My mother has always remembered our birthdays. She has taken the time to fill these large rectangle tupperware containers full of the most simply angelic, yet delicious cupcakes you have ever tasted. They were her traditional way of saying happy birthday to you. The cupcakes themselves were Angela Day's cupcake recipe. And the icing was quintessentially mom's butter cream icing...Cream butter, add icing sugar, vanilla essence and maybe a drop of milk. They accompanied (depending on whether it was feast or famine) a lovely present, but most importantly, there was always a card.
I remember specific cards through out the years, not so much the pictures on the front of them (which often were Beatrix Potteresque scenes of anthropomorphic bunnies, frolicking in the woods, having tea parties), but the words. Her incredibly exacting, solid, perfect script, always written with a blue Parker pen (never black for birthdays, that was too dull),or in the later years with a purple Vector fountain pen, complete with hearts instead of dots on the tops of your i's... The cards always professed how much she loved us and how wonderful we were. I thought this was hilarious at times, because I was such a little $h!t, how in the world could I be so fantastic just because it was my birthday, but I graciously accepted them (as did my brother and sister) and honestly, genuinely, birthdays were always wonderful. Dads dyslexic spider scrawl also used to accompany mom's handwriting in the cards, although his was harder to read, would have been perfect for a doctor.
As the years have gone on and I have been lost in my own fog of regrets or things I wished I had done versus the choices I had already made, mom and dad's cards have punctuated my life and our lives and become (like all written forms of expression are to me) part of my favourite things. They would perk me up and give me that little bit of oompf or validation that I needed to face this cruel and brutal world.
I often times go without birthday presents simply because I don't honestly want anything, and I would prefer a card. My moms serious card giving has influenced my sister, and now we receive cards from not only my sister but her husband too. I keep all the cards you know... They go in my favourite memories of the year boxes... And they seem to me now to be my most treasured possessions.
Part of my moms' illness, the cruelest bite through our hearts, the part that leaves a palpable ache, a tangible loss versus this intangible theory of what is happening inside of her, is that she is losing her words, and her ability to express herself. Someone who used to talk to us all day. Someone who would have very in depth conversations with us about sexuality or choices, or doing the right thing, she now is silent. When she does speak, we're sometimes not too sure what it is in reference to. My dad says she especially speaks "Japanese" at night. We feel like we're losing our best friend. Which in effect, we are.
We're losing the matriarch, the keeper of the family history, the one who kissed all of our wounds, the only one we wanted when we were sick. I remember waking up early with her before she would go to work at the Park Lane Clinic, just so I could have those few special alone minutes with her. She would make herself Nescafe and she would make me Frisco, which was basically like chicory. We would be alone together whilst the rest of the house slept. It felt like we were in cahoots together and the rest of the world could just fall away, it failed to be important anymore.
I look forward to those minutes with her now these days. I visit her daily after school and after work. My kids run upstairs to play at her house, and we are on the couch, with our cups of tea. Her leg is glued to mine on the one side, from the hip to the knee. The words often catch in my throat when I wonder what I should tell her about, what I should let her know, because most things confuse her now. I watch her opening her mouth trying so desperately to tell me what she has been thinking about all day. I practice my patience, as best as I can. When she grows desperate I try to substitute some words for her, or help her out. Some times I can get it and she nods with agreement, her vivid blue eyes flashing. Sometimes I feel like I have failed her, because I cant decipher what she wants to tell me. She read her own text messages that she had sent to her sister last year December and then thought her sister was having dental work. She is living in a strange and scary place, the vacuous passages of her own mind, a personal labyrinth with limited access, the echos of her own thoughts, and the racing of her new compulsions.
My birthday was last week Tuesday. I went to go drop my daughter off there so she could spend the day with Granny. My mom was in her blue dressing gown, and was asking me if I would come and see her later in the day. I said yes. I hugged and kissed her. Only as I drove away, I thought wow my mom forgot my own birthday.
Once I got to work she sent me a text message wishing me happy birthday. But I am sure that my daughter had reminded her. She seemed embarrassed that she hadnt told me in person. I took no offense to it, as honestly I know she would never forget on purpose. To forget is totally out of character with the fibers of her being. Two days later for Thanksgiving, she noticed the cards on my mantle and said to me "I have your card I must give it to you"... I said "Cards are for people you don't see every day, don't worry about it"... Which honestly is true.
Finally yesterday, 8 days after my birthday, I received my card. It was there in the kitchen, in top of the insurance paperwork we're trying to keep up with. Long term disability, health insurance, social security applications, all the things that surround the chaos of someone with a terminal illness. My dad had written my nickname on the front, which is, if you dont know it, "Bendy boo". My brother actually routinely calls me "Bennie"... which is funny because Africans would also call me "Bennie"...My dad wrote in the card, thanking me profusely for all that I had done for "them"... I can't honestly even begin to think that I have done enough. There is nothing really that I can do, other than listen or be there.
Then the reason that I write this post, the thing I don't want to forget, was this tender moment I shared with her. She came and showed me the card she bought for her sister. She then asked me to write in it for her as well as address it for her. I said "Come here mommy, sit down, you tell me what to write". I pulled a chair out at the table for her. She sat on my right. My knee was touching hers again. She sat and then had this look on her face, the one you pull before you recite the Odyssey, or the Iliad... Her eyes looked over my hair, to the wall, became blank as if she were trying hard to remember, and she then told me " write 26th of December 2014"... and she pointed where, in the top right corner. She spoke again "Dearest Debbie"... and then "I love you so much!"... labored breath... tongue forcing itself to form these sloppy guttural words, so unlike the girlish voice my mom always carried, "I wish you were here! Love from Diana"... And I wrote as she said. But then I said "mom, you have to sign your name". Which she reluctantly took the pen from me, wrote her name, and added three x's...
I write because in the depths of her breakdown, in the depths of her loss of self and our loss of her, there is this intimacy, this beauty that only can be there because of true love. I love her still. I love her for the way she raised us. I love her for the tenderness that she has shown us, and for the tenderness that we are now able in return to show her.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
She
She will be leaving us soon. Her and all the memories of her. The first places I began to exist, she was there. The first person to show me things, was her. The person I wanted more than anyone in the world, the one who could make anything right again, is her. Yes, she. That, her. She will be leaving me soon.
She who knew everything, now asks me for my help and my opinion. She who had everything all worked out, who had all the solutions, relies on my logic now, my decisions. She who had a solution to any problem, now asks me for help for the simplest things. She holds my hand, like a child, and implicitly believes that I know all the answers. When I simply know only what she has shown me, and simply all that she has told me.
She, who would talk so much to us, our drives when were together, when the three of us were kids, were full of discussions, in great detail and such length, full of facts and feelings and opinions and exact terminology; now sits alone in a chair and watches TV, content in the spaces behind her blue eyes, content in the inaccessible space of her mind.
She, who would laugh and giggle, is now silent. She, who is my number one sounding board, barely speaks anymore.
I want to run to her and tell her I miss her and need her back. That I am not ready for her to leave me. That I need a "do-over", go back and spontaneously reenact every precious memory of my life, so I can remember it for always. I want to time travel back to every birthday cake she made me or to every dress she hand stitched, or every time she brushed my hair. The problem is that when you are living life, you forget to fully appreciate everything that you have, in that exact moment. You are incapable of fully enjoying every nuance and subtlety of your intimate connections with another human being, until it is almost gone.
She who knew everything, now asks me for my help and my opinion. She who had everything all worked out, who had all the solutions, relies on my logic now, my decisions. She who had a solution to any problem, now asks me for help for the simplest things. She holds my hand, like a child, and implicitly believes that I know all the answers. When I simply know only what she has shown me, and simply all that she has told me.
She, who would talk so much to us, our drives when were together, when the three of us were kids, were full of discussions, in great detail and such length, full of facts and feelings and opinions and exact terminology; now sits alone in a chair and watches TV, content in the spaces behind her blue eyes, content in the inaccessible space of her mind.
She, who would laugh and giggle, is now silent. She, who is my number one sounding board, barely speaks anymore.
I want to run to her and tell her I miss her and need her back. That I am not ready for her to leave me. That I need a "do-over", go back and spontaneously reenact every precious memory of my life, so I can remember it for always. I want to time travel back to every birthday cake she made me or to every dress she hand stitched, or every time she brushed my hair. The problem is that when you are living life, you forget to fully appreciate everything that you have, in that exact moment. You are incapable of fully enjoying every nuance and subtlety of your intimate connections with another human being, until it is almost gone.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Clutter
Today is "trash" day... The word "trash" really annoys my sister, so I say it here in reserved mirth for the irritation that it brings. All of our temporary rubbish is swooped away from our existence, and shuttled away to the dump.
Since I have returned from my UK, have had my sisters' wedding done and dusted, my mom's diagnosis determined, the frass has settled, my heart has not. I just am overwhelmed with anxious energy. The only thing that makes me feel better, is to purge. Not like some bulimic. But like a person whose life is in chaos and disarray.
One common thought I keep returning to: we have all this stuff to distract us from how miserable we really are.
If we are with the people we love, the ones who fill our hearts with glee, happiness, joy, etc... then you don't need all this stuff.
Since I have returned from my UK, have had my sisters' wedding done and dusted, my mom's diagnosis determined, the frass has settled, my heart has not. I just am overwhelmed with anxious energy. The only thing that makes me feel better, is to purge. Not like some bulimic. But like a person whose life is in chaos and disarray.
One common thought I keep returning to: we have all this stuff to distract us from how miserable we really are.
If we are with the people we love, the ones who fill our hearts with glee, happiness, joy, etc... then you don't need all this stuff.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
More
Grateful for the perspective, the opinion new
Grateful for your beauty, the access to you
Grateful for all caution, the distance you obtain
Grateful for the recklessness, the memories remain
Grateful for the knowledge, the things I couldn't see
Grateful for the hope, that there is more for me.
Grateful for your beauty, the access to you
Grateful for all caution, the distance you obtain
Grateful for the recklessness, the memories remain
Grateful for the knowledge, the things I couldn't see
Grateful for the hope, that there is more for me.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Professional Voyeurism
I think holidays always mess with your head... They mess with your routine, your scheduling, your priorities, your expectations, your sleep, your happiness and your heart. Especially when your holiday is a kind of "once in a life time" event... or when your sister is getting married in another country.... or when your mom has suddenly taken ill.... or when you see friends and family members that you havn't seen in so many years...Or when you do all of the above in two weeks, in a different time zone.
I expected the excitement. I anticipated the fun. I was prepared for the joy and the glee and the mirth. I was not prepared for the crushing, heart wrenching anguish that washed over me, the hopelessness that I felt. I suppose if I were better traveled, then I would be more prepared for such things. But as a travel newbie, it was devastating.
Most people in Georgia are from Town X. Born in Town X, raised in Town X, went to school in Town X, married in Town X and die in Town X. Their kids then repeat this cycle, ad nauseum.
South Africans have to be the most tortured of nations. We all run away. We have blurred memories of home, the concept of a family home is a tricky one to answer, we have pangs of pure heartbreak and a sense of longing for home, in the same sense whilst knowing we can never return there. Instead we seek refuge in whatever country will have us. We often leave in groups, or as individuals, and never return home, except for holidays if we can afford them, or to see family members we have left behind.
