Bonus - Little Girl Story - Bonnie and The Bad Boys

BONNIE AND THE BAD BOYS

"Mom, tell us a Little Girl story."

"Which one?" the mother asked.

"The one about Bonnie and bad boys" the kids yelled.

"OK, but are you sure you don't want me to read about Jemima Puddleduck instead?

"No way - Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie" the children chanted.

"OK - here goes" said Mother.

"Bonnie, don't forget your helmet", yelled her mother from upstairs.  Bonnie was going bike riding with her friends Claire and Ruth.  "OK, Mom!", Bonnie answered.  As she walked past the garage door, she flung the helmet into a pile of sports equipment.  Helmets were for nerds and neither Claire nor Ruth had to wear one.  Their mother was an old hippy and she was pretty lax about rules.

"Let's go the monument", said Claire.  "I have some chalk and we can make funny faces on the statues."  

"Cool" said Bonnie

The girls took off on their bikes.  The monument was at the top of the tallest hill in town.  It was hard riding to get their bikes to the top, but they made it.

The girls took off on their bikes.  The monument was at the top of the tallest hill in town.  It was hard riding to get their bikes to the top, but they made it.

The girls played happily, giggling as they marked up the faces of the famous war heroes.  Ruth tied her sweater around one of the statues shoulders, colored his lips pink and topped him off with her backwards baseball cap.

Then the bad boys came.

Bonnie, Ruth and Claire were afraid.  These were the kids that had set Kathy Ross's hair on fire last year.  They had told the police it was an accident, but no one believed them.

Bonnie and the twins jumped to their bikes.  They had a head start if only they could get away quickly.

Pumping as fast as they could - luckily it was all downhill, the girls sped away.   Hooting, the boys took off after them.  The hill was incredibly steep.  Bonnie had never gone so fast on her bike.  The wind shrieked at her.  The boys yelled behind her.  She was almost home!   Just around the bend was the final stretch.  Once in her own yard, she would be safe.

As the curve in the road loomed, Bonnie applied the brakes.  The bike did not slow down.  She squeezed harder - still too fast.  She would never make the curve.  She tried to call to the twins.  They were ahead of her.  Too late - the bike, as if it had a mind of its own raced toward the small white house situated at the bend in the road.

"Honey, what is your name.  Can you hear me?"  An old man squinted at her.  Bonnie could hear him but could not speak.   She heard the siren and tried to talk to the paramedics when they lifted her to the stretcher.  But nothing would come out. 

"Poor kid.  Should have had her helmet on", said one of the paramedics. 

"Is it a girl?"  said the other paramedic.  "It's hard to tell from all the blood".

"Yeah, the bike is pink" 

Bonnie was a lucky girl.  She only had to stay in the hospital for 3 months.  After several surgeries to fix her broken leg, sew her face back on and repair her broken ear drums, she was OK.  She always looked a little crooked from that point on, but she was alive.

"Now kids, go to sleep.  And remember to always wear your bicycle helmets."

 The End.

Dog Shit/Get Your Game Tight

What a shitty start to a new week!  This morning got up, crabby that it was Monday but determined to meet the day with diligence.  Tidied, laundry and then down to a whining Joey.  Gathered myself and as we were leaving my nostrils were assaulted by the smell of dog shit.  Right by the door a huge messy poop on a very special afghan that one of the girls had thrown carelessly on the floor.  I guess I must have a lot of rage seething not so deeply below the surface these days, because I flipped out.   I grabbed the dog, shoved his chin in the messy poop and then dragged him to the back door and pushed him out the door, all the time yelling at the top of my lungs about what a piece of shit he was.  He looked sadly at me through the glass so I threw my jacket at him.  Taking the hint, he slunk down into the yard, shamed.   I sat and cried, not sure what to do next.  Finally I got grim and dealt with the poop, and then got dog shampoo and a towel and went to him and washed the shit off of his face.   We went to the beach but in keeping with the crappy day, couldn't stay because the flies were biting again.

When we got back home, I surveyed things with rageful eyes.  The cats yelled for their food.  Joey begged for his breakfast.  I was pissed and said, "F*& you," to all of them and proceeded to take my coffee in solitude on the deck, putting their needs on hold.  And this is what I thought about.   I hate the seamy side of life.  I think I hate it more than most people because, for me, order and cleanliness has been hard won.   That Charlie Brown character, Pig Pen?  That was me as a kid. Because I was one of five kids and probably as a function of the hippy '60's, I was neglected.  I never bathed.  My long hair was wild and matted.  My clothes were bizarre, mismatched, too small, worn wrinkled from the bottom of the laundry basket (this was before knits when everything needed ironing).  I smelled bad and I seem to remember wearing the same pair of underwear for weeks.   By the time I was a teen, I started to take care of myself and had some standards, but we still lived in chaos.

Now, I have daily awareness of infrastructure and I nervously attend to all the stuff that has to be done to live a normal life.  I strive to keep things in order and myself well cared for.   It will never be natural for me....I always worry that if I slip up, I will once again descend into dirty chaos.   There was an episode of CSI that spoke to me.  A new CSI arrived late to a crime scene.  The veteran CSI scolded him for his tardiness and when he glimpsed the new CSI's forensic kit which was in disarray, he took him to task - advising him sternly on how he should conduct his life, how he should take time every day to "get his game tight" - making sure he got to bed early enough to be on time, going through his kit the night before to ensure everything was replenished and neat.  Since watching that episode, I have adopted that phrase and made it into a personal mantra - "make sure my game is tight."

I love beauty and order.  I hate waste and carelessness.  I live in a house where there is no thoughtfulness or attention given to keeping things nice.  It must be my fault....I raised them after all.   And yet it enrages me.  If they only knew how hard won and fragile my ecosystem is, they would understand that when they defile things, it literally hurts me.  Today I surveyed the damage and the carelessness.  I see a grocery bag of antique Stieff puppets, precious relics from my childhood that were properly stored in an airtight Tupperware container - the container appropriated for a camping trip with the promise that the puppets would be restored to it - never done - the container apparently lost.  Expensive binoculars cast off in a corner, out of their case because someone decided the case would make a cute purse.  Guitars out of their cases, played and cast carelessly aside.   Piles of clean laundry I carefully folded with the expectation that their owner would put it in drawers, thrown back into the dirty laundry because it was too much work to put it away... I find myself washing clean clothes that were just, days before, cleaned and folded.   Coats not hung up, boots and shoes scattered around the house like chicken feed, toilets not flushed (when confronted I'm told they are saving the environment by not using too much water).   It's all gross and seamy.

