grieving

I grieve more than most people, I think. I'm still grieving my grandfather who passed two and a half years ago. There are days it catches me so off guard-- I'll be doing something as simple as washing my face, and a random thought or memory sweeps over the top of my brain and I feel this ache, a deep, gnawing ache, trapped behind my rib cage above my stomach, like a scream I swallowed a long time ago that's now begging to be released. It hurts so completely I double over and being to sob. I miss him so much sometimes. I'd give anything just to hear his voice again. 

Does everyone do this? Two and a half years later? It doesn't happen often, maybe once every couple of months. Right after his death it was once every couple hours, then every couple days, so I guess it is fading.

Part of me doesn't want it to fade. Maybe that's what's wrong-- I think if I stop grieving, all that I have remaining of him will be gone. 

I wasn't done with him yet, I wasn't done learning from him and loving him and being in his presence. When my great-grandmother died at 98, it was hard. She was a very important person in my life and influenced who I am greatly. But she was so old and I felt so blessed to have had her that long. She was ready to go. Maybe that makes the difference. Granddad fought the dying of the light to his last breath, fought the cancer with everything he had. I don't have anyone else in my life that was like him-- so strong and masculine and yet caring and joyful and loving. 

I just realized that describes my husband perfectly as well. Huh. And I've taken parts of my grandfather and internalized them; I do things that he would appreciate, like digging in the dirt with my bare hands, using a hammer and screwdriver with confidence, telling people the whole honest truth. So obviously if I stopped grieving him I wouldn't lose him completely. It just feels that way.

I guess this is just a part of my personality. I grieve dead animals on the side of the road, I grieve days lost to migraines, I grieve every soldier and civilian killed in the mid-east, I grieve every argument and harsh word I've had and spoken. I'm not a sad person. I'm actually very happy in my life. Content. I just feel things so deeply, and I don't think other people understand this. I know they don't. Because I don't either, at least not completely.

weekend musings

A collection of my thoughts from this weekend here for you.

Saturday I had to go to the bank to deposit a check. Sitting in the drive through, thinking about how the otherwise pretty girl behind the glass had to get up early enough on a Saturday morning to not only get to work on time but also to apply the masses of eyeliner and shadow she was wearing, I caught a glimpse of my make-up-less reflection on the glass, and I thought for a second my mother was in the car with me.

My mother is a pretty woman, especially for 56-- you'd probably guess upper 40s, low 50s if you had just met her, and she has good bone structure. So this isn't a disappointing realization in that sense. But I myself am aging, quicker than I had realized. I have "wrinkles," really more faint lines, if I'm being nice to myself, forming around the corners of my mouth. I tell myself this is good-- it just means that I smile and laugh a lot, that I live a good life and am blessed. But there's that nagging thought in the back of my mind that I'm not as fresh-faced as I was, that when we go out now people look at me as aged, not young and cute like the little college girls running around town. I'm jumping the gun on this, I know. Good grief, I want to be seen as an intelligent woman, not as some inexperienced little girl, so what's my problem anyway? 

On Sunday the most intellectually stimulating activity I did was order pizza and play the Wii, so we'll count that as one of my rare thoughtless days.

This morning on the way to work I was considering the idea that life is really just a series of small tragedies and small victories. The rivet front button above the zipper on my new jeans popped off this morning (and despite it simply being poor construction, led me to feel fat and disappointed that I am now out a new pair of jeans), but my boss said of me that I am overqualified for my position and is considering a new and better one for me. The printer refused to cooperate with me this morning, but someone left me a caramel chocolate covered apple on my desk as a present. Up and down, up and down. Caramel chocolate apples are a pretty big up though.

remember

I live in the moment. I don't mean that I'm spontaneous or that I make wild, rash decisions. No, I mean that I forget what yesterday felt like, what last week looked like, what 2008 even vaguely resembled. It all becomes faded and jumbled into one dream-like sequence, the only constant being this little flame inside of me that burns life and says "I'm here, this is real, you're ok but don't forget."

I've known since I was little that I am like this. I forced myself to remember things, remember memories-- I'd repeat them over and over, ask myself, "what are you supposed to remember?" and then I'd play the scene in my head like a movie. I did this so that one day, far in the distant future, when my parents and loved ones are gone, I can hold onto these real, true memories and know that at one point they existed, at one point they loved me, and at one point in time we were together. That above all else will make me know I exist and existed. 