I left on March 11th 2005. And I have never been back.
So this recent trip to England basically was my first trip that I took for "fun"... Since arriving here in 2005, I have been working, trying to raise a family, trying to study. I definitely have not been traveling or spending a lot of time having fun. Even the holidays we have taken as a family were more of the perfunctory variety. The "we're here, lets do something" variety. Not the "you know what I want, dream, wish to do" variety.
There's always a place you envision yourself. And living in small town America was not where I placed myself. I have a hard time defining what I want. I normally start by a process of elimination. I normally can tell you what I don't want first, rather than what I do want.....
According to Woody Allen, delivered by Penelope Cruz, I suffer from "chronic dissatisfaction"... (Vicky Cristina Barcelona), so actually even if I get everything that I wanted or thought I wanted, I will still find flaws in it. I have a hard time with gratitude, or so I am learning. The grass is always greener, the beer is colder, the nights are more mystical in another life that isn't mine.
I feel like a professional voyeur, always on the look out, for an existence to call my own. All whilst not appreciating what is right here under my nose. I am the quintessential moron staring at her phone, missing an entire sunset. I spend so much time on sensory processing and what should be and what could be and what isn't, that I miss what is.
I expected the excitement. I anticipated the fun. I was prepared for the joy and the glee and the mirth. I was not prepared for the crushing, heart wrenching anguish that washed over me, the hopelessness that I felt. I suppose if I were better traveled, then I would be more prepared for such things. But as a travel newbie, it was devastating.
Most people in Georgia are from Town X. Born in Town X, raised in Town X, went to school in Town X, married in Town X and die in Town X. Their kids then repeat this cycle, ad nauseum.
South Africans have to be the most tortured of nations. We all run away. We have blurred memories of home, the concept of a family home is a tricky one to answer, we have pangs of pure heartbreak and a sense of longing for home, in the same sense whilst knowing we can never return there. Instead we seek refuge in whatever country will have us. We often leave in groups, or as individuals, and never return home, except for holidays if we can afford them, or to see family members we have left behind.
I left on March 11th 2005. And I have never been back.
So this recent trip to England basically was my first trip that I took for "fun"... Since arriving here in 2005, I have been working, trying to raise a family, trying to study. I definitely have not been traveling or spending a lot of time having fun. Even the holidays we have taken as a family were more of the perfunctory variety. The "we're here, lets do something" variety. Not the "you know what I want, dream, wish to do" variety.
There's always a place you envision yourself. And living in small town America was not where I placed myself. I have a hard time defining what I want. I normally start by a process of elimination. I normally can tell you what I don't want first, rather than what I do want.....
According to Woody Allen, delivered by Penelope Cruz, I suffer from "chronic dissatisfaction"... (Vicky Cristina Barcelona), so actually even if I get everything that I wanted or thought I wanted, I will still find flaws in it. I have a hard time with gratitude, or so I am learning. The grass is always greener, the beer is colder, the nights are more mystical in another life that isn't mine.
I feel like a professional voyeur, always on the look out, for an existence to call my own. All whilst not appreciating what is right here under my nose. I am the quintessential moron staring at her phone, missing an entire sunset. I spend so much time on sensory processing and what should be and what could be and what isn't, that I miss what is.
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Scrubbing the pots and pans.
I have this internal chatter, more like a prayer some days. I pray my children will be taken care of, whilst I am here, but mostly while I am not here with them. I pray that they have purpose. I pray they are never hungry. I pray they are protected from harm. I pray that the Holy Spirit guides them and that they are receptive to His voice and His suggestions. I seem to be talking to myself. I'm actually talking to my Best Friend. The one who is with me in the middle of the night when I feel so alone, comforting me, holding my hand, shielding me with His wings. I pray for my husband. For him to be the husband and father that us three ladies at home need. I pray that he knows that his prosperity is not from his own labor, but from grace, never ending, ceaseless grace, that abounds because He loves us, because we are His. I mostly pray for this only chance at life, to be the one that satisfies Him. That I am aware, and open, and cautious that my need for my sense of self, doesn't override the basic purpose for which we were made.
All whilst scrubbing the pots and pans. I speak to Him. And He speaks to me. Thank you for the arc of protection around me.
All whilst scrubbing the pots and pans. I speak to Him. And He speaks to me. Thank you for the arc of protection around me.
Saturday, May 24, 2014
She makes me feel brave.
My eldest said the most beautiful thing this morning about her sister. Her only sister. The one that she constantly fights with. The one that she critiques, pesters, annoys, harasses and pokes at. She looked at me with her azure eyes brimming, and said "it just didn't feel right to go without her". She said "I feel braver when she is there"... The little "annoyance".... The little "irritation" who is "constantly messing with her stuff" was also her morale boost and her emotional support. She was the one her heart longed for, even in anticipation of leaving her behind for a few hours. She was the one she couldn't imagine abandoning.
There are these seemingly mundane parental moments where everything you have been working towards is actualized. Standing there in my kitchen, both of our hair standing on end, the sleep in our eyes, the fuzziness prior to coffee still clouding our minds, this was the first thing on her mind this morning. She literally hopped out of bed to tell me what she had been thinking about all night. In that moment I knew that they were going to take care of each other.
My one friends parents told her and her sisters that they raised them "separate but equal". I am not sure if I fully agree with that statement. I agree that there is a level of separateness and individuality. But through equality the lines of separation are blurred. I remember being thrilled when my sister was a teen and could come to places with me. She was almost 3 years my junior. My brother who is 9 years my junior is as close to me as my sister is. I think if you have separation then there is discord. We never felt that my mom favored anyone. Obviously my baby brother was treated a different way than I was because of our age difference. But my parents allowed us freedom, they trusted us, they respected us as people, they applauded us for our talents and gifts, but they constantly reinforced that we were family. We don't have family members in our family who don't talk to each other. We have a lot of arguments in our family, there is constant chatter, constant disagreements. But there is constant love and constant support.
That is what I have always told my girls. They are each others first best friend.
When they went to daycare for summer camp when my youngest was 2 and my eldest was 6, they held hands through the chain link fence that separated the big kids from the little kids. That always touched my heart. Little Sis needed Big Sis and Big Sis was there for her.
But this weekend, Big Sis is 9 and Little Sis is 5, and Big Sis realized she too needs HER sister. The support doesn't just flow one way. There is a constant symmetry. God doesn't make mistakes on who he makes a family. He makes us for each other.
There are these seemingly mundane parental moments where everything you have been working towards is actualized. Standing there in my kitchen, both of our hair standing on end, the sleep in our eyes, the fuzziness prior to coffee still clouding our minds, this was the first thing on her mind this morning. She literally hopped out of bed to tell me what she had been thinking about all night. In that moment I knew that they were going to take care of each other.
My one friends parents told her and her sisters that they raised them "separate but equal". I am not sure if I fully agree with that statement. I agree that there is a level of separateness and individuality. But through equality the lines of separation are blurred. I remember being thrilled when my sister was a teen and could come to places with me. She was almost 3 years my junior. My brother who is 9 years my junior is as close to me as my sister is. I think if you have separation then there is discord. We never felt that my mom favored anyone. Obviously my baby brother was treated a different way than I was because of our age difference. But my parents allowed us freedom, they trusted us, they respected us as people, they applauded us for our talents and gifts, but they constantly reinforced that we were family. We don't have family members in our family who don't talk to each other. We have a lot of arguments in our family, there is constant chatter, constant disagreements. But there is constant love and constant support.
That is what I have always told my girls. They are each others first best friend.
When they went to daycare for summer camp when my youngest was 2 and my eldest was 6, they held hands through the chain link fence that separated the big kids from the little kids. That always touched my heart. Little Sis needed Big Sis and Big Sis was there for her.
But this weekend, Big Sis is 9 and Little Sis is 5, and Big Sis realized she too needs HER sister. The support doesn't just flow one way. There is a constant symmetry. God doesn't make mistakes on who he makes a family. He makes us for each other.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
How to deal with the aftermath of "What to expect when you are expecting".
A thought just occurred to me after a sudden but very brief illness. How do we learn to expect the unexpected in parenting if books like "what to expect" all the way through the preteen years give you a false sense that this sort of should be going on an expected track. That somehow all this craziness and mayhem leads to the same place. When maybe it doesn't.
This thought came to me when I was suffering from a stomach bug that my kids had so kindly given to me, despite the fact that I washed my hands so much they felt like sand paper and that all of the hard surfaces in my house stank of bleach. There I was, head shoved in the washing machine at four am, dealing with my daughters stomach bug issues, suddenly dealing with my own stomach bug issues... And although I have another older daughter, she's 9, no where in any book did I ever come across any seriously helpful or useful information on how to handle yourself or your household when you yourself fall ill to some nasty virus.
The only thing my daughter(s) (yes they both succumbed) wanted was her mommy... And the only person I wanted was MY mommy...
For two days I lay in bed with one eye open, its spring break, husband had to be at work, I missed two days of work this week, and I listened to their monster feet plodding through the house. Through the vibrations of the cardboard house and the cardboard walls I could keep an auditory visual on their whereabouts. Until they fell silent and I had to go and check on them. I had told my nine year old to ensure that her sister (four) did not do anything dangerous and to call me if she did. Otherwise I lay curled up in a ball, watching the clock, wishing I could sleep, befriending my bucket, and really really wishing I could call my mommy to make all things better for me.
Whilst in a half sleepy feverish stupor, I discovered that my daughter had moisturized the floor, had eaten all of the oreos and the girl scout cookies, and that my nine year old had "cooked" ramen noodles. Praise Jesus for ramen noodles otherwise the poor kids would have not survived. They stayed inside although the weather was gloriously mild and their swing set got to blow in the gentle breeze, all alone. I told them if they went outside someone would steal them and I would never see them again. So they stayed put. Thank God.
And this was a brief illness. How do moms cope when they have real problems? How do you have kids, raise them the right way, deal with all of life's demands, as well as be physically ill. There is one mom at the kids' school who has lupus and she is such a grand dame of smiles and congenial delight that you would never swear that anything is wrong with her. I would not be her. I would be, as I have been, in the same clothes for three days, with my hair in my kids' hair elastic, it has a heart on it and its pretty and it makes me feel better, and my life would be a wreck.
Thank the Father that I feel better today and can actually string a sentence together... And thank the Father for beautiful children who took care of each other and for a husband who came home after 13 hours at work with a bucket of fried chicken for the kids. Thank you for my family.
This thought came to me when I was suffering from a stomach bug that my kids had so kindly given to me, despite the fact that I washed my hands so much they felt like sand paper and that all of the hard surfaces in my house stank of bleach. There I was, head shoved in the washing machine at four am, dealing with my daughters stomach bug issues, suddenly dealing with my own stomach bug issues... And although I have another older daughter, she's 9, no where in any book did I ever come across any seriously helpful or useful information on how to handle yourself or your household when you yourself fall ill to some nasty virus.
