View from Within, View from Without

This is my current window view, sitting in the study.

We finally have the waterproofers here to do the basement. Over 150 years of neglect have taken their toll. The basement leaks like a sieve - at least half of it. The previous owners' solution was to carve grooves in the cement leading to the sump pump. Great. The house was purchased from an estate, and we were told how much the parents 'loved their house'.

You can love something, but that doesn't mean you take proper care of it. All the love in the world can't make up for years of neglect.

Sixty-year-old wallpaper is also being torn from walls as we speak. The housepainter is finding that, beneath the surface, the walls were never tended.

So, mold in the basement; crumbling plaster in the bedrooms. Cover it up and it will be fine?

Our current neighbors get frustrated with us because sometimes the outside of the house doesn't meet their standards. Like during the 10 day period we didn't mow the grass because the new blades we needed were out of stock at John Deere. But, did they know that we were inside, dilligently working? The grass was still there when the blades came in. Or, last year when we did a natural agricultural process called leaching, letting the weeds grow up to cut down and burn to eradicate some of the toxins from years of crop abuse, cleaning the ground of over 100 years of pesticide. We hoped to plant a natural pasture for our horses. The neighbors didn't understand and so complained. The township could do nothing because we are zoned agricultural and it is a verifiable process.

There is a point to all of this.

Because we don't understand what is happening on the surface doesn't mean that something good isn't in the works.

I am learning, the older I grow, that being discontent today can be futile. You never know what the morning brings. But, taking rash action almost always ends in heartache.

Sometimes, it is just best to wait things out.

Typing from a Tiny Laptop

"In the noontime of my life I shall look to the sunshine,
At a moment in my life when the sky is blue.
And the blessing I shall ask shall remain unchanging -
to be brave and strong and true,
and to fill the world with love my whole life through."

So, here it is . . . the noontime of my life. Am I filling the world with love? I don't think so.

The world I know is crumbling. I find I may soon need to rebuild, but the rebuilding this time will be the most difficult task I have taken on to date.

Is this the 'middle-age crazy' we've always heard about? Is it really just a time in your life when you assess things around you, putting value where value is deserved, and walking away from those situations which you realize you will never win?

Is it enough to love someone, or should there be sparks? Passion?

We can try all we want, but unless the other party reciprocates, there is nothing. Sparks only fly when two objects collide.

I am sure scenarios like this have been played out for centuries. This is my first time, however. I know I have made mistakes, I know I will make more. I am trying to learn to forgive myself FIRST so forgiving others can follow.

This is gonna hurt like hell.

On Missing Things

I miss the Belle Isle Conservatory. I used to love to wander through it, frequently. Gloomy Sundays used to often find me there, or the DIA, or used book shopping. Gloomy Sundays, like today, always take me back.

Living outside of the metro Detroit area has proven difficult and challenging. Detroit has really come back into its own the past few years, but I was too busy living out of state for a while. Now I live about 90 miles north.

What I miss most is my friends. It's hard for me to get away, it's hard for them to get away. Life is busy right now, so making new friends is challenging. I have a few here, but they all work outside of the home. I took a few semesters off work and am out of touch with others. Or, they are the wives of my husband's partners.

Maybe it's not the metro-Detroit are I miss. Maybe what I miss most is my younger days - when I lived there. I miss parts of the past so desperately, and find myself clinging to them even when all hope is gone.

Is it people or time that we start to miss as we get older?

For me, I know, it's a bit of both. And I would give anything to go back. So many things I would do so differently!

Baby, Can I Hold You . . . never again

"I love you
Is all that you can't say
Years gone by and still
Words don't come easily
Like I love you
I love you

But you can say baby
Baby can I hold you tonight
Maybe if I'd told you the right words
At the right time
You'd be mine..."

~ Tracy Chapman, "Baby, Can I Hold You Tonight"

There was a period of time when I believed these lyrics, wholeheartedly. Work an "I love you" in edgewise, especially when the tension is high, and maybe (just maybe) it would work. It never did.

Tried the whole "visualization" thing. Pictured it already having occurred. Send lots of love, happiness, and gratefulness to the vision, and it would be mine.

Obviously, I wouldn't be writing this if it had worked.