My mother and I were in the front yard. I was about 10. It was a beautiful spring day, bright blue sky with puffy white clouds, yellow daffodils blooming, bees buzzing and birds singing-- the kind of day you can't even imagine unless you live down here. Mom was squatting in the flower bed, ripping out weeds and humming. It was one of her favorite things to do, she thinks it's cleansing. She said "Oh. Here, honey," and reached out her hand to me. I skipped over and in her hand was a penny. "It's warm from the earth," she said, and I felt that warmth, can still feel that warmth, in my hand, and I put it in my pocket.

My dad and I were in the kitchen. I was about 11 or 12. We had just gotten home from one of my softball games, and we had lost. I was upset, and not just because of the loss-- a girl on the other team had made fun of my name and called me a terrible word. I cried and my dad, a large bear of a man, held me to his chest and told me that I was beautiful and perfect and said "it's my fault for picking out your name, but none of it matters because I love you now and I always will." I told him, begged him to know that I loved my name because he picked it for me. His heart was beating and I could hear it while he hugged me. I focused on that sound and knew that my life and his are always going to be intertwined, even after we are both gone.

I wish I had done this more, forced myself into keeping more of these memories. I know they're real because I can still see them in my head, but there are no pictures of these moments in an album anywhere, nothing that could have corrupted them other than time and sloshing around in my mixed up brain, but I kept these locked away so that they were impervious to that sloshing. 

So many memories are gone now. My grandfather passed two years ago. He was more like a father to me; they lived down the street from us and I would spend just as much time at their house as I would my own. I can't remember his voice, I can barely remember his face. I remember what he looked like out in his yard on his riding lawnmower. I remember that he loved me, mostly because I still feel that love reaching out to me from somewhere. I remember my last hug. I knew that it would be my last one, so I took two and cried for hours afterwards. But I don't have one of my real memories for him, one of my little movies. I need to crawl up in his attic and find the old VHSs of Christmas's and birthdays. Maybe that will help me remember.

Shadows of thoughts

My contacts are so dry today. It's finally pretty outside, at least from inside looking out. Another day of rain and I was going to start to forget how pretty the shadows of the trees look stretched across the gray asphalt of the parking lot outside. No leaves on those trees, so the shadows look like long skinny fingers, elegant like my mother's, stretching for something just beyond their reach and waving at the wind. The wind is making everything dry though, even after all that rain, and it's reaching into my eyes behind my contacts and wiping away all natural moisture. I have to blink over and over to keep my vision from blurring. 

Snow would be nice. Yesterday was cold enough for snow but all we get is very cold rain. There's always a warm pocket of air somewhere just above those naked tree tops that melts the rain as it falls. I've seen real snow probably 5 times in my life here. Of course I've visited other places and have seen it there. Kansas City gets real snow. Munich, Germany... visited there in the depth of winter two years ago, and the sight of 4 foot snow drifts chilled me for months afterwards. I don't think I want to see that again. I'm not comfortable with it.

I'm comfortable with cold rain and dry winds in the winter and hot, humid, sticky summers. Neither is good weather for smokers. I watch the people at the office building across from mine go out back and brave the freezing rain or harsh wind (not to mention the dust from the construction nearby) all for that cigarette. Two boys in blue stock-room style uniform are leaning against the tan brick right now, so nonchalantly, squinting in the sun, each with one foot propped up against the wall, like they don't notice the dusty wind trying to knock them down. I've never been so in love with a habit that I would put up with that kind of adversity in order to participate. 

The shadow fingers get longer as the day goes on, reminding me there's only 30 minutes left to work. They almost point the way home. I'm glad it's Thursday, only one day left this week. It's been hard, this first week back after vacation, to get back into things. I feel confused a lot with this new job, not sure if I'm doing the right thing. But I'll figure it out.

I am Miss America

Or, at least, I should be.

I'm pretty. Maybe it's more a self-confidence thing, maybe I'm actually not pretty, but I believe I'm pretty, and that's all that really matters. And I used to not believe, so this is a good thing. And I'm smart, book smart, I keep up with current events, and have a good amount of common sense. Back when I didn't think I was so pretty, my brain was the guard rail that kept me from leaping of the cliff of self-hate. So it's a good thing too. Talent... I can sing pretty well. I don't dance or play an instrument. I can sing well enough to pass for a "talent," and I'd wow them all with my interview session so much that my slightly faltering voice wouldn't matter.