The only thing my daughter(s) (yes they both succumbed) wanted was her mommy... And the only person I wanted was MY mommy...
For two days I lay in bed with one eye open, its spring break, husband had to be at work, I missed two days of work this week, and I listened to their monster feet plodding through the house. Through the vibrations of the cardboard house and the cardboard walls I could keep an auditory visual on their whereabouts. Until they fell silent and I had to go and check on them. I had told my nine year old to ensure that her sister (four) did not do anything dangerous and to call me if she did. Otherwise I lay curled up in a ball, watching the clock, wishing I could sleep, befriending my bucket, and really really wishing I could call my mommy to make all things better for me.
Whilst in a half sleepy feverish stupor, I discovered that my daughter had moisturized the floor, had eaten all of the oreos and the girl scout cookies, and that my nine year old had "cooked" ramen noodles. Praise Jesus for ramen noodles otherwise the poor kids would have not survived. They stayed inside although the weather was gloriously mild and their swing set got to blow in the gentle breeze, all alone. I told them if they went outside someone would steal them and I would never see them again. So they stayed put. Thank God.
And this was a brief illness. How do moms cope when they have real problems? How do you have kids, raise them the right way, deal with all of life's demands, as well as be physically ill. There is one mom at the kids' school who has lupus and she is such a grand dame of smiles and congenial delight that you would never swear that anything is wrong with her. I would not be her. I would be, as I have been, in the same clothes for three days, with my hair in my kids' hair elastic, it has a heart on it and its pretty and it makes me feel better, and my life would be a wreck.
Thank the Father that I feel better today and can actually string a sentence together... And thank the Father for beautiful children who took care of each other and for a husband who came home after 13 hours at work with a bucket of fried chicken for the kids. Thank you for my family.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
FaceDIS
I have a total problem understanding when people truly are my friend and need me in their world. I am 33 years old and I only found this out during the last six months. So that cliché about wasting time on people who don't really deserve your time, well yup, that's me... Actually if you Wikipedia it, my face shows up on the column on the right hand side.
My relationships in general have been a series of hit and miss. I have had the worst arguments with people who mean the most to me. I am unable to appreciate what they have to offer in the moment, I spit in their face, and then when they leave, I cry like a little girl like it is the end of the world.
Melodrama aside, this over-rumination of every thing that is said and done, ever observing, ever side checking and cross referencing for hidden nuances and innuendoes leaves me frazzled, suspicious and alone. I am constantly tallying lives, scores, events, people, things, places, words said, words left unsaid, and I struggle to have this quiet place in my mind that is just for myself.
Add in a large amount of time spent behind a computer desk at work, very little rules at work, sometimes very little work at work, plus the need to excessively outflow my vernacular from my largest facial orifice, I have spent an extraordinary amount of time on facebook in the 7 years that I have been a member. According to Time magazines facebook calculator, my posts average 27 days, and seventeen or so hours (give or take), that I have "wasted" online.
Also add in the fact that I needed to somehow have a quieter mind and be more focused (I am studying university mathematics and I did HORRRRRRRIBLY in maths in high school), I concocted this crackpot idea, actually it still theoretically is a good idea, its one I use in most areas of my life that give me anxiety (heck my anxiety gives me anxiety) and that core ideology involves PURGE. If something isn't glued, bolted down, cemented to the walls or fabric of my being, then it is PURGED.
So I looked at this every growing and evolving friends list online, some 320 individuals, God bless them truly, all of them, and started culling a few of them. I thought I would miss seeing them. You know the bartender at the nightclub I used to frequent when I was 20, heck, why am I even friends with them, beyond a morbid fascination of whether he's still as adorable as he was back then, as he is now. Whilst the answer to that question is yes, I gain no further joy nor happiness knowing he's holding up pretty well in his (oh facebook said his birthdays on Wednesday next week and I should get him a Starbucks gift card) old age... but I digress, I gain no further joy nor happiness knowing anything voyeuristically through his life than I did when I was on the one side of the bar ordering a coke (I barely drink) and wishing it came with him and a side of lime.
The more I culled, the more free I felt. And truly I did feel free. There were some people I culled because their posts were annoying, their nastiness drove me wild, I didn't like their drama. And then there were just some people I culled because I wouldn't miss them. And I don't. By the way I am using the word culled so it would sound like a knife through the heart, which a faceDIS truly is, if you have ever been BLOCKED by anyone, which I have been by the way... Talk about a stake through the old ticker....
So I knocked my list down to 200, which if given my large, oh so complicated, family in South Africa, Ireland, England, Italy, Germany, Australia, New Zealand and the US of A... (did I leave anyone out?)... mostly had taken up... My dad was one of seven and my mom was only one of two... But we are a family who love our family. And keeping up with our family and being family with our family is of the highest priority.
Then came my best friends, the ones who I cant live without, their fibers of their beings are intertwined with mine, as are their now spouses, and their children... You see already it is so complicated... (anxiety levels rising)....
So then one day I got a message from someone whom I hadn't thought would be that worried that I was gone, along the lines of "did I do something wrong"... And I felt so awful because this whole culling thing really truly wasn't about what they did (Its not you, its me...)... but of course the rejection HURT them and I felt terrible so I offered of course the only thing that I could which was a very humble apology and I felt truly awful and still do whenever I see their photos on my wall, because they "took me back out of the kindness of their heart"...
And then today I was asked by another dear soul to take photos of her on her wedding day and she says "I don't know what happened Bernie, but we weren't connected anymore on facebook".... and all of a sudden the bile is up in my throat, suddenly the Richter scale of anxiety has blown its seams and I am apoplectic, tongue fumbling in my mouth, "its not you, it was me"... speech again. But she didn't take any offense... Like an adult she said "You took care of what you had to do"... And that was it. So simple. So sensible. So true.
I did what I had to do at the time. And now one by one, each week, I am sending my apologies, eating humble pie, adding people back (If they will have me!)......
and c'est la vie.... this is me :) I love you. Good night.
My relationships in general have been a series of hit and miss. I have had the worst arguments with people who mean the most to me. I am unable to appreciate what they have to offer in the moment, I spit in their face, and then when they leave, I cry like a little girl like it is the end of the world.
Melodrama aside, this over-rumination of every thing that is said and done, ever observing, ever side checking and cross referencing for hidden nuances and innuendoes leaves me frazzled, suspicious and alone. I am constantly tallying lives, scores, events, people, things, places, words said, words left unsaid, and I struggle to have this quiet place in my mind that is just for myself.
Add in a large amount of time spent behind a computer desk at work, very little rules at work, sometimes very little work at work, plus the need to excessively outflow my vernacular from my largest facial orifice, I have spent an extraordinary amount of time on facebook in the 7 years that I have been a member. According to Time magazines facebook calculator, my posts average 27 days, and seventeen or so hours (give or take), that I have "wasted" online.
Also add in the fact that I needed to somehow have a quieter mind and be more focused (I am studying university mathematics and I did HORRRRRRRIBLY in maths in high school), I concocted this crackpot idea, actually it still theoretically is a good idea, its one I use in most areas of my life that give me anxiety (heck my anxiety gives me anxiety) and that core ideology involves PURGE. If something isn't glued, bolted down, cemented to the walls or fabric of my being, then it is PURGED.
So I looked at this every growing and evolving friends list online, some 320 individuals, God bless them truly, all of them, and started culling a few of them. I thought I would miss seeing them. You know the bartender at the nightclub I used to frequent when I was 20, heck, why am I even friends with them, beyond a morbid fascination of whether he's still as adorable as he was back then, as he is now. Whilst the answer to that question is yes, I gain no further joy nor happiness knowing he's holding up pretty well in his (oh facebook said his birthdays on Wednesday next week and I should get him a Starbucks gift card) old age... but I digress, I gain no further joy nor happiness knowing anything voyeuristically through his life than I did when I was on the one side of the bar ordering a coke (I barely drink) and wishing it came with him and a side of lime.
The more I culled, the more free I felt. And truly I did feel free. There were some people I culled because their posts were annoying, their nastiness drove me wild, I didn't like their drama. And then there were just some people I culled because I wouldn't miss them. And I don't. By the way I am using the word culled so it would sound like a knife through the heart, which a faceDIS truly is, if you have ever been BLOCKED by anyone, which I have been by the way... Talk about a stake through the old ticker....
So I knocked my list down to 200, which if given my large, oh so complicated, family in South Africa, Ireland, England, Italy, Germany, Australia, New Zealand and the US of A... (did I leave anyone out?)... mostly had taken up... My dad was one of seven and my mom was only one of two... But we are a family who love our family. And keeping up with our family and being family with our family is of the highest priority.
Then came my best friends, the ones who I cant live without, their fibers of their beings are intertwined with mine, as are their now spouses, and their children... You see already it is so complicated... (anxiety levels rising)....
So then one day I got a message from someone whom I hadn't thought would be that worried that I was gone, along the lines of "did I do something wrong"... And I felt so awful because this whole culling thing really truly wasn't about what they did (Its not you, its me...)... but of course the rejection HURT them and I felt terrible so I offered of course the only thing that I could which was a very humble apology and I felt truly awful and still do whenever I see their photos on my wall, because they "took me back out of the kindness of their heart"...
And then today I was asked by another dear soul to take photos of her on her wedding day and she says "I don't know what happened Bernie, but we weren't connected anymore on facebook".... and all of a sudden the bile is up in my throat, suddenly the Richter scale of anxiety has blown its seams and I am apoplectic, tongue fumbling in my mouth, "its not you, it was me"... speech again. But she didn't take any offense... Like an adult she said "You took care of what you had to do"... And that was it. So simple. So sensible. So true.
I did what I had to do at the time. And now one by one, each week, I am sending my apologies, eating humble pie, adding people back (If they will have me!)......
and c'est la vie.... this is me :) I love you. Good night.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Write
Write they say.
Write words that convey.
Some form of message.
One they want to hear.
One for eager ears.
Do they want contentment or contempt.
Do they want a lesson learned or better yet.
Do they want a story beyond all they have ever read, or ever thought.
But I've read that book, I have already bought.
A spine bound and the pages are torn.
A heart was broken, a dreamer born.
For the best book that was ever read
Lives inside of me, inside of my head.
Write words that convey.
Some form of message.
One they want to hear.
One for eager ears.
Do they want contentment or contempt.
Do they want a lesson learned or better yet.
Do they want a story beyond all they have ever read, or ever thought.
But I've read that book, I have already bought.
A spine bound and the pages are torn.
A heart was broken, a dreamer born.
For the best book that was ever read
Lives inside of me, inside of my head.
Friday, February 7, 2014
Letters
I don't write letters like the way that I did before. I don't write them the way that I did to you, trying to settle the score.
I don't write letters, so convinced that you had to know my every thought, and there was no point in saving face because I had already fallen short.
I don't write letters like before but there still are words unspoken, unwritten. At least from me. But they are unwelcome here. They lack civility.
I don't write letters anymore, ones that are used to convey, the desperation of a girl, and all that it is impossible to say.
I don't write you letters anymore, and swirl your name across the 'lope, whilst dreaming of your face, living in constant hope.