And so I restore order.  I clean and hate.   I dream about a time when everything will be mise en place.  But I also know to be careful for what I wish for.   I already know that living a mise en place life is a lonely one, that yes, I will always know where the scissors are but I run the risk of living lonely.   Maybe there is a compromise where there can be basic order without neuroses.   All I know is that I need order in my life now.   I am a volcano about to spew - when I blow it ain't going to be pretty.   So, I need to try and stay ahead of the chaos, tackle problems, one thing at a time with equanimity.  Everything is crumbling....   This morning I made a token gesture for order.  I looked in disgust at the silverware drawer.  I fail to understand how a silverware drawer can get dirty - it only contains clean forks, knives and spoons.  And yet, I see bits of encrusted food, crumbs and other gunk in it.   I said, "Enough is enough!!!" and emptied it on the counter and cleaned it.   One messy drawer cleaned, the tiniest of victories.

The challenge for me today, is to harness this energetic anger and start cleaning in earnest.  I need to clean up EVERYTHING!  I need to clean up the house, the garage, the basement, the cars, the office, the divorce, the finances, the business.   Everything.   I need mise en place to be happy.  And I need to do this all by myself.   Captain of my own ship.  Put this rage to work for me.   I dunno if you can relate to any of this....these issues may be peculiarly mine.   But if you are feeling that life has gotten out of control, seamy, frayed around the edges and that it is eroding you, maybe you can harness some energy and take it all on, one thing at a time: that laundry that needs to go to the cleaners; the shoes that need polishing; the moldy caulk that needs replacing.  All of these things that mock us with their brokenness or dirtiness must be attended to.  We need to triumph over decay.  Restore order and beauty.

Peace,
Sarah

Found this image on the web.  Next time, I will expect Joey to pick up his own shit!

Date From Hell/True,Necessary & Kind

Liza recently told me something she had learned from the Montessori pedagogy that she strives to incorporate into her life.  When you are in conflict with someone and are formulating things to say, ask yourself, "Is what I am going to say, true?  Is it kind?  Is it necessary that I say it?"  I really like this and need to put this into practice because I often say what comes to mind without filtering my comments.  I often hurt people.

Yesterday the date with NewPatrick.  What amazes me is when two people are experiencing the exact same set of events but experiencing things entirely differently - and they are so into their own reality they assume the other person shares their feelings.   I arrived first, found a table, Spider started her set, he arrived.  I thoroughly enjoyed the jazz.  Spider and Jeremy Kahn were at the top of their game - an all Gershwin night and NewPatrick had said he was a big Gershwin fan.  He was a bit shy and reserved which made me try and draw him out.  I flirted (it was a date after all), he didn't seem to object.   At nine Spider was done and the night was still new.  My voice coach, Mark was playing a gig at Myron and Phil's in Lincolnwood.  I suggested we drive there in my car and take in his last set and I would sing a bit.   NewPatrick seemed to like that idea.  We talked lots about his papers, his upcoming trip to Turkey, his Turkish ex-girlfriend - everything about him.  At Myron and Phil's I sang really well.  NewPatrick seemed a little impressed - I got the first compliment of the evening.   Then I asked him if he was having a good time, expecting him to say he was having a fabulous time, great music, good company, etc.   He looked at me and said something, "I am extremely uncomfortable and I want to go home...take me back to my car."  He then went on to say something like, "I think I am being very rude (he was) and then went on to tell me everything he didn't like about me.   I was stunned and of course hurt.

So this is what the dating world is like.   I hear the horror stories, hear that you have to kiss a bunch of frogs.  I hear the cynicism and I hate the cynicism.  I never want to be one of those world weary cynical women who approach love as war.  And yet....it was truly traumatic last night.   Intellectually I know I did nothing wrong.  I was lots of fun, flirty but not overly so, a good listener, and I looked great.  Emotionally I feel very diminished and bruised.  

When people hurt me I hurt them back....mature, right?  Predictably I blasted him on text and told him he was a narcissist and that next time he could try and make believe he found his date interesting.  I also pointed out to him that the whole night his stomach was hanging out of his shirt that he failed to button properly.   Really unattractive to see a man in a sportcoat with his stomach flapping bare.   It made me feel a little bit better to tell him off....a little.   And then I remembered the Montessori saying and I knew I could and should do better...just because I was hurt didn't mean I had to respond in a way that was unkind and unnecessary.

Today, a beautiful day at the Botanic Gardens with Pam.  We drank in the late summer beauty and talked mostly about people in her life.  I am trying to be more circumspect and really let my friends drive the conversational agenda.  People have so much to tell me...I want to be a better listener and really honor their stories.   I have this blog to blab to.   Experiencing NewPatrick's total self absorption last night was a cautionary tale.  I too have a tendency to make things all about me....it's what people without solid foundations do.   I have to think that, like anything, you can exercise the listening muscle and get better over time in being present for other people.   For that reason alone, I will consider the date last night and my brief encounter with NewPatrick a gift.  He shared that he had been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and I experienced first hand what it's like to orbit around a person who can only be the center star, who doesn't know how to be a planet.

I'm almost done with The Family Fang.  It is the perfect book for me to be reading because it has to do with everything I'm thinking of these days:  the art of motion, bad parenting, narcissism.   There is much I would do different as a parent and because I'm writing this post on the fly today, I will cheat and add content by way of sharing some of my old writing with you.  When my kids were younger I crafted a series of stories I dubbed "The Little Girl Stories".  They were cautionary tales about what happens to bad little girls.  I never understood at the time what wasn't to love about these tales.   My kids were horrified by them.  Everyone I've shared them with shakes their heads and worries a bit.  Kaveh's response was "Where were the parents?"   I think a proper parent would not have written stories like these. So why share them?  Dunno..they are funny.  They are dark.  I'm feeling dark.   This is my art.  Maybe I'm more like Caleb and Camille in The Family Fang than I care to admit.  I'll feed you these stories from time to time when I'm pressed for time like today.  Just about to go for tapas with my friend, Karen.

ANNE

"Mom, tell us about the little girl and the bus" said the children.

"Oh, no, that's way too sad for a bedtime story" replied the mother.

"Please-oh-please!" begged the children.

"Alright", said Mom. "But don't blame me for your bad dreams."

Once there was a little girl named Anne. She lived in Chicago with her Mom and Dad in an apartment over her Grandpa's bakery. Anne was loved and spoiled by her parents and grandparents. Each day before pre-school, Anne visited the bakery. She helped her grandfather by pinching the bread loaves, smearing the honey on the baklava, opening and closing the ovens, spreading flour all over the place, and other helpful stuff. Her grandfather loved her daily visits, but was relieved when she left so he could get his real work done.

Anne's Mom checked Anne's ears every day. She was sure there must be lots of wax in those ears because every time she asked Anne to do something, Anne seemed not to hear her. Her ears appeared to be very waxy when it was time to clean her room. It did not occur to Anne's Mom that maybe Anne was a naughty girl and only pretending not to hear.

Anne's wax problem continued to get worse. Anne's teacher complained to her parents that Anne ignored her when she asked Anne for help - or when she scolded Anne for playing too rough with the smaller children.