Have you ever actually listened to the Miss America contestants talk? This is what gets me-- posed the answer-on-the-spot question of "do aliens exist," they give rambling answers somewhere around "yes, because one followed my sister's car home once" and "yes, there is an afterlife." What?? I can't believe that these are it, these women are supposed to be the best of the young US female population. The judges, hemming and hawing over (most of, not even they got the afterlife thing) these supposed great answers, are doing nothing but lowering the expectations of women's intelligence in general. "Aww, look, how cute, the pretty girl said something halfway intelligent and sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow with feeling. Let's give her a scholarship."

Meanwhile, our country is being run by idiots. Senators spend their time arguing over ridiculous issues like stem cell research (oh my god they are just cells) to Terri Shiavo's right to life (since when is that an issue the Senate should debate) to whether or not the Illinois governor should step down and whether his appointment to Obama's seat should seated. There are children starving in this country, children going completely uneducated, not even graduating, leaving school with barely a 2nd grade reading level. There are women being raped and beaten by men who are supposed to love them, rapists who actually get caught only getting 6-8 years on average. Murderers, drug dealers, kidnappers, and pimps walking the crumbling streets. And I'm supposed to believe the most important issue at hand is whether or not some frozen cell in a lab somewhere has the possibility of life, and if it does, is it happy being frozen?? 

Doesn't anyone else feel like screaming all the time? It's outrageous, it makes me furious the direction the government of our country has taken. If we could elect good, smart, decent, down-to-earth people, like my husband for example, people who would stand up and say "What the hell are you talking about?" and get down to the real issues, we'd be so much better off. 

Yes, there are a few intelligent Miss America contestants who deserve a scholarship, and there are a few good Senators who know the real issues are being ignored and are working towards solving real problems. But the majority of these people are just self-absorbed idiots. It sometimes leads me to believe the majority of Americans and of the human race are idiots, and that is not a pleasant thought. 

continuation

Have you ever gotten yourself involved in something about which you were uncertain? I'm in a new job. Well, I've been here over a month, but with all the holidays we've had it still feels brand new. Plus one of the main people I'm going to be working with was on leave until today. She's nice and I think we'll get along, but it's another person to get to know. I still don't know my boss very well since he travels so much.

It's weird because they're friends, like chit chat with the door closed, call each other drunk, one almost married the other's brother-in-law friends. And it's just the three of us in the office most of the time, so I'm left out. But I know that's just because I'm new. I know for a fact they're appreciating the work I'm doing and that we'll probably get along great eventually, it's just... awkward right now.

In other news, I'm cold. I'm so sick of being cold. The South is not warm, oh no, people it is not. Come here in August and stand outside, and yes you will sweat like they do in all the movies set in the South (think Morgan Freeman in A Time to Kill. Hollywood believes we're too backwards for air conditioning... or shoes for that matter, with which my husband is perfectly fine because he thinks it keeps the snowbirds out) but December through March it's just plain cold. It's 40 today and raining, that misty kind of rain that gets into your clothes and your pores and makes you feel like you'll never be dry again. Funny thing is in the summer, the humidity does the same thing to you. 

We do have a nice week of spring in April and a wonderful week of fall in October. I suggest you visit then and only then.

uncertainties

I hate not knowing. I hate uncertainties.

Let me rephrase that a little. I don't mind theoretical uncertainties, as in whether or not there is a god, whether aliens exist, whether the chicken or the egg came first, whether it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved before. These are all things I have accepted that I will most likely never answer in my lifetime, and I am perfectly and agnostically okay with that.

What I don't like are real life questions with no answers, or at least difficult to obtain answers. Like why the fax machine isn't working. Or why we haven't started the project at work we were supposed to start this morning, and if we'll ever start it, and when that will be so I can come prepared again. Or when I get to go to lunch because I can't sit here and wait forever for us to start. Get off the phone already.

I'm very good at reading emotions and moods, but they don't tell you the basic information you need to plan your day. I'm a planner. I know when I'm doing everything throughout the day, from which project before lunch to which after, when dinner needs to be on the stove, when I need to be in bed. Some people say there's no fun, no spontaneity in this, but I say spontaneity is over-rated. Besides, those people don't live in my head-- if they did, they'd know the slight panic I feel when my plan goes awry is no fun at all. We can't help the way we're wired.

I guess that means I can't help that other people are wired for looseness and fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pantsness either. It's something I need to learn to accept like I've accepted my theoretical uncertainties. It's just that these grand uncertainties, these universal questions, big as they are don't actually affect my life. Whereas my lunchtime... that most certainly does.

train of thought

Does anyone else lay in bed at night, thinking random thoughts, only to wonder how you ended up at the current thought, so you lay there for another 20 minutes circling back to the original idea?