I don't write letters anymore, spelling out the secrets in my heart, open invitations for you to pull me apart.
I don't write letters anymore, simply because I cannot live that way. A misunderstood intention, an unintentional fray.
I don't write letters anymore, I can't handle the noise. Just because I gave them to you, don't think I gave them to all of the boys.
9-27-13
I don't write letters, so convinced that you had to know my every thought, and there was no point in saving face because I had already fallen short.
I don't write letters like before but there still are words unspoken, unwritten. At least from me. But they are unwelcome here. They lack civility.
I don't write letters anymore, ones that are used to convey, the desperation of a girl, and all that it is impossible to say.
I don't write you letters anymore, and swirl your name across the 'lope, whilst dreaming of your face, living in constant hope.
I don't write letters anymore, spelling out the secrets in my heart, open invitations for you to pull me apart.
I don't write letters anymore, simply because I cannot live that way. A misunderstood intention, an unintentional fray.
I don't write letters anymore, I can't handle the noise. Just because I gave them to you, don't think I gave them to all of the boys.
9-27-13
Wedding
My sister, almost exactly a decade ago, decided to set off to England by herself. She emigrated, by herself, as many South Africans do, with inferior coats and far too little money than really is needed to survive and thrive. Now exactly 10 years later we stand here today, to celebrate her wedding to Sukhi, a most wonderful mate, a real friend, a man with a taste of adventure, with a sense of soulful humour, absolute decency resonating throughout him, a family man... and most importantly, a man who loves to do the ironing.
In September 2006 when my mom had moved to Los Angeles, we gathered as a family and briefly toured Southern California. It was during that time when Antoinette told us she was going to India. We thought okay, you have gone to England by yourself now, and now you want to go to India... What next? China? Indonesia?
Little did we know that she was literally going to India... To be an Indian Bride... This fussy child who didn't eat a single vegetable, except potatoes, was suddenly cooking the most wonderful curries and educating us about spices.
And finally in December 2013, she did indeed go to India, this time to purchase her wedding dress.
So I salute you dear sister, for your incredible strength. You are so driven, so absolute in your needs and your wants and your desires, and you set your sights on a goal, and you attain them, almost on your own. It is so wonderful to see that you have met your match in this jolly soul named Sukhi. I am grateful that he is your soft place to fall. He is your best friend. And that he is absolutely deserving of your love. Sukhi, from the time we have met you, we have known you were our brother. We are beyond ecstatic with your nuptials. Salut!
In September 2006 when my mom had moved to Los Angeles, we gathered as a family and briefly toured Southern California. It was during that time when Antoinette told us she was going to India. We thought okay, you have gone to England by yourself now, and now you want to go to India... What next? China? Indonesia?
Little did we know that she was literally going to India... To be an Indian Bride... This fussy child who didn't eat a single vegetable, except potatoes, was suddenly cooking the most wonderful curries and educating us about spices.
And finally in December 2013, she did indeed go to India, this time to purchase her wedding dress.
So I salute you dear sister, for your incredible strength. You are so driven, so absolute in your needs and your wants and your desires, and you set your sights on a goal, and you attain them, almost on your own. It is so wonderful to see that you have met your match in this jolly soul named Sukhi. I am grateful that he is your soft place to fall. He is your best friend. And that he is absolutely deserving of your love. Sukhi, from the time we have met you, we have known you were our brother. We are beyond ecstatic with your nuptials. Salut!
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
She let me down easy
she's not who you think she is. she's changed. she has become something entirely different.
Words falling through the phone into my jumbled state of consciousness. The voice belonged to my eternal optimist friend, a girl who had seen enough things first hand that she should have been hardened. And there she was concerned about my heart that she felt that I was putting too much on the line.
she has become barely unrecognizable. i think she is lost to us. i don't think that she is salvageable anymore. you must give up on her.
The words have echoed through me. Not because of their harshness, because they were like a feather pillow wrapped baseball bat, but because of their point of origin. The way my friend positioned her tongue to lightly break my heart. The way her words conveyed her sense of loss, her disappointment, as well as her first hand experience of the mayhem that has ensued.
A dear mutual friend of ours has chosen a lifestyle that is so destructive, so painful, so illogical that it has sent us reeling. I think the warning signs were there over a year ago. But I rationalized it as "not my business" and "has nothing to do with me", and "jees, you are nosy"...
I never anticipated it would resonate so deeply through us because I never imagined that what has happened in their household would be possible. She has allowed things to continue and chooses to allow them to happen, due to whatever reason, I can only assume co-dependence, financial reasons, shame, guilt, and even optimism. Hope that it will get better.
I never imagined that this person that I admire so much as a parent could allow these travesties to continue to happen IN FRONT of her numerous young children. I have failed to realize that this person by doing so has chosen the abuse and the abuser over her children. What you tolerate, you encourage. In America there are numerous help groups for women. There is no reason to stay with your tormentor...
Words falling through the phone into my jumbled state of consciousness. The voice belonged to my eternal optimist friend, a girl who had seen enough things first hand that she should have been hardened. And there she was concerned about my heart that she felt that I was putting too much on the line.
she has become barely unrecognizable. i think she is lost to us. i don't think that she is salvageable anymore. you must give up on her.
The words have echoed through me. Not because of their harshness, because they were like a feather pillow wrapped baseball bat, but because of their point of origin. The way my friend positioned her tongue to lightly break my heart. The way her words conveyed her sense of loss, her disappointment, as well as her first hand experience of the mayhem that has ensued.
A dear mutual friend of ours has chosen a lifestyle that is so destructive, so painful, so illogical that it has sent us reeling. I think the warning signs were there over a year ago. But I rationalized it as "not my business" and "has nothing to do with me", and "jees, you are nosy"...
I never anticipated it would resonate so deeply through us because I never imagined that what has happened in their household would be possible. She has allowed things to continue and chooses to allow them to happen, due to whatever reason, I can only assume co-dependence, financial reasons, shame, guilt, and even optimism. Hope that it will get better.
I never imagined that this person that I admire so much as a parent could allow these travesties to continue to happen IN FRONT of her numerous young children. I have failed to realize that this person by doing so has chosen the abuse and the abuser over her children. What you tolerate, you encourage. In America there are numerous help groups for women. There is no reason to stay with your tormentor...
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
The Beautiful People
It always surprises me how I think I know how a situation is going to play out, and I am completely wrong. I am then always stunned because my belief of how a situation will be is based off of a falsified fact about myself. For example, I really believed that I love jewelry. And then this weekend, one innocent party at my lovely neighbours house totally blew that theory out of the water...
My neighbor, beautiful, together, grounded, wonderful, sweet, kind, caring and just totally lovely, invited me to her jewelry party. I made it there by the hair of my chinny chin chin. I walked in to a room full of what I call The Beautiful People. Of course this is a homage to Marilyn Manson, but more than that The Beautiful People have no idea what type of effect they have on us non-beautiful people.
The ladies sat in a u shape, clutching their clipboards full of glossy jewelry catalogues, with their shiny sparkly heads nodding in deep satisfaction. The hostess gleefully explained that the jewelry business was not just a vocation but it was a true calling to being in the Lord's service and enriching peoples lives through the personal contact and commitment to high standards. My neighbor asked me if I would like to sit down. I was skulking in the back ground which is where, I realized, I felt the most comfortable. I wasn't sure what I had signed up for. More than that, I was confused by the reality of the jewelry party versus what I imagined the jewelry party would be. I imagined the jewelry party would be a lot less rigid... And more about a party, than the jewelry, and that is where I was wrong, I was very, very wrong.
The hostess of the party modeled a couple of the "pieces" and passed them around. There was nothing "wrong" with the pieces... Just I don't wear accessories. So I wouldn't make the time to put on "beautiful matching turquoise beads" with a "beautiful matching turquoise necklace".... Then a lot of the pieces had metal clasps or bands, or links, so that also definitely disqualified them, as I have a severe metal allergy. In fact I have an almost everything allergy. Make up. Yep allergic to that. Doesn't matter if its Clinique or Dior, makes my eyes red or they swell up and are itchy. Contact lenses, yep allergic to that. Most creams and lotions. Yep. Shampoos. Yep. Detergent. Yep. I have contact dermatitis... Hair dye. Yep. Just had my hair done. Now my forehead and scalp are peeling. Have my eyebrows waxed and my face swells up like bozo the clown.
This one extremely beautiful Beautiful People turned to me, blonde hair, long eyelashes like a doe, just kind creature, soft, took the jewelry so seriously, and asked me what I liked. I started to tell her well, I really cant wear anything, because I have allergies to the metal. Suddenly the whole room went silent. The ladies moved over from the queso and chips, suddenly I was the center of attention, I had an entire room of Beautiful People umming and ahhhing and nodding in their deepest sympathy of my inability to wear the jewelry... I had their sympathy even that I couldn't find the right moisturizer or that, look, I am not even wearing make up! Suddenly my dour appearance made sense to them... I was forgiven for being so unaccessorized in a room full of dewy gem riddled blossoms of femininity.
The air grew thick with all of the estrogen, my heart rose into my throat and I escaped to the garden to hang with the boys. My neighbours husband was building his kids a fort, and we spoke about the durability of this Brazilian wood and the man made wood that people use on their docks or around the pool. The boys were doing double flips on the trampoline, my girls joined in, kids screaming, the frigid air, and my anxiety waned.
Out there, under the majestic pine trees, at the bottom of their garden, littered with their screaming sons, Tonka toys, trucks, wood, fort, climbing walls and my two little girls, it dawned on me that I was not a "normal" woman... and it also dawned on me that whilst I am very much appreciative of how beautiful the Beautiful People are, that I am also okay being the one who stands alone without adornment.
My neighbor, beautiful, together, grounded, wonderful, sweet, kind, caring and just totally lovely, invited me to her jewelry party. I made it there by the hair of my chinny chin chin. I walked in to a room full of what I call The Beautiful People. Of course this is a homage to Marilyn Manson, but more than that The Beautiful People have no idea what type of effect they have on us non-beautiful people.
The ladies sat in a u shape, clutching their clipboards full of glossy jewelry catalogues, with their shiny sparkly heads nodding in deep satisfaction. The hostess gleefully explained that the jewelry business was not just a vocation but it was a true calling to being in the Lord's service and enriching peoples lives through the personal contact and commitment to high standards. My neighbor asked me if I would like to sit down. I was skulking in the back ground which is where, I realized, I felt the most comfortable. I wasn't sure what I had signed up for. More than that, I was confused by the reality of the jewelry party versus what I imagined the jewelry party would be. I imagined the jewelry party would be a lot less rigid... And more about a party, than the jewelry, and that is where I was wrong, I was very, very wrong.
The hostess of the party modeled a couple of the "pieces" and passed them around. There was nothing "wrong" with the pieces... Just I don't wear accessories. So I wouldn't make the time to put on "beautiful matching turquoise beads" with a "beautiful matching turquoise necklace".... Then a lot of the pieces had metal clasps or bands, or links, so that also definitely disqualified them, as I have a severe metal allergy. In fact I have an almost everything allergy. Make up. Yep allergic to that. Doesn't matter if its Clinique or Dior, makes my eyes red or they swell up and are itchy. Contact lenses, yep allergic to that. Most creams and lotions. Yep. Shampoos. Yep. Detergent. Yep. I have contact dermatitis... Hair dye. Yep. Just had my hair done. Now my forehead and scalp are peeling. Have my eyebrows waxed and my face swells up like bozo the clown.
