They are really just for me anyway.  And I have a whole lifetime to run that slideshow, pulling out the shoebox stuffed with memories that I store gently under the bed in my head.  Plus, now I don't have to print them all out and put them in photo albums, in fact, I can use the albums for more memories.

Is that the answer?  That sometimes you have to get rid of the old, even if you think it's good, in order to make room for the new?  Hmmm.  I think, "Yes, you do."

My new computer arrived yesterday.  A lovely Dell Inspiron purchased on sale, plus free shipping.  The money appeared to buy it, imagine that.  I can't wait to see what else is going to be showing up, what else will be flowing though my fingers into it's keyboard, out of my memory into it's.

 

Windows

If someone would have told me a little over a year ago that I would be living in a beautiful old white house perched on a corner, complete with a picket fence, picnic table on the lawn and a front porch swing, I would not have believed them.  And I would not have believed that I would be a step mom to two incredible, intelligent, imaginative kids, be "penning" for a living, not have a cell phone, not watch television, and be in a relationship with a man who writes me poetry.  And yet, here I am today, looking through our office (actually, parlor) window at the white flowering dogwood tree in the front yard, typing away. 

This week marks my first "re-birthday."  A year ago, I was walking up the gravel driveway early in the morning at my sister Tricia's where I had stayed the night.  It was the day after I had told the man I loved for 25 years that I wanted a divorce.  Back then I still had a cell phone and it buzzed in my pocket letting me know I had a text.  This is what the text said:

"Anita, welcome to the first day of your new life."

My legs crumbled underneath me as I collapsed in tears of relief on the hard rocks.  I felt so free, so happy, so sad, so calm, so right. 

That moment is burned into my memory like the dive I took into Lake Superior in late May over a decade ago. 

It is truly amazing that you really do get what you want in life, whether you know what it is or not.  Sometimes we really have to take a hard look out the window, or should I say, in through the window from the outside, and delve into our soul.  Or both.  We need to take a hard look at what we are seeing out of the shell we think is our self, look at what is around us, what we have attracted into our view, and how those things have shaped us, molded us, hidden us.  We need to look into the window and see what we have truly become and ask some hard questions:  Who is this person I see?  Am I happy?  What am I doing?  Do I really love?  Am I really loved?  Do I even like myself as this person I've become?  Sounds like David Byrne singing, "Once in a Lifetime." 

You could say that a year ago I made the decision to change the view out of my window because when I looked into and out of my existing window, I did not like at all what I was seeing.  It was not real.  I was not real.  I had no clue who I was anymore.  Some call it a mid-life crisis.  Maybe it was, all I know is that something had to change and the only thing that I had control over changing was myself.

So here's what I did:  I picked up the nearest object that I could find and with all my strength, I threw it at the window.  The window shattered into hundreds, thousands, of broken, fragments and the cool fresh spring air gushed in and resuscitated my soul.  Slowly, the window repaired itself with a new view, one that is real, one that is connected to my soul.

It's ironic that the house we live in is full of windows, at least 25 that I can think of.  The house isn't all thatbig either.  Our bedroom alone has 5 windows covering two walls and the room is only 10 x 11.  There's a giant oak tree outside of it and the bedroom is above the garage to it is raised up, so it's like sleeping in a tree house.  All but a few of the windows in the house are the original from when the house was built in 1918, so they are pieces of artwork in and of themselves, full of air bubbles, swirls and imperfections. 

Yup, happy re-birthday to me.  I love the new, old windows I gave myself.  Who said breaking windows was a bad thing to do?