"Anne has a hearing problem" said her mother. "We are taking her to the doctor today". "It is curious though, how she always hears us when we call her to lunch, or if her grandfather calls her in from play when he's made a fresh batch of sticky buns" We can't figure it out.

"Nothing is the matter with Anne's ears" said the doctor, looking through the magnifier into one of Anne's ears.

"You must be mistaken!", said Anne's mom. "Anne is a perfect child and if she says she doesn't hear us, then I'm sure she is telling the truth!" We will find a better doctor - one who can tell us what is wrong with Anne's ears."

Anne and her mother left the doctor's office in a huff. They waited angrily at the bus stop for the 205 bus that would take them home. Finally, they spied the bus rounding the corner.

"Anne, stay put while I get our bus tokens from my purse" said Mother. Anne was cross and cranky and was sure the bus driver was going to drive right past them as he had last week. She pretended not to hear her mother and she stepped out into the street and waved her hands at the approaching bus.

The bus driver did not see Anne. He was changing the station on the radio and had looked away from the road for a few seconds. Anne's mother looked up from her purse in horror. Anne was seconds away from being run down by the bus. Anne's mother threw herself into the street and pushed Anne out of the way of the bus - to the other curb. But Anne's mother did not have time to save herself and the bus ran her over. Ann screamed to see her mother dead under the bus. She knew that she had caused the accident - by not listening to her mother.

Anne, her father and her grandparents were broken-hearted.  Their lives were never the same and Anne grew up, a very sad girl, with no mother. Anne's Grandpa closed the bakery. He was too sad to cook.

"So, children, go to bed. And remember, when I tell you to do something, I always have a reason. Sometimes you may think you know better, but I am your mother and I know what's best for you."

The End

The challenge today is to incorporate that Montessori saying into your life.   When you are poised to criticize, ask yourself, "Is it true? Is it necessary. Is it kind?   If you can't answer yes to all three question, hold your  tongue and take the higher ground.

Peace,

Sarah

Picture is of the gardens today.

Thoughts of 911/Canning vs.Prozac

Saturday.   Last night was OK fun.  Liza, James and I at Schallers which is predictable but still a bit of fun. Liza and I have decided that once in a while vodka is medicinal, especially after a long work week and especially when you're holding pain at bay which we both are.  Attentive readers will call me out on the vodka thing.  I think I swore it off, but really I think that was a mistake, especially when your heart is laying in pieces at your feet.   I think a lot of folks, in my heartbroken shoes, would be taking anti-depressants about now (coming up on my own mini version of 911 - 9/15 which will be three months since the breakup).  Instead, I write, sing, talk, read, cook, and once or twice a week I go out with friends and drink vodka and make believe I am getting over him.  It makes everyone relieved to see me laugh and smile.  So like I said, vodka=medicine when you're nursing a broken heart.

Tonight a date with NewPatrick.  I'm nervous because I think I like him.  OK. Here's something either really obnoxious or incredibly adorable.  He has been, for the last week or so, writing a paper that he will present to a panel of academics in Turkey next week.   He finished the first draft yesterday and was feeling betwixt and between about it.   So, I offered to edit/proof/comment on the paper, saying confidently, "I'm a good writer."  What possessed me to offer to review a paper written by a professor, a person who spends considerable time correcting student papers!???   He must have been amused by the offer from a person who never even finished her undergrad!  So yeah, either obnoxiously cocky or naively adorable - that's me.  I read the paper and, oh dear, I fear discussing it with him tonight. In the first paragraph alone, there were a slew of words I had to look up like, locus, alterity, discursive, disjuncture, liminality.  Then concepts of which I had not a clue:  politics of translation, trans-mapping of cultural mythologies, translation of alterity, milieu of cultural production (what the heck is cultural production - anything produced by a culture?), phenomenology of dialogue, heterogeneous discursive space, locus of commonality and dislocation.   I'm in trouble, right?

Ah...but he's meeting me on my turf, Katerina's where "everyone knows my name".   We will see my friend and teacher Spider Saloff sing Gershwin and I will get her to sing NewPatrick's favorite song, "The Man I Love".  We will then go to my other coach/teacher's gig at Myron and Phil's and there I will sing the same song for him.  If he is really smooth, he will tell me he liked my version better even though he will be lying through his teeth.

I've been giving thought to 911 with the anniversary coming up and I am struck at how much I'm still affected by what happened ten years ago.   I  (along with everyone else) was thunderstruck by the event - it shook me to my very core - we all suffered a huge loss that day.   I wonder if historians will point to that event as THE negative defining moment in American civilization.   The optimist in me hates the thought that our standing in the world is in decline - it is easier to think that we are just experiencing a correction - that our country will come roaring back to where it was.  But, what goes up, must come down and if you step back and look at the "painting" from a distance, our affluence and dominance is unsustainable.   I kick myself for not buying something called a histogram from the Rand McNally store I saw years ago.  It was a graphic depiction of the rise and fall of civilizations starting with the earliest cultures.  Humbling to see how every civilization follows the same path of growth and decline.  In NewPatrick's paper one sentence in particular struck me.  "For our purposes, this disjuncture involves America, the fading center of the world, and Turkey, part of Europe, Middle East, and Eurasia and center of Byzantium, the reemergent center of the world."  I didn't get that memo!   First I'm reading that Turkey is the "reemergent center of the world"!!   


911.  It changed things for me.  I decided I could no longer care that much about events outside my control.  It was then I got rid of the TV - put my head in the sand out of self preservation.   Last year when I worked with my daughter, Catherine, she was amazed and concerned by just how cut off I'd become.  Example: I came back from the grocery store and asked her if something had happened in Haiti because there were little collection jars.  She said, "Seriously, mother?"  She was equally shocked when I lamented that a package I sent to a friend in Germany hadn't arrived, something about a volcano that I was unaware of.   I know this has to change.  It's been ten years and I think the statute of limitations on PTSD for a tragedy that didn't directly impact your life, has run out.   I think I need to let a bit of the world back in. Here is a piece I wrote last year:

Peace and quiet - that's all she wanted these days.  Almost imperceptibly, she'd shed the layers of anxiety producing stimuli.  It started with 911 and the unbearable sadness.  For months, she sobbed for no reason - anything could trigger it.  If she was driving and a sad story came over the radio, she was forced to pull over to the side of the road.  Head down on the steering wheel, she sobbed, grief vomiting out of her. 


Finally she could take no more of other peoples' sadness.  She cancelled the cable TV.  It wasn't enough.  Sadness still leaked in.  Magazine subscriptions cancelled too.  Next she got rid of the computer and put the TV in the alley with a note saying, "Please take me.  I'm not broken."   When there was an earthquake in Haiti she only learned of it a month later when she asked a colleague why there were collection jars at the grocery store.  And only when an overseas shipment did not arrive on time did she learn of a volcano in Iceland.