This one extremely beautiful Beautiful People turned to me, blonde hair, long eyelashes like a doe, just kind creature, soft, took the jewelry so seriously, and asked me what I liked. I started to tell her well, I really cant wear anything, because I have allergies to the metal. Suddenly the whole room went silent. The ladies moved over from the queso and chips, suddenly I was the center of attention, I had an entire room of Beautiful People umming and ahhhing and nodding in their deepest sympathy of my inability to wear the jewelry... I had their sympathy even that I couldn't find the right moisturizer or that, look, I am not even wearing make up! Suddenly my dour appearance made sense to them... I was forgiven for being so unaccessorized in a room full of dewy gem riddled blossoms of femininity.
The air grew thick with all of the estrogen, my heart rose into my throat and I escaped to the garden to hang with the boys. My neighbours husband was building his kids a fort, and we spoke about the durability of this Brazilian wood and the man made wood that people use on their docks or around the pool. The boys were doing double flips on the trampoline, my girls joined in, kids screaming, the frigid air, and my anxiety waned.
Out there, under the majestic pine trees, at the bottom of their garden, littered with their screaming sons, Tonka toys, trucks, wood, fort, climbing walls and my two little girls, it dawned on me that I was not a "normal" woman... and it also dawned on me that whilst I am very much appreciative of how beautiful the Beautiful People are, that I am also okay being the one who stands alone without adornment.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Failing ambiguity.
Nothing like the day before surgery to make you take stock of your life. It is just 9 days away from Christmas. My two monkeys are SO excited. They have an Elf on the Shelf named Snowflake... She is making the rounds around the house... Dangling from light fixtures and sitting on high shelves... Luckily she only made a huge mess one morning... She was dangling from the fan in the living room and she had somehow managed to throw streamers over the fan... I love seeing the look of awe on their faces when she gets into high jinx...I love how real she is to them. I wish I could capture their innocent wonderment forever.
Tomorrow makes me think of all of the things that can go wrong in your life... As well as all of the things that very obviously are going "right"... The husband is well. We just celebrated our 10th anniversary of being "boyfriend and girlfriend". Thinking about how hilarious it was when he got down on one knee to ask me out, still makes me giggle. He is a hopeless romantic. I am glad at least he is. I have been called "frigid" more than once in my life. I am not so great with impromptu spur of the moment emotions. I am better with "thought out" or "prepared responses" or recreating the past in words. Not that I am not grateful. Just it takes me a while to decipher and interpret reality. I really think we have all of our kinks worked out. The more you are with someone, the less negotiations you have to have. Especially not adding any more babies to the mix has also downgraded our emotional outbursts. I am firstly A) the worst pregnant lady around, sick 24/7... As well as B) I develop such tunnel vision about the baby that I cannot think about anything else. And C)... I don't do well without sleep when the baby arrives... and then D) My anxiety levels increase which makes my agoraphobia even worse...Which makes this house about as much fun as Alcatraz with a screaming howler monkey (that would be the baby, or maybe me, crying about the baby crying...) ha ha... So yup... Although I say I want to adopt... I am not sure when that will fit in with my whole "enjoying the harmony and peace and quiet" portion of my life... Bananah is 4 years and 9 months old... And Wookie will be 9 in a months time...So they are at really really really wonderful ages...Even our puppy turned one this December... So really everyone's growing up!!
A major personal feat this year was going back to college again (again) for the 25th time. It was a huge financial stretch. Do you know it is REALLY hard to get a student loan when you are married and employed. It is far easier to be a crack head and go to school than it is to be a law abiding citizen. I finally got approved for a loan. So that will really help. But I got a B for remedial math... So in January I am doing Math I... And in the summer I am doing Stats... I am pretty excited... Only issues are paying for schooling as well as trying to find the time around the kids' schedule as well as my work schedule... Pretty cool to change "I failed math" to "I got a B for math"... You really can teach an old dog new tricks. This of course opens up a whole new world for me. I can actually graduate with a bachelor of science... :) Adieu bachelor of arts... :)
Other updates include... My brother actually didn't walk down the aisle. He called the whole thing off. Which of course was not a pleasant situation for anyone... So I think he has struggled this year with feeling like the villain. We whole heartedly support his decision. You cant have any regrets before you take the plunge. It can be perfect on the surface, yet not gel deeper down. And a ring doesn't take away those doubts. It exacerbates it...
That juxtaposed with my sisters upcoming nuptials... On August 1st and August 2nd we are pulling off the largest wedding production that this family has ever seen. My brother and sister are going to India on Dec 23rd to go shopping with the grooms family. We have spent this weekend measuring all of the family members for their sari's and sherwani's... I am so excited to see what dress she chooses... The choices are overwhelming. How do you choose between stunning and amazing? The colours are so vivid. I hope she chooses blue and purple... :)
My surgery is nothing major, just having my gallbladder removed. Then I can focus on getting into better shape for the wedding. I really have just blobified over the last six months. Mostly its been the studying and then also dealing with colic. I cant tell you how much a gallbladder attack hurts. It lasts for the good part of a week and you just lie on your side and cry and catch your breath. Everything hurts as well as you are nauseous and sick to your stomach. So having it removed will definitely change my life for the better.
As with all surgery, there are risks involved. So I thought I better clarify some things before I go under the knife. To my husband, I love you baby. Thank you for being my support and my best friend. Thank you for being the mirror in which I can finally see myself. I like your interpretation of me. To Wookie you are such a darling and a peaceful young lady. You are so truthful and harmonious. Thank you for being so kind and someone I can trust. Bananah you are so hilarious and funny, yet sensitive. Thank you for sitting on my lap and being a Kitty. Your hugs are all so wonderful. You all know I love you.
Tomorrow makes me think of all of the things that can go wrong in your life... As well as all of the things that very obviously are going "right"... The husband is well. We just celebrated our 10th anniversary of being "boyfriend and girlfriend". Thinking about how hilarious it was when he got down on one knee to ask me out, still makes me giggle. He is a hopeless romantic. I am glad at least he is. I have been called "frigid" more than once in my life. I am not so great with impromptu spur of the moment emotions. I am better with "thought out" or "prepared responses" or recreating the past in words. Not that I am not grateful. Just it takes me a while to decipher and interpret reality. I really think we have all of our kinks worked out. The more you are with someone, the less negotiations you have to have. Especially not adding any more babies to the mix has also downgraded our emotional outbursts. I am firstly A) the worst pregnant lady around, sick 24/7... As well as B) I develop such tunnel vision about the baby that I cannot think about anything else. And C)... I don't do well without sleep when the baby arrives... and then D) My anxiety levels increase which makes my agoraphobia even worse...Which makes this house about as much fun as Alcatraz with a screaming howler monkey (that would be the baby, or maybe me, crying about the baby crying...) ha ha... So yup... Although I say I want to adopt... I am not sure when that will fit in with my whole "enjoying the harmony and peace and quiet" portion of my life... Bananah is 4 years and 9 months old... And Wookie will be 9 in a months time...So they are at really really really wonderful ages...Even our puppy turned one this December... So really everyone's growing up!!
A major personal feat this year was going back to college again (again) for the 25th time. It was a huge financial stretch. Do you know it is REALLY hard to get a student loan when you are married and employed. It is far easier to be a crack head and go to school than it is to be a law abiding citizen. I finally got approved for a loan. So that will really help. But I got a B for remedial math... So in January I am doing Math I... And in the summer I am doing Stats... I am pretty excited... Only issues are paying for schooling as well as trying to find the time around the kids' schedule as well as my work schedule... Pretty cool to change "I failed math" to "I got a B for math"... You really can teach an old dog new tricks. This of course opens up a whole new world for me. I can actually graduate with a bachelor of science... :) Adieu bachelor of arts... :)
Other updates include... My brother actually didn't walk down the aisle. He called the whole thing off. Which of course was not a pleasant situation for anyone... So I think he has struggled this year with feeling like the villain. We whole heartedly support his decision. You cant have any regrets before you take the plunge. It can be perfect on the surface, yet not gel deeper down. And a ring doesn't take away those doubts. It exacerbates it...
That juxtaposed with my sisters upcoming nuptials... On August 1st and August 2nd we are pulling off the largest wedding production that this family has ever seen. My brother and sister are going to India on Dec 23rd to go shopping with the grooms family. We have spent this weekend measuring all of the family members for their sari's and sherwani's... I am so excited to see what dress she chooses... The choices are overwhelming. How do you choose between stunning and amazing? The colours are so vivid. I hope she chooses blue and purple... :)
My surgery is nothing major, just having my gallbladder removed. Then I can focus on getting into better shape for the wedding. I really have just blobified over the last six months. Mostly its been the studying and then also dealing with colic. I cant tell you how much a gallbladder attack hurts. It lasts for the good part of a week and you just lie on your side and cry and catch your breath. Everything hurts as well as you are nauseous and sick to your stomach. So having it removed will definitely change my life for the better.
As with all surgery, there are risks involved. So I thought I better clarify some things before I go under the knife. To my husband, I love you baby. Thank you for being my support and my best friend. Thank you for being the mirror in which I can finally see myself. I like your interpretation of me. To Wookie you are such a darling and a peaceful young lady. You are so truthful and harmonious. Thank you for being so kind and someone I can trust. Bananah you are so hilarious and funny, yet sensitive. Thank you for sitting on my lap and being a Kitty. Your hugs are all so wonderful. You all know I love you.
Monday, February 11, 2013
A Brother
My younger brother is very soon to wed. As I lay in my bed last night trying to sleep, I kept having a flash forward of myself, somehow standing up front at the wedding, giving a speech, my head illuminated by some form of a spot light, my torso and arms resting on a podium... And how I knew it was a dream... Was because I would never do anything like that in real life. My method in the written word, the carefully constructed narrative, and in the ramblings that perhaps only I hold dear.
My brother was born in a time known as the famine in our family. Dad's job was not working out. And Mom had actually some years earlier, donated all of the baby furniture to the orphanage down the road. Mom had also recently started driving a Nissan Exa which if anyone can remember those, they were small, two door sports coupe's with very small back seats...
So couple changes had to be made to our family and quick.
Nonetheless there are pictures of us standing in front of the Park Lane Clinic in May 1989 with a bouncing baby boy and two little blonde girls smiling, and two parents, ecstatic with their perfect baby boy.
You see my brother was even caring and thoughtful as an embryo and a foetus. How clever of him to time his arrival exactly with the universal day of thanks for mothers and their careful mothering?
He was named Jordan after the river... and he was chunky, cute, blonde and super fast. At 9 months he took off running. He would do things we never anticipated and would have a series of hard bumps on the head and stitches, and he would even have a huge broken window under his belt by the time he was two.