Last night, all in the space of about an hour while trying to fall asleep, listening to my husband snore 2 minutes after he hit the pillow: What am I doing tomorrow? I should use that gift certificate tomorrow. I need a new dress. Something shiny to wear to that charity benefit in February. Then I could wear it to that wedding in April. So it needs to be appropriate for both. Surely it's a dress-up wedding. It's at the country club. I wonder how many people are invited. I wonder if my old friend X will be there. I haven't seen him in a while. I think he lives in DC now so he probably won't come. My cousin lives in DC now too. I wonder if they know each other. Wouldn't that be funny. She just got a new job. I wonder what she does exactly. I wonder what the weather is like there. Wait, why am I thinking about DC weather?... DC... cousin... friend... wedding... benefit... shiny dress... oh yeah, gift certificate. What am I doing tomorrow?

And then for another thirty minutes I laid there making a list in my head of the several errands I must run today, so many since I haven't had a free day since Halloween.

What I should have been thinking about: Why is it so long since I've seen my old friend? We're facebook friends but we hardly talk there. We were best friends in high school, the inseparable kind, knew each other's thoughts before they were thought, a real heart to heart, soul to soul connection. I have very few of those-- just my husband, my friend Karen, and my friend Betsy. I wonder why I let his friendship go all those years ago. Young then, only 18, leaving for college, dating someone who I thought at the time was SO important. That's when things started to fall apart, when I started dating someone. My friend and I were never like that, but I guess he just felt a little replaced.

Come to think of it, I'm not friends with anyone I knew in high school, so I don't really know why I'm going to this wedding in April. The bride and I were close then, but I haven't spoken to her in years. Why am I even invited?? We don't know each other. She wasn't invited to mine.

My wedding was small, only about 100 people invited, 80 attended, mostly family, and very close friends. The best complements I got were
A) thank you for having a short and sweet ceremony that happened to also be pretty (no problem)
B) it was like something from an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, a Great Gatsby jazz age Deco ball come to life, but without being costumey or themey (that was the point, so glad you noticed).
We really enjoyed our wedding, except for the part where my grandmother fell down the stairs, but that's another story altogether. And we did it pretty cheaply too, which was great in a town where the average wedding costs 30 grand. Who has that kind of money to spend? I can see easily how it's done, though, with one venue wanting to charge $2000 just for chairs.

Why am I thinking about the cost of wedding chairs? weddings... Fitzgerald... that wedding... not friends anymore... my old friend in DC... train of thought. Oh yeah.

liquid diet

I feel like I've been eating and traveling non-stop for months. My husband's grandmother passed away between Thanksgiving and Christmas, so we didn't even get a couple-week break then. What is it about food and the holidays? Why do they have to go hand-in-hand? And food and funerals too. 

Starting the 25th of November: dressing, sweet potatoes, broccoli casserole, pumpkin pie... food on the road for 5 hours to and from his Grandmom's... casseroles galore while staying there... more dressing, sweet potatoes, potato salad, green beans, rolls, fudge,  

brownies, red velvet cake... my grandmother's house for corn casserole, cranberry sauce, carrots, mac and cheese, chocolate cake... then cabbage, black eyed peas, rotel dip, cole slaw, cheese plates, ice cream. Not to mention we've traveled so much that the few nights we have been home in between there's nothing in the fridge, so we eat out... veggie khorma and naan, cheese and mushroom quesadillas, chinese buffets. 

I want to never eat again.

So today for lunch I had a smoothie, which was yummy. My hands shake and I get migraines when my food cycle gets messed up, so needless to say lately I've been not so good. And today of course I got another migraine while sitting at my desk at work. I have an aura before a migraine (flashing lights and blind spots). 

Luckily I have a sweet husband who left his work to get me a Dr. Pepper and drive it over here to me since with my blind spots I can't drive. So that's what I've had to "eat" today, a mango smoothie and a Dr. Pepper. And even with a migraine, I feel better. 

What's the most unoriginal, bland, and yet filling food we can have for dinner? I'm thinking spaghetti from a jar. Or lasagna from a box. Or mashed potatoes and broccoli. Ugh, it all sounds terrible. Maybe I'll just have another smoothie. Strawberry this time.

Happy New Year

My resolutions:

1) chill out and have more fun-- I don't always have to be in control

2) love every day in 2009 as much as and more than I did in 2008