Her home was purged - husband gone, kids gone, TV gone, computer gone, crap gone.  It was finally a place of peace and solitude, a place to be where sadness was not allowed.  She canned the harvest, quietly -  flat after flat of perfect berries, suspended in syrup.  Hour and hour, day after day, hundreds of jars, each perfect, and made in stillness....the only sound, the pop,pop,pop of the jars as they emerged from their sterilizing boiling water bath.

The challenge today for you could be thinking about the piece I wrote and your feelings about the upcoming 911 anniversary.  My reaction to the over-stimulation of the news was extreme but it served the purpose of quieting my mind.  I suspect we are overloaded with external anxiety, news that is stuffed into our heads and consciousness.  We feel we must pay attention to it - our citizen duty to swallow a daily dose of doom and gloom.  I worry that a steady diet of hand-wringing anxiety is physically and psychically bad for us.  I know Sarah needs to get her head out of the sand - it's embarrassing and uneducated to be clueless of current events.  But I'm going to be very careful what I let in.  I will create a tiny aperture for world information.  Not being a policy maker, if I don't learn about a coup for a week, no one is adversely affected by my ignorance.  Thinking I'll renew my subscription to the Economist and read it, cover to cover each week - news without emotional affect.  I think I can handle that.

Peace,
Sarah

Art in Motion/Joey a Pervert?

Mixing things up today..took Madeleine to the doctor this morning and then spent coffee time with her talking about her hopes and dreams and giving her relationship advice - ME, giving relationship advice - now that may be a flawed concept!   And this is what I heard coming out of my mouth. "Don't worry about the whole game thing, playing hard to get, trying to manipulate events.  If you feel like speaking with him, don't worry that you're coming on too strong, just call and be yourself. BUT, have a ton going on in your life so that you are self-regulating.  If you're working on your music, hanging with friends, working, going to school, spending time with family, you won't approach your relationship with deficits and that means your communication will be natural and healthy.   He also doesn't want Madeleine to be his girlfriend - he just wants the benefits.  I told her that, as much as I love PatrickI, if he came to me and said his feelings were still the same, he didn't envision a future for us but that he missed me and wanted to spend some time together while he pursued other women, I would say no.  I wouldn't allow myself to be downgraded to a friend with benefits.

Birthday dinner with Catherine last night.   After I wrote the post yesterday, I approached the event with resolve to be the kind of mother she wants and needs.   She and I don't spend much time together and I suspect our relationship is a disappointment to her.  Her friend Christine joined us and they chatted merrily about their relationships, their artistic endeavors, the non-profit that Catherine works for, their jobs and more. What she wanted from me was for me to sit quietly, admire her, listen to them, keep my mouth shut except to heap praise, make comments of appreciation and then pay the bill. It's not that much to ask for, right?  For your mother to be your cheerleader?  She doesn't want to know me.   She hates it when I sing, doesn't like anything I write, refuses to discuss my personal life with me and is disinterested in my work.   So, wow - when I'm with her I have to leave my person-hood at the door.  I have only one role - being her mother.   I don't know if I can define myself as just someone's mother - it's a fraction of who I am.  This is hard.  Sarah got a C- last night.  I tried to sing her Happy Birthday (to her horror), I mentioned the two Patricks (to her disgust), I talked about my blog (to her disinterest).   Sarah=invisible when I'm with her.  Fading.  Fading.


So weird.  NewPatrick and I talked again last night for hours.  Turns out he know my brother!  They are artistic peers, working in academia with the same focus - electronic arts.  One degree of separation!   I googled him and watched a video of him giving a lecture and smart Sarah was totally lost....seriously I understood about every 10th word.  They say people with a 50 point difference in IQ can't effectively communicate.   I'm worried!   He is scary smart, and I'm just pretty smart. We'll see - maybe a date on Saturday.

I'm thinking a lot about art lately and specifically art in motion.  NewPatrick's focus is performance art, interactive art.   The book I'm reading the Family Fang is all about disturbing performance art (making people uncomfortable and capturing it on video).   The father Caleb, takes a vase and throws it against a wall and announces to his children, "You just witnessed art."   He then picks up the broken shards, holds them out to the children and says, "This is NOT art.".   In the Elegance of the Hedgehog, the hero discovers life meaning by witnessing frail changing beauty....a rose petal falling from a flower onto a table, the blooming of camilias on moss - transient beauty.   And I always come back to the scene from American Beauty where a plastic grocery bag dances in the wind and the beauty of the wind dance is captured on tape as art.   I hate fake flowers for the same reason...they are an offense.  The beauty of flowers is the witnessing the unfolding from newness to decay.  My friend Carol told me of a party she went to where the stunning decorations were all dead flowers, artfully arranged.  Flower corpses.  Spent beauty.

I think I know why Joey was given up and sent to the shelter.  I think he is a molester.  We may have a problem.  First, is it normal that he goes into the shower with me and insists on licking the water off my body? It's disturbing, right?  No boundaries, that one.   And just today, I discovered him with one of Madeleine's old Madeleine dolls in his possession.   I'll let you be the judge as to whether he is a pervert or not.  This is NOT a doctored photo.   This is what he did to the poor thing!

The challenge today for me is balance, balance and more balance.  I asked NewPatrick what attracted him to me.  He said he loved that I sing jazz, that I am smart and fun, a good listener but most of all that I seem "to be firing on all thrusters".   I accepted the compliment but knew that I'm not firing on all cylinders these days, never mind thrusters (which sounds like the difference between a car and a rocket).  The loss of PatrickI has been very destablizing, devastating - has made me question everything and not all in a good way.   It's time for me to pull out of that miasma and start firing on all thrusters again.   I will always love PatrickI, that's a given, but I need to remember, he didn't choose me.  Someone else will.

Your challenge is keeping your balance even though the season is changing on you.  Accept the loss of summer.  Be energized by fall.  Get out your fall clothes.  Change up your exercise routine. Think about picking apples and going to football games.  Get outside and soak up some nature. Look for beauty in motion.

Peace,
Sarah

Picture is from last night - Catherine and me.  We look a lot like each other, yes?

The Family Fang/New Patrick

So much for the perfect day yesterday.  It's SOOO hard to stay on an even keel!  Things started well, but then distractions galore, culminating in seeing a baby pit bull darting around cars in the road and luring him into my office (with Joey's help) and then trying to to find his owners.  Ended up taking him to the shelter with a heavy heart - he wasn't chipped and the woman there said they put down a lot of pit bulls every day.  He was adorable.  And I ate some madeleine cookies when I met Liza at Starbucks.   I was feeling unaccomplished and unsatisfied.  Carb fix.

Last night I talked to 1:30 in the AM with a new love interest, and how confusing is this?  His name - Patrick.  So in my contacts I have "Patrick" and "New Patrick".  And New Patrick is fascinating. Here is part of his profile, edited a bit to protect his anonymity.