My memories of him involve this yellow Tupperware dish that we used to feed him from... I remember he did not like meat much... He was mostly vegetarian. But he always had a sweet tooth and would definitely love some Swiss Roll.
He was like a little shadow following my sister and myself around. Another distinct memory is of how I used to hold him upside down when he was a toddler...
My brother wore second hand clothes, a friend of my moms had twin boys so he got double the clothing from them. And he learnt to ride a bike on my pink BMX.
The thing about him, and this was the thought that kept running through my head the whole time I was supposed to be sleeping, is that he is an exceptionally true person. He is a superb friend when you have all the toys and fun in the world, and he is great company when it was just us on the couch, in a house that didn't even have a working TV.
I recall one time, I must have been 18 because I was learning to drive, and I got a random infection in the vertebrae in my neck. And basically was in agony. I lay in his bed (because it was the firmest bed in the house) and Jordie kept me company and took care of me. He must have been 9 at the time. I remember he would say my name fast so that it sounded like "Bennie" instead of "Bernie". I also remember sitting in the bathroom with him and our new pet rat name Rollo.
So these pictures, a thousand times brighter than any star, shone through my minds eye, blocking any partial darkness or opportunity for sleep.
So I treasure my brother. Our Baby Brother. The best friend you could ask for. Smart and ingenious. Hard working and reliable. Steadfast and true. Our new sister in law has no idea what a find she has found. I know that he will be everything that she has ever dreamt of. And more.
My brother was born in a time known as the famine in our family. Dad's job was not working out. And Mom had actually some years earlier, donated all of the baby furniture to the orphanage down the road. Mom had also recently started driving a Nissan Exa which if anyone can remember those, they were small, two door sports coupe's with very small back seats...
So couple changes had to be made to our family and quick.
Nonetheless there are pictures of us standing in front of the Park Lane Clinic in May 1989 with a bouncing baby boy and two little blonde girls smiling, and two parents, ecstatic with their perfect baby boy.
You see my brother was even caring and thoughtful as an embryo and a foetus. How clever of him to time his arrival exactly with the universal day of thanks for mothers and their careful mothering?
He was named Jordan after the river... and he was chunky, cute, blonde and super fast. At 9 months he took off running. He would do things we never anticipated and would have a series of hard bumps on the head and stitches, and he would even have a huge broken window under his belt by the time he was two.
My memories of him involve this yellow Tupperware dish that we used to feed him from... I remember he did not like meat much... He was mostly vegetarian. But he always had a sweet tooth and would definitely love some Swiss Roll.
He was like a little shadow following my sister and myself around. Another distinct memory is of how I used to hold him upside down when he was a toddler...
My brother wore second hand clothes, a friend of my moms had twin boys so he got double the clothing from them. And he learnt to ride a bike on my pink BMX.
The thing about him, and this was the thought that kept running through my head the whole time I was supposed to be sleeping, is that he is an exceptionally true person. He is a superb friend when you have all the toys and fun in the world, and he is great company when it was just us on the couch, in a house that didn't even have a working TV.
I recall one time, I must have been 18 because I was learning to drive, and I got a random infection in the vertebrae in my neck. And basically was in agony. I lay in his bed (because it was the firmest bed in the house) and Jordie kept me company and took care of me. He must have been 9 at the time. I remember he would say my name fast so that it sounded like "Bennie" instead of "Bernie". I also remember sitting in the bathroom with him and our new pet rat name Rollo.
So these pictures, a thousand times brighter than any star, shone through my minds eye, blocking any partial darkness or opportunity for sleep.
So I treasure my brother. Our Baby Brother. The best friend you could ask for. Smart and ingenious. Hard working and reliable. Steadfast and true. Our new sister in law has no idea what a find she has found. I know that he will be everything that she has ever dreamt of. And more.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Future Boredom Awaits!
It is my aim one day... To be very bored.
I mean to be overwhelmed. Succumb to the boredom of nothingness. Of undoingness. Of static lumpiness on some chair somewhere. Maybe in the sun. Maybe in front of a window on a drizzly day where I contemplate the speed of the water drops collecting and turning into little rivers and rivulets of precipitation and how this relates to the ebb and flow of human life, the rushing about, the joining, the separation, of our bodies and ourselves... (wait going off tangent here).
I want to be and exist. Without preconceived plans of where else to be and what else to do and what else to think.
I want to be over the hurdle, on the other side, past where all the frenetic energy is. I want to be in a slower state of activeness, yet in an enhanced state of contemplation, and understanding. I want less doing and more thinking. Less about. More here. I want to be at the there I am for. If the there will ever be here, and not there. Are we ever on the final steps. Or are we forever on the beginning rungs?
I mean to be overwhelmed. Succumb to the boredom of nothingness. Of undoingness. Of static lumpiness on some chair somewhere. Maybe in the sun. Maybe in front of a window on a drizzly day where I contemplate the speed of the water drops collecting and turning into little rivers and rivulets of precipitation and how this relates to the ebb and flow of human life, the rushing about, the joining, the separation, of our bodies and ourselves... (wait going off tangent here).
I want to be and exist. Without preconceived plans of where else to be and what else to do and what else to think.
I want to be over the hurdle, on the other side, past where all the frenetic energy is. I want to be in a slower state of activeness, yet in an enhanced state of contemplation, and understanding. I want less doing and more thinking. Less about. More here. I want to be at the there I am for. If the there will ever be here, and not there. Are we ever on the final steps. Or are we forever on the beginning rungs?
Sunday, August 5, 2012
A melding pot
meld 1
(m ld)
v. meld·ed, meld·ing, melds
v.tr.
To declare or display (a card or combination of cards in a
hand) for inclusion in one's score in various card games, such as
pinochle.
v.intr.
To present a meld.
n.
A combination of cards to be declared for a
score.
[Probably German melden, to announce, from
Middle High German, from Old High German meld
 n.] |
| meld 2
(mld)
v. meld·ed, meld·ing, melds
v.tr.
To cause to merge: "a professional
position that seemed to meld all his training" (Art Jahnke).
v.intr.
To become merged.
n.
A blend or merger: "a meld of
diverse ethnic stocks" (Kenneth L.
Woodward).
|
In the space of two weeks, our family has grown from a concoction of the Longs (which was confusing enough as a single entity) and then add in the Money's.... to now the Smith's... and as of yesterday the 2nd August 2012... the Balu's...
If we are to observe the great theorists opinions on the success of species, we have to acknowledge diversity. And honestly baby, if diversity is high on your priorities, we have it taken care of.
We have the great thinkers, the steady movers, the cautious (yet fun) individuals who ruminate on decisions and their plethora of outcomes, slowly dissecting and transecting the multitude of potential reactions (and in-actions), asking opinions, sitting on great secrets, slowly planning and rethinking, and then suddenly being daringly triumphant... Getting exactly the desired outcome due to years of observation and planning.
Then we have the quick movers, the "have to do or all is lost" movers and shakers, the ones who swoop in like gannets, diving head first, all or nothing resting on the single reaction or response, "Going Large" ... "Hollywood or bust"... in fact, being very "American" in the impulsiveness.. as well as in my personal opinion, acting on very appropriate (intimate and not blatantly obvious) cues and nuances that persuade or lead the "perceived impulsiveness".
And then on one side you have the emotional observers, asking every question under the sun, interpreting, categorising, summarising,interviewing, comparing notes, and yes, even crying, versus the other pragmatic and logical (and slightly less emotional) observers who offer up old simple truths delivered in the form of well known cliches, of "this is the time" and "it was bound to happen"...They are the controlled emotion, the private emotion, the sensible emotion, polar opposites of the first type of emotion displayed, the overly emotive emotional. Yet all can of course profess and offer undying support and encouragement for all..
So that is the emotional state (basically narrowed down for ease of navigation) of the family over these past two weeks. Of course this is (as every other piece of information basically is in life) an opinion from one of the overly emotional observers.
What transpired in actuality was more of a careful dance of planes, trains and automobiles... Jordan arrived on Thursday the 12th of July at 12h30pm in Atlanta. He then stayed at the airport for five hours to wait for Kate to arrive... She thought he was arriving on Saturday the 14th... So big surprise for her. I ambushed them on Friday morning at 7am... and there are the dopey eyed photos of them as I roused them out of bed. Nothing says "welcome to America" than being ambushed by Bern, her camera, and her two screaming kids)... After a pretty rushed (yet fun) weekend the two love birds rushed off to Jordans other home, AKA La Verne California.
What is it exactly about La Verne that makes Jordan feel at home? I think a major thing that keeps him coming back is the comraderie he experienced with his friends during the "most free" time of his life. He escaped the clutches of the Pretoria Boys' aerie and flew the coop, just two months before his standard nine exams, to arrive mid year in one of Southern California's most sensible little towns...He got to ride a bicycle to school, assimilate into the culture of hoodies and jeans (not bashers and pinstripe blazers)... And I think for the first time in his rather serious life, he got to be a kid. He played in the drum line at school. He grew his hair long and fuzzy. He got to chat to all the single ladies. Become a hard working, 4am barista at Starbucks, as well as had natural and free relationships with the people around him, that didnt occur because they were all stuck in School House (the boarding house he was in at Pretoria Boys). http://www.boyshigh.com/index.php?page=briefhistory
My mom worked night shift at Foothills Presbytarian Hospital and I know that meant Jordan, age
17, was at home alone on those nights she was a couple of miles away at work. Home was a one bedroom apartment in a gated apartment complex. More like duplexes, not as scummy as the apartments I have seen here in Atlanta. The one bedroom apartments in 2007 in California also cost more than my mortgage on my 3 bedroom house with just under 1acre garden costs in Georgia in 2012 by about $400 per month... So he wasnt left in the lurch. He was as safe as anyone could be if you think about it.
But what I think is significant, is this kiddo had been in such a controlled and regulated environment at School House. To be alone at night must have been quite a relief. Because I know (and I have felt this too) that you can be totally alone in a crowd, just it takes effort to block out their noises and shenanigans etc, and to tune into your own personal reverie...But when you are truly alone, and you can sit on the couch, drink a cup of tea whilst you put your feet on the coffee table, and only hear the echo's of your singular voice echoing off the pale cream stucco walls, that you attain a certain level of perfection, the kind that really nourishes the real you, yourself. Who you are. Where you are going. And where you need to be.
So like I mentioned before, Jord would take off before 4am to be the barista at the Starbucks... then he would go to high school.... He even went to prom... From this side on the east coast, it looked like a movie. He was attaining all the 'milestones' set by movies like American Pie... (because as I have learnt, most American life is accurately portrayed in the movies...especially the terrible comedies...)... It was like he picked up momentum. Fueled by a desire to have every 'normal' childhood experience, condensed into the period of like 20 months.
So whilst he was there he met and made some pivotal friends, the quintessential California family. Moms ironically from Kaapstad... Dad is of Spanish descent... They fit into the picture the same way a beautiful palm tree clings to the landscape in a coastal photo. Like they were innate, like they always had been a part of his existence. Like apple pie and ice cream... And a grande mocha frapp....