Why do we humans cling to notions? Believe in superstitions, perform those little 'rituals' so our luck won't change? Maybe it's Friday the 13th talking, maybe it's the voice of reason. One thing I know for sure is that our future will always be there - tomorrow.

Ironically, I made a joke to a friend the other day about how Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker's character on Sex in the City) ruined the modern girl's tragic ending in a relationship. And SJP played Annie, who sang "Tomorrow", of course. But her Carrie Bradshaw eventually got the man, her dream, and all that went with it just when all hope seemed gone.

Bitch.

Having said that, though, she also had a really great line once: "We only obsess over relationships we feel are unfinished."

Ain't THAT the truth?

There's a Lesson To Be Learned From This - Perhaps?

"The roller-coaster ride we took is nearly at an end.
I bought my ticket with my tears, that's all I'm gonna spend.

And I think it's gonna be alright.
Yeah, the worst is over now.
The mornin' sun is shinin' like a red rubber ball."
~ Paul Simon, "Red Rubber Ball"

How do you tell someone whom you told, "I hate you", that you don't, really? And that the pain with which you lashed out was never a lie, but always your truth? And, while hurtful, it was just an extension of the 'longing'? And that being in the city today which the two of you once shared, at least in part, made the pain and longing dig even deeper?

Will you ever be forgiven? Or are you doomed to repeat it? And is that what the other fears?

Can we ever forget our own emotional crises long enough to see that others share them, too?

Sometimes, we just have to let go. Maybe that's the lesson to be learned. But sometimes the letting go is the hardest part of all.

It's human nature to grip tight, especially to things you've loved for so long, dreams you've dreamed for a lifetime, and hope you've held on to when it all seemed hopeless.

We have to learn to release. It takes strength to hold on, but even more strength to let go.

Turning Something You Love Into Something You Lose

"I'm leaving you alone.
You can tend the garden, it's yours.
Separate and alone . . ."

~ Stephen Sondheim, "Last Midnight" (Into the Woods)

Into the Woods is a very deep and somewhat dark musical by Sondheim. It deals with dreams and hopes, on many levels, and how what we want when we 'walk into the woods' of life isn't always what we find, or what we end up with when we re-emerge. The fairy tales of childhood are personified. The play itself is multi-layered and thought-provoking. What would happen if wishes did come true?

There comes a time in life where we have to grow up, give up, and learn to move on. Dreams from high school can easily become nightmares of middle-age. What we thought was ours isn't always so, and the reality of it can be painful and nearly devestating.

But, you decide to go on. Or at least to try.

There has never been a time in my adult life that a dream that's been nagging in the back of my brain since age 16 ever faded. That is, until now. Sometimes when we lash out, in our own pain and frustration, we don't get the understanding that we had hoped from the 'lash-ee". In his or her own pain, lashes are returned. Doors and windows of communication are slammed shut, and you realize, for the first time in nearly two-thirds of your life, that you are now alone, to tend the garden of memories you planted. And watered with your tears.

Perhaps, though, understanding comes from a surprising source. Your pain can be transformative. So they say.

But, how does one "move on"? Where does the strength come from? Why does it seem insurmountable?

"'Don't slip away and I won't hold so tight'
What can you say that no matter how slight
Won't be misunderstood?"

~ Stephen Sondheim, "Children Will Listen" (Into the Woods)

What do you say when words fail? What if words are the reason for failure?

"People make mistakes,
Holding to their own,
Thinking they're alone.
Honor their mistakes . . .
You decide what's right you decide what's good
Just remember:
Someone is on your side."

~ Stephen Sondheim, "You Are Not Alone" (Into the Woods)

It's in times like these I am grateful for friends. On a side note, always listen to your heart and watch those signs. I learned my lesson.

Where Once Love Simmered . . .

I know my thyroid is working again . . . I only sleep 3 - 4 hours per night. I usually never have trouble falling asleep, it's staying asleep that's challenging. Hence so many "wee small hour" references.

"Where once love simmered, hatred now boils."

That thought came to me as I was waking at 2:54 this morning. Why is it so easy to suddenly, sometimes, turn "love" off, like with a switch? How does "hate" so easily replace it?

I truly don't believe hate is the opposite of love. I think, instead, it's the byproduct. Or remains.

There are times we should listen to our hearts and times we should, instead, listen to our head. It's too easy to let emotions rule us when we are already in a vulnerable spot, like 'love'.