I’m an art, technology and philosophy professor (former electrical engineer) at XXXX, and I have the privilege to have a career that doubles as a lifestyle. It’s a little like working two jobs; being a teacher and being an artist, writer and curator. However, I’m not too busy for someone in my life, although I’d love for you to want to hit the galleries with me. I’m very diverse, as I have a little knowledge about a lot of things, so I’m a great conversational partner. I’ve traveled from Turkey to Brazil to the Aleutians/Arctic, and all across Europe. Want to talk about literature, sociology, urban planning, ROI, sustainability, urban farming and a lot of other stuff? I’m your man.


So, wow.  What an amazing man!  His art is on display at the Smithsonian and next week he jets to Turkey to chair a seminar on Turkish performance art and Turkish translation in art (or something like that).  And yes I DO want to talk about literature, sociology, urban planning...etc.  So maybe there will be life after Patrick I. The head says, "Go for it!"   My heart tells my head, "Traitor".   I wish I could wash the former out of my  heart but for now he is the only resident there..the new prospects, Les, Manny, Brad, New-Patrick, Mike, Terry are knocking at the castle door but the drawbridge is pulled up.  Soon though I hope someone crashes through with a battering ram - my heart needs liberating. 


I'm reading a very bizarre book, The Family Fang about a couple who are performance artists.  They are famous for making and documenting public disturbances in the name of art.  When they become pregnant with their first child, the father is distraught, thinking that children will kill his art.  His wife convinces him that their children will become their art and they go on to incorporate their children (who they dub Child A and Child B) into their art pieces, making them take part in dark, twisted art events (the boy dresses up as a girl and wins a beauty pageant and then as he strolls the runway, pulls off his wig to reveal his boy-ness - stuff like that).  I'm finding it hard to read this book, the concept of  people using children for their own selfish pleasure.   Every now and then as I read the book, I squirm to see myself guilty of something similar.  Parents, even the good ones, often do unspeakable harm.   One mother* I know said, upon being told her kids' had terrifying childhoods, "I'm so incredibly sad I was a mother who scared her children so they couldn't give me the comfort I needed."   Parental selfishness - surely we can do better.


I will want to talk about this book more, I'm sure.  There is something incredibly dark about the concept of  having children and using children to further your own agenda, to satisfy your own needs. I'm starting to think about the different types of relationships and how they aren't all egalitarian.   Kaveh is not allowed to bring his needs into the therapeutic room.  A meeting organizer needs to define the agenda and objectives of a meeting and hold the participants to appropriate behavior and keep the agenda on track, friends are not bosses and should temper their criticism and offer unconditional love and support, and parents, like good therapists, should not bring their own needs to the parenting equation.   I've been so guilty of that, looking for and hoping my kids could meet my insatiable need for love and acceptance.  I'm starting to realize it's not their job - they have a biological imperative to break free of me and shake off the attachment.


Today I ramble.  I'm unsettled.  Too many distractions.  I've opened the dating floodgate and the mongols are beating at my door and I'm saying, "Oh, shit.  What have I done?  I'm so not ready for this!"  Today is Catherine's birthday (25 years ago I labored for 25 hours).  I've been doing this parenting things for 25 years!!!!  You'd think I'd be good at it!  (I'm not.).


The challenge today is to make some mental notes and rules about what you bring to the relationships in your life, what is appropriate to expect - you could almost write a mission statement for each important relationship so that you aren't sloppy in how you interact.  Doesn't that sound business-y?  But really, each relationship has a specific set of needs and requirements, the boundaries should be identified and reinforced, goals should be itemized and met.   What I'm saying badly is that relationships aren't "one size fits all".  The care and feeding of relationships is really important and requires some structure.   If you're a needy mess and treat everyone in your life as fungible stars in your solar system with you as the sun, you aren't exercising any discrimination or self control.  In an effort to getting your own needs met, you aren't meeting the needs of others.  So get granular.  Think about each important person in your life.   What does the relationship need to thrive and how can you contribute to meeting the need.


Peace,
Sarah


*my mother

Perfection/Willpower

Today I'm striving for a perfect day even though the word is a loaded one.  I need to make good on all these promises to myself.  I need to walk the walk (for those of you who think I'm like Mary Poppins - practically perfect in every way - think again.  I often talk a good game but follow through - not always there).  So what does a perfect day look like?   It's the right balance between obligation and fun.  Kaveh said on Tuesday that what makes a person attractive to others is their ability to have fun and enjoy life - having fun is becoming a lost art!  And fun is NOT the things we do to numb ourselves from the pain of being a complicated human being (drinking, escaping into mindless TV, drugs, gratuitous sex, etc).  I think real fun is had when you are truly expressing yourself in some way, whether you're throwing paint at a wall, feeling the wind whipping through your hair as you chase a ball downfield, curling up on the couch with a book, meeting a girlfriend for lunch and talking about stuff that turns you on - you get the idea - the things that bring you to life, that animate you.

Then there's the other stuff we do that's not so much fun - the infrastructure of our daily lives - our care and feeding - the things that must be done to keep ourselves afloat.  The yucky stuff. Yesterday when I should have been working, I browsed the New York Times website and read a fascinating article about willpower.  Some interesting snippets from the article:  "together with intelligence, self-control turns out to be the best predictor of a successful and satisfying life...willpower consists of circuitry in the brain that runs on glucose, has a limited capacity and operates by rules that scientists can reverse-engineer - and crucially, that can find work-arounds for its own shortcomings...will, like a muscle, can be fatigued....immediately after students engage in a task that requires them to control their impulses they show lapses in a subsequent task that also requires an exercise of willpower...Baumesiter tagged the effect "ego depletion, using Freud's sense of "ego" as the mental entity that controls the passions.

So wow, scientists have dissected and are understanding the physiology of willpower which has been identified as a key component to a satisfying life.  And there are exercises we can do to build up our willpower! - exercises like tidiness and good posture.  And then, when you've exhausted your supply of willpower and you're experiencing "ego depletion" - when you are most vulnerable to chucking your discipline, if you eat a little something sugary, the glucose resets your willpower! Now that's counter-intuitive!  To keep yourself from eating a pie, eat a cookie!   Funny that after reading the article, I clicked through to Amazon and ordered the book, even though I had made a commitment to myself to NOT buy books but get them from the library to save money!   No willpower there! I should have had some fudge.

Today, I am making the monster list of all the yucky stuff I need to accomplish and applying discipline to knock the items down, one at a time.   I am not going to reward myself with personal pleasures until I've put in my time.   I am not going to settle into a luscious conversation with a dear friend during working hours.  I am going to exercise some willpower muscle and have something good to show for my day.   If I can go to bed tonight having had the right combination of obligation fulfillment and inspiration, I will call it a perfect day. Well perfect may be overstating the day's poential - nothing is perfect since he left -  but satisfying, how's that?