So I think wherever Jord goes on his serious side, Kyrgystan, Afghanisan, Germany, Virginia, Texas, he is California dreaming, of the summer sunshine, and that main street in La Verne where if you drive and keep your eyes open, you will find someone you know, or someone you know who knows someone you know, and you can all hook up, have fun, light hearted, spontaneous... just a high time and a brief reprieve from "The Everything Else" that pays for his vacations...
Meanwhile, back in Georgia, a very scared Sukhi and Auntie Anti arrived here from England. Sukhi was scared for a couple of reasons. I think he told Antoinette that he was anxious to meet my children, and I think that was one aspect of his anxiety that he could at least share with her, and use her silken words to caress or quell any lingering fronds of dis-ease... So I met them on a Thursday night at about 9pm. I had my hair done on the other side of town and I was actually alone (major feat in my life)... And I slipped into my parents house for some lasagne and some face to face conversation versus facetime.
Sukhi is the most congenial of sorts. He is an absolute doll. He has these large expressive eyes and a beautiful flashy smile that he uses in tandem with the eyes, and a series of brow furrows to put you at ease... and to most importantly, make you laugh. He is funny, witty, and absolutely devoted to my sister.
His devotion also meant he traveled en route with a giant princess cut engagement ring, and underneath all the fun and games, he had a serious question to pose to my parents. So I was given the task of subterfuge and on Friday night I whisked my almost narcoleptic and fedup sister to five different shops in 'search of a bikini'... what actually happened at home was Sukhi had "The Talk" with my parents... And she returned home, unawares of the shenanigans... exhausted, with a new blue bikini. tee hee.
On Saturday we set out for Tybee Island GA. My mom drove Ant and Sukhi... And Kurtis drove myself and the girls. We did not travel in convoy as we liked to keep driving at different paces.
Tybee was not exactly what I imagined. Now the condo that I had helped my dad reserve was on the higher end of the prices for the area. I chose the area due to its close proximity to Savannah Georgia (I wanted to take photos of the plantation houses, which in fact never happened as I was far too busy being a beach bum, due to the insufferable heat and humidity)... As well as that my neighbours at home all vouch for the area. It was also approx 320 miles from home, so a 5 1/2 hour drive, on open highway. Unlike the drive to Panama City or the Gulf of Mexico on those windy little roads...
So we arrived and we were instantly gridlocked in tourist traffic. I had been told that Tybee was sleepy. What I saw was hoards of cars, pedestrians, etc, no parking, paid parking, parking meters, surfer dudes, junk surf shops, bars bars bars, and oh my stomach absolutely fell, the condo had been described to me as beach front. Just I didnt know it overlooked the main parking area for the beach. I saw a parking area in the photos.. Just I thought that was the condo's private parking area... So on Saturday and Sunday the place was slamming, hot and busy and frenetic. By Monday (thank God)... it was blissful, quiet, etc... And the rest of the week continued in a more blissful manner... with Friday night being busy again...
The houses around the beach were called "Shotgun" houses for the most part. Shotgun means if you opened up the front door you could see the whole way through the house, like they are narrow and long. Many of them were raised up on cinder blocks, I assume to avoid flooding. Some were ratty and derelict. Some were pristine and snooty. All were haphazardly sandwiched together in a colourful beach tapestry, the sand dotting and decorating every corner and every surface. Rusted pipes. An unused jacuzzi and pump parts leaning against a fence.
Yet our condo was lovely on the inside. In the garage area, the metal door had been rusted by the elements. When we parked and traipsed up to our first floor condo, we were very apprehensive. We entered through the patio door. There were large square tiles on the floor, two perpendicular sliding glass doors, which then opened onto a large L shaped balcony. They put four unusually high rocking chairs on the patio... as well as a six person glass table with chairs.. and a wicker basket for all of our beach toys, goggles, etc. Inside was an open plan kitchen, living room and diningroom. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Directly from the kitchen sink you looked out over a travertine island (we decided it wasnt marble), across the hardwood floor, onto the balcony, and then to the ocean where you frequently had these huge container ships pass by... Just in front of the balcony, healthy strong palm trees swayed in the ocean breeze.
Sukhi had at this point, given the ring to my mom. Antoinette had been "rummaging" through the bags. This had made him nervous....
Shannon had also seen pictures of the ring on his iphone and asked if it was for Antoinette. Sukhi said it was and that Shannon was not to tell... And Shannon then asked "what was in it for her?" (not to tell)... ha ha... extortion... a game for the whole family to play...
On Monday night, Jord and Kate arrived at about 1am from California... So the next morning everything was a lively mass of more bodies clamoured about in the kitchen, more bodies bustling for the beach, and more bodies wearing bling.
My brother had proposed to Kate on Laguna beach in California... And she had said "Absolutely"... Which leads us to the next question? Who is Kate?
I had felt jilted because I was supposed to have two days with my new sister in law to be before they went to Cali, but since Jord arrived early, I didnt get to have her to myself... boo hoo....
Kate is 22 and actually went to the same primary school as Jordan... And that is where the whole story began... But separate her from Jord and you have this articulate, intelligent, soft and beautiful person, a very sensitive person, she almost reminds me of a little butterfly. But a butterfly with boxing gloves. She can stand up for herself. The main thing that overwhelms me is that even though she had so much going on in her life, she gave it up, to go and move back to England to work nights... to basically be on my brothers beck and call for when he goes back to Germany from Afghanistan. Shes basically put herself in a position where Jord is the protagonist and she is the supporting role, simply because "She knows she will get to her goal, even if it takes 10 years"... I dont see a huge overwhelming "eid" in her... For someone this beautiful and this capable, you expect to see selfishness or unbridled ambition... But instead she is genteel, genuine and absolutely beautiful inside AND out...
My dad then arrived on Tuesday night, also at about 1am... So beside the fact that we rode jetskis, walked on the beach, and on the pier. Beside the fact that we swam in the sea, someone was stung by jellyfish, and that we ate too much food...Besides the fact that there were pink sunsets, crashing waves, an airspace full of pelicans, gulls, and the blackest night sky punctuated by a waxing crescent moon... The main themes of this holiday were acceptance, change, flexibility, and everybody just trying their best to be courteous, gracious, and to all get along.
Such a glorious way to meet and get acquainted with a new sister AND a new brother...
PS: Ants proposal? Thursday August 2nd 2012... At some time Sukhi (who was acting rather odd that day) took her out to Liberty Island. And I dont know what was said, exactly what the interchange contained, or how it was done, or where... But instagram had a photo of a freshly manicured hand, and a flawless blue/white diamond, and a giggling gerty, effervescent with surprise spoke to us in a sing songy voice via skype... And poor Sukh just looked so relieved.
So on behalf of my dad and I, we would like to say we have proof we CAN keep a secret... :)
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Private letters, twin to twin.
Private letters from my uncle and my dad, identical twins. Just wanted to keep them here for posterity.
From Bobo February 5th 2012 3:09am after being reunited with his twin brother for a brief holiday. They were apart for 4+ years. My uncle (who is blind) is plagued with insomnia, exasperated I am sure by the fact that he is in perpetual darkness.
My Dearest Stirling and Diana
A week ago all things looked alright? (*smile) I
had bags of time to handle the final event of my packing, organising my
paperwork, shoring up my inner belief that I would see you again?
What a surreal moment and what a weird way of handling a twinship.
Yet, (*smile) I am firstly a twin, connected to you and your home in an amazing way.
I am also an individual and .. must run along and
carve out my own life and purpose. What a privileged position to be in
and I would not have it any other way.
We are competitive people and we need space to perform. Yet we have remained very close, and I praise God for this?
Yet, I cannot tell you how painful it is ... just the thought of not being physically connected to you.
You know Stirling I can still feel your loving hug you gave me at the Atlanta Airport.
Your excitement, your giggle and your hurried way in trying to assist us with the luggage and ... our overdue connection.
Gee, what was it 4 year and 10 months?
Please God his favour and mercy rest on us right
from the start and ... we meet again very soon. (*smile) And, do not
have all that unnecessary e-learning to do!
I just love being in your company.
Hering you laugh; Listening to your frustrated
attempts to make our stay as perfect as you would want it. But life is
not perfect. We have to sleep, eat and even energise ourselves and ...
handle our own dreams.
I still hear you advise me on so many a level.
My swearing; My people management; My career and My selfish habits?
Oh yes, I loved just driving around with you.
As I type and reflect over the different trips we made it makes me so sad.
I loved sitting there next to you and hering you manoeuvre the car; park and bounce back with excitement.
It reminded me so much of us working together.
I can still remember you asking me if I liked your car?
“Not bad hey, and still a 6 cylinder?”
Gee, it has been so cool. I tried to go to bed but
my mind was so full of brilliant and colourful thoughts. Thoughts and
images that only a twinship from the Living God can harbour.
And, yes, I did sob bitterly about leaving. I told
Sandy I had better get up and drop you all a line? (*smile) How would
you know if I did not tell you all?
Oh yes, I so loved our morning walks.
We walked off in a mature way like we used to train
for Comrades. Sure, we are older and our legs and muscles do not carry
us like young men. (*smile) But we were game and ready for those two
or three laps.
What was it 18 minutes for each lap and ... why not
1 hour? I could do it again and again and ... still be topped up with
your fellowship.
Do you remember our early morning coffees?
Some at home and some at the Dunkin Donut? (*smile) Do you remember, my first ever omelette in a rap?
Oh yes, All our meals and your generosity.
You have tried so hard with so little resources to make this such a memorable trip.
I leave very touched and very topped up. I leave very broken and very proud that you are my very special brother, Stirling.
And, I know I got on your nerves.
Yes, I know I am a hand full. I know my disability
has made things tougher. I know I would have so loved to have been
housed just down the road. But I leave to go back to Ireland and
continue the plan God started with me in 2007. (*smile) Gee, how I
wish it were so different? How I pray his mercy and his favour will
dwell richly on both of us and ... we reunite very soon.
Do you know Stirling next Saturday night I will be in The Yellow House in Cobh.
I will have my guide dog, Zagger to hold and to love.
Oh yes, I have someone in a four footed twinship who will for a short while take your place.
Yes, I have Sandy who will try assist me diminish the huge heart ache I have with our separation.
No doubt, Sandy will faithfully hold me;
accommodate all my wishes ... but you and I know we are twins on two
very different journeys.
Twins who will obey God’s instruction and calling
and ... go humbly on our way. Doing, professing and declaring his word
and his life in our homes and our work.
I want to thank you for a wonderful time.
I want to praise you for what you have achieved.
(*smile) Working in a teamship with Diana Rowena and it was so awesome
to see her so well and happy.
I want to praise you and Diana Rowena for the way
you have handle the adversity you both had and in days gone by. The
pain, the loss and the ... embarrassment.
I pray 2 Joel 23-25 in and over your lives.
· May you find that job career that rewards you.
· May you be able to enjoy your family and encourage your Grand Children by being a superb role model.
· May your personal health blossom and not hold you back.
Oh yes, I so enjoyed being at Curtis and Bernadette’s house.
Seeing those MMA athletes handle their fight.
(*smile0 In a strange way they encouraged me to continue my fight and
of course the pain of our pending separation.