Love strips away many barriers, but when unrequited or hurting, it can easily build them. And pretty damn fast, too. If only forgiveness came as easily, and people could set their own issues aside and try to see the other person's point of view, perhaps it would make love last longer.

I could be wrong about a lot of this, but I know I am unforgiven.

Some Call It Sleep

Lilliana is four years old and is solid black with pumpkin-orange eyes. She is also very tiny. Her mother, Pyewacket, was very tiny, too. It's kind of like having a perma-kitten.

Lilli rarely makes appearances. Joey, the behemoth half Old English Sheepdog/half Great Pyrenees, likes to chase her. Not to be mean, but because Lilli will always run and Joey can persue. But, Joey outweighs Lilli by 80 pounds, 5 1/2 pounds to Joey's 85 - hence the fear.

Because of her fear, we also call her "The Troll" since she lives under the master bed or the futon in the yoga room. Installing a litter box in the upstairs bathroom was a very wise plan (except for when Brody makes huge messes, but we'll talk about him another day!).

There are times, however, when Lilli forgets herself and becomes social. Like the other day, when I shot the above picture (gingerly with my phone), as she snuggled in for a nap with me. It's in those quiet moments I see her true self: warm, loving, cuddly. Happy to be with me. We communicate without even saying a word and simply enjoy each other's company. It's the time of truth.

But, then the dogs will bark, or another cat will jump up on the bed, the real world will crash around us, and the fear is back. She hisses, darts, and backs away into her 'cave' again. This is not really who she is, and I recognize this. I just wish she would see that I am here for her - I have loved her all along. And always will. Regardless of how angry I get at her at times (before the litterbox upstairs, she used to sometimes leave us 'surprises' . . .). It's called unconditional love.

Lately, sleep patterns have been messed up again. I think it's a sign my thyroid is picking back up. It's in those wee small hours, though, that I worry about her: will she ever lead a more normalized life?

I wish she could understand me. Or perhaps, I wish I could understand her?

"In the wee, small hours of the morning
When all the world's asleep.
You lie awake, and think about the girl
And never try to sleep."

~ Lyrics by Bob Hilliard, Music by David Mann

On doing what is good for us

This is Baruch, our male Red Eared Slider. I rescued him as a birthday gift to myself over 4 years ago.

As you can see, he has taken an aversion to eating greens lately. Nice organic lettuces are his nemesis. Carrot shreds, which he used to fight for, are now left on the tank bottom. The gorgeous turnip green floating lazily in there is probably the best food for him, but he takes only a tiny bite, then refuses the rest. Day after day after day.

He reminds me of a human sometimes. Why do we always refuse that which we know is the best thing for us?

Periodically, I find myself knowingly eating an allergen, because it's only a 'mild one'."Oh, I don't have THAT kind of reaction," I smugly tell myself. Then I ended up in anaphylactic danger Saturday. I haven't had one since. It took nearly having my airway slammed close for me to have that "Ah hah!" moment.

When it comes to life and love, we know who or what we need. We know what to eat to make us healthy. We know where we want to be and with whom. Yet, sometimes the fear of the unknown, or the rebellion of human nature, makes us refuse to do what is good for us. And we end up unable to breathe from the pain (or anaphylaxis, as the case may be), unable to sleep from the agony of kicking away what we really want, and unwilling to admit that we should have listened to our heart in the first place.

Stubborn. I think that's it. Or unwilling to forgive - ourself and others?

On flotsam and jetsam and the trails we leave behind

If only I could touch you,
like the wind can touch the sail.
If only I could touch you, darling,
now that words have failed.
Oh, flotsam still afloat.
Oh, jetsam, thrown out of the boat.
. . . Nothing here is what it seems.

~ Peter Gabriel, Flotsam & Jetsam

The flood has subsided, and in its wake, has left behind evidence of its existence. Like the delicate tracings of fingertips on a naked back, subtle.

We don't realize it, but everyone we come in contact with, in some way, is affected by us. Even if it's for the moment, even if it's for a lifetime (or the better part thereof). We leave our own trails.

Sometimes, that person recovers. Other times, s/he remains permanently affected. We never know what will happen or how a simple action will impact the future.

Choose what you do wisely. And what you say, even more so.