After we broke up, I gave a lot of thought to the idea of perfection and I wrote him a letter about the subject. In it, I described how I had nervously tried to be perfect for him, to control all the variables so that he would experience me and our relationship as absolutely perfect and of course, never leave me.  It didn't work as you know - he left despite my efforts and I realized the shortcomings of the whole perfect thing.  I wrote:

I am going to work hard to correct this.  I don’t want my next relationship to be built on a house of cards that can’t withstand adversity.   I need to truly believe in my own worthiness to be loved – that someone can love me in my entirety - weaknesses as well as strengths -  that I don’t have to make everything pretty, all the time.   I need to take it slower and be someone’s friend first and then when that relationship has passed the test of time, offer more of myself in a real and genuine and secure way, knowing it won’t all vanish at the first hint of trouble.

This whole perfect thing, wanting everything to be ideal is a destroyer of happiness.   It’s fake, it’s unsustainable, and it is a recipe for disappointment.   It’s chasing something we will never get our hands on.    Real relationships, I think I’ve realized, are a mixed bag, they are not low maintenance, they are not always rewarding, often frustrating, but they are real and sturdy.

And they aren't perfect!

Today's challenge is to mull over the dual concepts of perfection and willpower.  Is perfect a dirty word or is it something to strive for, like I'm doing today in scripting for myself an ideal day full of productivity and fun? (as long as I'm aware my efforts will invariably fall short and I don't punish myself for it)  And is the magic ingredient willpower?  Perfection. Willpower.  If you are like me you are attracted to these words like a moth in love with a flame - but there is a light and dark side to these two words.  I suspect we should nervously embrace the ideals of perfection and willpower, use them for striving, but that we should also have a healthy respect for the fact that, taken to extremes, they can be happiness destroyers.  

Should we all buy that book, Willpower: Rediscovering the Gratest Human Strength?  Here is the link to the article and the book:

NY Times Article - The Sugary Secret of Self-Control

Amazon - Willpower:Rediscovering the Greatest Human Strength by Roy F. Baumeister and John Tierney

Peace,

Sarah

Picture is an unflattering picture of me (hair up and a mess, no makeup) with a parrot named Rhuna (sp?) on my head.  I'm fighting my urge to NOT put this picture here because it's not perfect - I don't look perfectly beautiful with my usual sexy curled hair and perfect makeup.  But this is me much of the time...the unvarnished Sarah and I should embrace this less polished "me" as perfect too.  I am having fun.  

Rhuna belongs to friends Pat and Peter and I adore her.  I think I need a parrot.

Mise En Place/Big Sky

Broken-hearted, Broken down, It's Called a Break-up Because It's Broken, but also Broken Open (How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow) - the name of an important book by Elizabeth Lesser that I read immediately after the breakup with Patrick.  Today is a big sky day.  If I have time I'll take my camera to the lakefront and get a picture of the towering clouds.  There is something energizing about a big sky day  - do you feel it too?  When the sky looks so huge, it should make you feel small and insignificant, but for me it has the opposite effect.  It does make me feel small but it also humbles me, makes me realize I'm not the center of the universe.  The French have an expression, "mise en place" which translates to "everything in its place".  On days like today, I feel like I am an ingredient in a professional kitchen.  I am just where I should be, doing just what I should be doing. Mise en place.

The last time I euphorically experienced a big sky day, I was driving back from Wisconsin.  My older cousin, Judy, had invited me to spend a weekend with her in her summer cottage near the Wisconsin Dells.   She loves it up there and spends the better part of every summer enjoying the country.   I knew it would be humble but I like simple so I looked forward to meaningful one-on-one time with her in a bucolic setting.  When I got there, I knew I was in trouble.  She had a small trailer surrounded on four sides by corn fields (one skinny access road through the fields).  It was sweltering hot and the windows in the trailer were sealed shut and there was no A/C or ventilation. Her carpets were ripe with the smell of incontinent dogs and she had almost no food in the refrigerator, nor did she ever leave the premises.  I knew I wouldn't survive for three days so I did something horrible.   I staged a series of calls to myself describing how my daughter was having wild parties in the house complete with visits from the police.   I told Judy I had to hightail it back to Chicago before she did any more damage.  Yes I felt awful for the lie, but when I drove back, the sky was huge and I was free.  I vowed never to let myself get like Judy - 400+ pounds, diabetic, barely able to move, living with just her memories of happier days gone by.   I was healthy, alive, making heroic progress in resurrecting my life, and I was tooling home with great music in the car and a huge sky full of possibilities in front of me.  It was an incredibly happy ride -  I need to never forget that cautionary tale.  I have since lost touch with that side of the family - the Frisbies - an incredible story (for another day)  that most of you know.

So - Broken Open.  I earmarked one especially meaningful section.  I will share it with you:

The philopher William James wrote that there are two kinds of people in this world - the Once-Born and the Twice-Born.  Once-Born people do not stray from the familiar territory of who they think they are and what they think is expected of them.  If fate pushes them to the edge of Dante's famous dark woods - "where the straight way is lost" - they turn back.  They don't want to learn something new from Life's darker lessons.  They stay with what seems safe, and what is acceptable to their family and society.  They stick to what they already know but don't necessarily want.  Once-Born people may go through life and never even know what lies beyond the woods - or that there are woods at all.


Perhaps a Once-Born person awakens one morning and feels the beckoning finger of fate loosening disturbing questions:  "Is this all there is to life?  Will I always feel the same?  Do I not have some purpose to fulfill, some greater kindness to give, some inner freedom to taste?"  And then he gets out of bed and dresses for work, and he doesn't attend to the soul's questions. The next morning and all the next mornings he lives as if the soul was a figment of a flighty imagination.  This inattention makes him confused, or numb or sad, or angry.


A Twice-Born person pays attention when the soul pokes its head through the clouds of a half-lived life.  Whether through choice or calamity, the Twice-Born person goes into the woods, loses the straight way, makes mistakes, suffers loss, and confronts that which needs to change within himself in order to live a more genuine and radiant life....Twice-Born people use the difficult changes in their outer lives to make the harder changes within...they harness adversity for awakening.  ....I also know that every single person in this whole wide world is offered - over and over - the chance to take the voyage from Once-Born to Twice Born wisdom.

The challenge today is to appreciate the big sky and be inspired by it.  Whether you see the clouds as manifestations of a loving God, or whether you simply feel "mise en place", like a brushstroke on an incredible painting, feel something when you look at the sky today.  And if you are at a crossroads, wondering, "Is this all there is to life?", rejoice that you have enough self awareness to even ask the question.  The next step, as Elizabeth Lesser would tell us, is not so easy.  It's the hard work to become Broken Open.

Peace,
Sarah

Nexus/A Fine Balance

I’m thinking about balance today and specifically the nexus point between stillness and activity, between inspiration and insanity, between animation and obsession.  There is a place to strive for, I think, where your life totters happily.  This “place” is delicate, it is elusive, it is worth striving for.