Oh yes, I look forward to being in the pews at Free
Chapel and ... getting God’s instruction. The balm of Gilliad be
doubly anointed over us and our families.
Let us both fight like MMA warriors to connect soon.
As I said I can still feel your caring hug and your loving hand shake from little more than a week ago?
I won’t say ‘Good Bye’ ... but ‘Fare well’ and ... God’s richest blessing over your life.
Stirling, You will always be my special brother who I love and treasure all the days of my life.
I invite you and Diana Rowena to The Yellow House
and .. may you soon feel my hospitality at Cork airport? (*smile) What
a brilliant and exciting thought!
All my love and devoted affection.
Bobo
And then my dads' response to his brother also dated February 5th 2012 at 12:42pm
Hi Hagarth,
Firstly thank you for this beautiful email. I will treasure it with all the other wonderful memories of this amazingly busy time we have had together. The beginning of 2012 will always be a date to remember.
I must tell you, you still unwittingly motivate and inspire all those around you. I am awe struck by you ability to press on with your blindness and your very exacting and demanding job at the same time. It so hurt me to see you struggling through those 40 hours of McAfee tutorials that you and Sandy worked through. It was brutal. It so reminded me of your early days of you, being blind and learning braille. Gee you have come along way. Graham and Eileen would be so proud of you. I am also very amazed at Sandy. As a partner she is really so dedicated and a God send. I am so encouraged by how our God works. It is incredible who he puts in our path to help us on our journey called " life ". It is not the rich or the most able who help, who quickly jump in or step forward to help. It is only those with a big heart who do. She assists and partners you with every fiber of her being.
When I was with you at Kurtis house watching MMA. Di text me and asked me how I feel about saying goodbye? I must tell you I am a little uneasy as I don't know the future or where or when we will meet again. However I am just going to ask the Lord for strength and like you dive into work as a big distraction.
I want to thank you for all your love and high praise. I don't deserve it. But I have always felt closely connected and thank you for all your love and mentoring. I would not have grown as an individual without you pushing and exhorting. I think as a person you have endured much pain and I love the way you, pick yourself up, dust yourself off and fight on. Know I love you and thank you for all the assistance you have given me. I ask you please to keep walking with the King. Jesus is our only hope and in Him lies our future too! Know that I will be praying for you and your house hold. I ask you to do the same. I too can't say goodbye. So know I will wish you much joy, happiness real prosperity and health and until we meet again. I love you my brother!
Please thank Sandy and I wish you both much joy and happiness. May all your dreams and goals come true. May your problems evaporated like mist on a hot Summer's day. Be strong remain built up in the Lord and go reach for the highest Star. I know you still have much to achieve and many to encourage and inspire.
All my love and affection.
Firstly thank you for this beautiful email. I will treasure it with all the other wonderful memories of this amazingly busy time we have had together. The beginning of 2012 will always be a date to remember.
I must tell you, you still unwittingly motivate and inspire all those around you. I am awe struck by you ability to press on with your blindness and your very exacting and demanding job at the same time. It so hurt me to see you struggling through those 40 hours of McAfee tutorials that you and Sandy worked through. It was brutal. It so reminded me of your early days of you, being blind and learning braille. Gee you have come along way. Graham and Eileen would be so proud of you. I am also very amazed at Sandy. As a partner she is really so dedicated and a God send. I am so encouraged by how our God works. It is incredible who he puts in our path to help us on our journey called " life ". It is not the rich or the most able who help, who quickly jump in or step forward to help. It is only those with a big heart who do. She assists and partners you with every fiber of her being.
When I was with you at Kurtis house watching MMA. Di text me and asked me how I feel about saying goodbye? I must tell you I am a little uneasy as I don't know the future or where or when we will meet again. However I am just going to ask the Lord for strength and like you dive into work as a big distraction.
I want to thank you for all your love and high praise. I don't deserve it. But I have always felt closely connected and thank you for all your love and mentoring. I would not have grown as an individual without you pushing and exhorting. I think as a person you have endured much pain and I love the way you, pick yourself up, dust yourself off and fight on. Know I love you and thank you for all the assistance you have given me. I ask you please to keep walking with the King. Jesus is our only hope and in Him lies our future too! Know that I will be praying for you and your house hold. I ask you to do the same. I too can't say goodbye. So know I will wish you much joy, happiness real prosperity and health and until we meet again. I love you my brother!
Please thank Sandy and I wish you both much joy and happiness. May all your dreams and goals come true. May your problems evaporated like mist on a hot Summer's day. Be strong remain built up in the Lord and go reach for the highest Star. I know you still have much to achieve and many to encourage and inspire.
All my love and affection.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Polypolar?
I came across an interesting problem by pure happen chance. That it involves an innocent child is an absolute misfortune. But why it resonates so deeply within me is because I think if anyone (anyone) were to be labeled with some type of problem or disorder, that should be me.
I found out that a new friends son was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder at the age of four. I had heard of these diagnoses being made on tv or in far and distant places, in Dr. Phil-landia... By obscure and blurred moms who have no impact on me personally. But to have this beautiful new friend of mine's son going through something so intricate and difficult really put a limp in my otherwise brisk walk through this week. It was like I suddenly had a lead manacle attached to my appendage, gnawing at me with gnashing teeth of disbelief and doubt.
My dad is one of the most hilarious people around. Whilst speaking about bi-polar disorder in the past, he has brought up the concept of polypolarity and its something we just laugh about. Laughter is always such a beneficial way to circumnavigate otherwise tricky conversations.
So I did some Dr McGoogle research last night, pulling up the pages of the DSM-IV manual and then reading around in circles, this definition vs that definition etc, and learning about the four different types of bi-polar disorder (yes there are four types, I, II, Cyclothymic and Not Otherwise Specified)... and then I fell on the common characteristics and traits in bi-polar children.
Look, the thing is, I am not a doctor. I am also not a parent of a child who has had any major issues (Praise Jesus for this)... But whilst mulling through these expansive lists of definite symptoms of bi-polar in children (babies!!! They are innocent babies!!)... I can't help but wonder if our society wernt so rigid and categorised, would there be such a need to define our kids in such a methodical and specific way?
Honestly I have almost all of the characteristics of bi-polar disorder. So does my dad. I would also say my dads twin brother has it too. We have what I refer to as delightful eccentricities... Number one sticking out would be that we are what I call wordsmiths. Yet psychiatrists would label us with speech impediments such as Aphasia (substituting the correct word with a wrong word, like a Freudian slip that happens frequently. The substituted word may have a similar sound or consonant or vowels...)... or perhaps this is a Clang Association disorder... Making up nonsensical rhymes full of alliteration or assonance or both... Yet I prefer to say I have the gift of the gab? Everyday Health.com says my neologisms are a sign of a psychotic phase... So what if the Jabberwocky makes perfect sense to me? Disorganisation...Disambiguation... Sorry if you're too slow to keep up with us?
Which leads to grandiosity.... We just happen to think faster than you. But we would never say we are BETTER than you... Grandiosity is another 'hallmark' characteristic. Sorry I painted my whole house, made three birthday cakes, single handedly catered a wedding, was the wedding photographer, went to work, made chicken picatta from scratch for dinner, had a lovely thought provoking conversation with distant relatives on skype and bathed the kids, cut their nails, dressed them in their matching jammies and now I am playing with my pet chameleon Emilio whilst all you did was serve a frozen entree to your family. I call that jealousy. *wink*
Sorry I talk your ear off. And when youre not listening I am on facebook and Skype. Thank you God for new ways to be in contact with my people who love me despite my supposedly "manic" tendencies.
I could go on all day. With similarities and real life personal myself experiences...
But the main point I want to make is how much of this is our true selves, our true identities, that society is trying to dull down, to hide away, to make us more neat and more orderly, to put us more into little mental confines... When we are beautiful and bright and sparkly. And dare I say it, unique...
How do they know what it feels like to be me. How to they know what I am supposed to be? My God made me with his own hands. He formed me in my mothers womb. He made me perfect. Why change perfection?
I found out that a new friends son was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder at the age of four. I had heard of these diagnoses being made on tv or in far and distant places, in Dr. Phil-landia... By obscure and blurred moms who have no impact on me personally. But to have this beautiful new friend of mine's son going through something so intricate and difficult really put a limp in my otherwise brisk walk through this week. It was like I suddenly had a lead manacle attached to my appendage, gnawing at me with gnashing teeth of disbelief and doubt.
My dad is one of the most hilarious people around. Whilst speaking about bi-polar disorder in the past, he has brought up the concept of polypolarity and its something we just laugh about. Laughter is always such a beneficial way to circumnavigate otherwise tricky conversations.
So I did some Dr McGoogle research last night, pulling up the pages of the DSM-IV manual and then reading around in circles, this definition vs that definition etc, and learning about the four different types of bi-polar disorder (yes there are four types, I, II, Cyclothymic and Not Otherwise Specified)... and then I fell on the common characteristics and traits in bi-polar children.
Look, the thing is, I am not a doctor. I am also not a parent of a child who has had any major issues (Praise Jesus for this)... But whilst mulling through these expansive lists of definite symptoms of bi-polar in children (babies!!! They are innocent babies!!)... I can't help but wonder if our society wernt so rigid and categorised, would there be such a need to define our kids in such a methodical and specific way?
Honestly I have almost all of the characteristics of bi-polar disorder. So does my dad. I would also say my dads twin brother has it too. We have what I refer to as delightful eccentricities... Number one sticking out would be that we are what I call wordsmiths. Yet psychiatrists would label us with speech impediments such as Aphasia (substituting the correct word with a wrong word, like a Freudian slip that happens frequently. The substituted word may have a similar sound or consonant or vowels...)... or perhaps this is a Clang Association disorder... Making up nonsensical rhymes full of alliteration or assonance or both... Yet I prefer to say I have the gift of the gab? Everyday Health.com says my neologisms are a sign of a psychotic phase... So what if the Jabberwocky makes perfect sense to me? Disorganisation...Disambiguation... Sorry if you're too slow to keep up with us?
Which leads to grandiosity.... We just happen to think faster than you. But we would never say we are BETTER than you... Grandiosity is another 'hallmark' characteristic. Sorry I painted my whole house, made three birthday cakes, single handedly catered a wedding, was the wedding photographer, went to work, made chicken picatta from scratch for dinner, had a lovely thought provoking conversation with distant relatives on skype and bathed the kids, cut their nails, dressed them in their matching jammies and now I am playing with my pet chameleon Emilio whilst all you did was serve a frozen entree to your family. I call that jealousy. *wink*
Sorry I talk your ear off. And when youre not listening I am on facebook and Skype. Thank you God for new ways to be in contact with my people who love me despite my supposedly "manic" tendencies.
I could go on all day. With similarities and real life personal myself experiences...
But the main point I want to make is how much of this is our true selves, our true identities, that society is trying to dull down, to hide away, to make us more neat and more orderly, to put us more into little mental confines... When we are beautiful and bright and sparkly. And dare I say it, unique...
How do they know what it feels like to be me. How to they know what I am supposed to be? My God made me with his own hands. He formed me in my mothers womb. He made me perfect. Why change perfection?
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