Today, a holiday with no plans which is fine.  I woke feeling sad and unmotivated but I compelled my limbs to embrace the day.  I made the bed, did some laundry, tidied up and discovered, in a drawer I never use, Patrick’s sneakers – I had given him a drawer and the shoes were the only things that were ever put in it – they were left behind when he gathered to himself all his personal effects on the last day we spent together.  Seeing the left behind shoes was a blow – I think I visibly took a step back and put my hand to my chest.  I said aloud, “Oh, Patrick…your shoes!”  And then when the tumult of that moment subsided, I dared to hold them.  I clutched them to myself and cried.  I am ashamed to say, I even smelled them, hoping for what, I’m not sure.  A moment later, I actually made myself laugh as I thought, “I could be a real weirdo and have them bronzed!  Now that would give my friends something to worry about!”

Reminds me of Tuda, one of the greatest cats who has ever graced this earth. . The human/feline boundary dissolved nightly when she settled on my chest.  Any agitation I was feeling dissipated when she stretched her length along my belly and nestled her head under my chin.  The rumbling of her purring seemed to resonate in my organs and, like an orchestra tuning up, the discordancy in me was stilled and life was in tune.  She was a magic cat.  And I joked, as she got older, and I wasn’t sure how I could live without her, that, as soon as she died, I would quickly stretch her out on my body in the same position she always assumed, and wait until rigor mortis set in.  I would then take her stiffened body to a taxidermist and have her preserved and finally I would have a purr motor and a heating pad installed in her so that I would be able to, after her death, be able to experience her still, lay her corpse on my chest, flip on the heating pad and the purring motor and things would be as they always were…kind of.  I horrified my kids with this rumination….they thought I was serious…they were relieved when she died and I simply had her cremated.

I digress this morning.  I forced myself into my healthy routine where my and Joey’s needs would be met.  To the beach we went and once I was out, I felt good.  The air is crisp today, the first jacket day of the season.  As we walked along the lakefront path, I felt connected to everyone I passed and I said to myself, “You know who I love?  People who are out in the morning taking care of themselves. .You now who I don’t love?  People in malls.”  Don’t ask me where that thought came from, but there it was.  I saw a youngish handsome man standing on the rocks, stock still, looking out to the lake.  I worried about him..he looked incredibly sad and pensive.  Later, on the walk back, he was still there, staring out to sea.  I thought to talk to him, to ask him if he was OK, and then it came to me that he would be fine. A person who could get up bright and early, who could dress himself well, who could get his sad self to the beach and be comforted by the crashing waves – would be fine.  He was allowing the healing power of the lake, the repetitive action of the waves to still his mind.  Such a better choice than, say, shooting up heroin.

It was energetic on the beach this morning – the wind whipped and the waves crashed.  The dogs kicked up their heels more than usual and flocks of geese flapped furiously in formation, making little progress against head winds.  Excitement in the air – and yet I sat still and waited and observed.  I will talk more about the magic spot I strive for where I can feel alive and yet tranquil, where I can be comforted by routine yet animated by novelty, where I can embrace the needs of the day but not be dulled by routine.  I love the idea of how a train conductor has to manage the simultaneous ascent and descent of a train as it crests a hill.  Think of it.  When a train goes up and then down a hill, it has to balance upward and downward motion at the same time!  The front of the train is braking as it comes down the hill at the same time as the rear of the train is accelerating and pushing its way up the hill.  If the conductor doesn’t manage the braking and accelerating JUST right, the train will decouple.  And that is what the nexus is all about – it’s the skill we apply to our lives to mange the simultaneous and often contradictory needs we have.  It’s the balance we strive for.

The challenge today is to think about whether your life is in balance. Are you taking care of your infrastructure at the same time as you are reaching for the stars?  Are you embracing both stillness AND cacophony?  How do you manage dual needs for alone time versus the need for human connections?  What do you do each day to still your mind and what do you do to animate it?  It’s all about balance and finding that sweet spot.

Peace,

Sarah

Stock up on Sunshine/Ratatouille

Long weekend and I'm working on filling it with good experiences.  Saturday, Weight Watchers (grrr..didn't lose) and then to the Farmer's Market to buy ingredients for ratatouille.  It would be disrespectful to the late harvest not to make a perfect ratatouille and my ratatouille is heaven.  If you've had it before you might have been underwhelmed with the dish, soupy summer vegetables stewed together, all tasting like each other - unremarkable.  The way I make ratatouille takes hours. Right now I've cubed about a dozen eggplants and tossed the cubes with kosher salt to leech any bitterness and remove excess water.  After about three hours I will rinse the salt away and press the cubes in towels to compress the air pockets and remove more water.  Then the cubes will be tossed with olive oil and herbs and roasted in the oven. Same for the zucchini. While the zucchini and eggplant are roasting, I'll sweat sweet onions and  garlic in a dutch oven to which I'll add perfect tomatoes - the kind you can only get this time of year, the kind that make your eyes roll back in your head.  Add to that, the roasted vegetables, fresh Italian parsley, thyme, basil and freshly grated lemon zest.  I'll make a huge batch and bring some to my tenant Mark who lives downstairs and I'll deliver care packages to a few friends. The memory of this ratatouille will sustain us through the winter.  It's truly remarkable.

Dating again.  This morning I had a "date" with a very nice man at Starbucks.  It was quickly clear to me that we didn't click, but it was nice to meet someone new and spend an enjoyable hour and a half.  He thought I was lovely and smart and that made me smile inside.  I think I need more of that.   And I have two more dates lined up for this week so the waves are washing over me.  I am wide open right now, ready to experience just about anyone or anything.  Having said that, I am not into casual encounters. I will have coffee with anyone, but that is as far as most of these fellows will get.  Do you think I'm rushing this?  Am I supposed to be just sitting with my loss for a while longer, suffering?  Is it cruel to be dating again when my heart isn't yet completely free and clear?  Or, do I need this to move on from him?  Will I only be in the clear when I start to care for someone else?  I wish someone wise would tell me.

Last night, a girls' night at my friend's house.   She said, "Just come over for dinner.  I won't make anything fancy."  Liar.  From the appetizer platter with roasted carrots, nuts, smoked salmon, humus and pita to the dinner itself - the most amazing eggplant parmigiana I've ever had (and that's saying a lot because my eggplant parmigiana is ambrosia), to her exquisite dining table set with fine silver and crystal with fresh flowers, she went out of her way.   There were three of us - we were so different.   My friend is affluent and happily married with grandchildren and a social calendar that would make you tired just to look at it.  The other guest was a lovely woman in her 60s who dressed like a teenager (everything tight and black, lots of skin showing, 5" wedge heels).   She was twice widowed and is looking for lightening to strike a third time - intent on finding someone special to spend the last chapter with.  And then there was me, always a bit outrageous, opinionated, unexpected.   It was a lovely evening and I like that I can spend time with people who are so different than me and yet find commonality.   We all have something to offer each other.

I talked to Nick a few minutes ago - it's seven hours ahead in Germany so it was late for him.  He and I are very close.  We met at the Chicago Lyric opera about three years ago, when he sat next to me.  We exchanged information and we've been talking for several hours a week since then.   He really should be bold and chuck everything and come to Chicago and woo me - we have phone chemistry.  I've told him as much to which he laughs and says we are just good friends.   And yet...I know he loves me in his own way which will never amount to anything other than what we are today...and that's OK.  It really is. Sigh.

Can you tell I'm wistful and listless?  I'm struggling to be interesting.  Sometimes you just have to keep putting one foot in front the other, fill your days with beauty, have a few nice conversations, enjoy the weather, drink espresso and watch the world go by....and wait.

The challenge today has to be about embracing the harvest.  This is the time of year when the bounty is hard to keep up with. Soon we will be eating stews with root vegetables and the vibrancy and freshness of summer will be a thing of memory.  We need to stock up on sunshine now - there is less than three weeks left of summer.  We need to bask in it, eat it, admire the lengthening beautiful rays of the sun and store it in our bodies to sustain us for the next six months. If anyone wants my ratatouille recipe, just ask.

Peace,
Sarah

Picture is of the vegetables I bought on Saturday.

7 Billion People to Meet/I Love You Baby

It's hard to write every day, hard to be upbeat and positive.  Today I suffered what to me feels like a huge loss.  I logged into my US Cellular voice mail and all my old voice mails had been erased - I guess I hadn't gotten to them in time to resave them.   And I guess it's a forward moving thing to let those voice mails go, but there were times when I had to hear his voice, when I would listen to all 20 or so saved messages and remember what it felt like to be loved and happy.  So I'm sorry to be weepy today, but I promised you honesty.  Was it weird for me to have saved every message he ever left me, even the little nothing ones?  Every message, except the break up ones, started the same, "Hey, beautiful girl..."  and they mostly ended the same,  "I love you baby."  I want them back.

Last night James (my wingman) and I went out to sit at the piano bar at Myron and Phil's.  My voice coach was playing and he let me sit in.  We were there with friends Janet and Kurt.  Janet and I sang really well and that made the night special.  James and I talked at length about important stuff as we sat in the car at the end of the evening.   I told him I was still struggling with the breakup, that I can't understand how someone can go from being in love with you to NOT being in love with you so quickly - it seems impossible to me.   I want to know the secret of being able to turn your emotions around so quickly.  I want a piece of that.   I think, when you are in love with someone, you can decide they are not your path, you can decide to leave them, but I don't think you can decide not to be in love with them.....that is not a head decision.  I'm thinking he "logic'ed" his way out of the relationship and that in order to move forward, his head had to battle his heart.   I choose to believe that, until he falls in love with someone else, he is still in love with me, contrary to what others say.   I know he won't act on it...it's really not even that helpful for me to entertain this thought...but it is a better explanation and it makes him more human.

What I realized, that I tried to explain to James, is that the only thing we can count on is change. That every relationship has an arc to it - nothing stays the same.   James, Liza and I are best friends these days - we meet each others needs for friendship, support and entertainment.  It will not always be this way.  James will probably move on to date and make someone new his priority, Liza could move away to be near a good school for the deaf, I will hopefully find myself in a new relationship soon.   Our friendship will change - that is the only thing that is certain.  And it will be bittersweet....these intensely close days will be lost but there will be something else in its place.

I sit on the beach and watch the waves roll in and realize they come predictably, one after the other. There is a life to the wave - it started somewhere out in the middle of the lake and rolled to shore, swelled and then finished in froth on the beach.  As it finished its wave life, other waves lined up behind it to take its place. As of this minute, there are 7.14 billion people on the earth - that is a lot of "waves".  I think the Buddhists would have us sit quietly on the beach of life and invite the 7.1 billion other souls to wash over us, to inhabit us however briefly and then move on to make a space for the next.  And that is what Kaveh means when he says people come in and out of your life, the only certain thing is that every relationship will end at some point.   Accept this and you can relax, appreciate, treasure the time and not cling when the time is up.

For me, the person just learning to love properly, this is a hard lesson.  Just when I'm getting good at forming attachments, things change - relationships change or end.  Intellectually, I appreciate that the only constant in this world is change and yet, my heart has its fingers in its ears (did you know your heart has ears?!).   I can't bear losses.  So, what to do, what to do, what should Sarah do?  Keep talking, keep writing, keep trying to talk sense to my infant heart.  Tell my little self it will be OK - that the ice cream may have melted but there is cake coming soon.  Then, soon I will be good at this whole relationship arc thing.   I will approach relationships without clingy need and expectation.  I will appreciate, from the onset, that the relationship will not be forever, that no amount of magical thinking can bind someone to me.   I will give the relationship space to be what it needs to be, to last as long as it serves us both, and when it ends, I will let the wave break over me and I will surrender to that finality -  sad, I'm sure, but looking to the horizon for the next adventure. All pretty words...good thoughts certainly, but my skeptical heart wants to throw up....it says, "Bullshit".  It still wants what it wants. It is unconvinced - it is not a Buddhist heart. I'm obviously still working on this new way of thinking.

The challenge today is to think back over your life and revisit old relationships, lovers, spouses, friends.  Think about the arc of those relationships, when the relationship was new and fresh, when it hummed along and you thought that person would be in your life always, and then when needs changed and the relationship ramped down.  You survived the loss?  There was someone new that filled the gap, right?   If you are feeling the loss of someone, I hope, by reviewing your relationship history, you can be comforted by this fact:  people HAVE come and gone from your life and you were fine.

There are so many new people yet to meet....let people go if they need to.

Peace,
Sarah

Cracked Open/Fill the Void

I'm thinking about well regulated behavoir - well more than that really, that sounds so much like school, something to be graded.  What I'm thinking about and struggling with, is how I can move through stages of my life with more grace and less trauma.  It still comes down to how we manage change and relationships.  Where I get stuck is in trying to get my needs met and then clinging too hard, like a barnacle on a mussel, when I find someone who nourishes my hungry soul.

This last week we rolled out the new Evanston Creative Writing Group.   It went from conception to reality in 24 hours. The first meetup is scheduled for 9/14 and it's full with a waiting list - wow!  It appears we have instant success without a whole lot of effort.  I thought about the current group and the leadership and what lessons could be learned.  One of the leaders is an extraordinary woman with vision, passion, humor, intelligence and a ton of wonderful qualities.  She has though, one serious flaw, in my my opinion - her hungry need for validation, recognition, adulation, etc.  She uses her leadership position to fill a void in herself.  As a result, she talks too much about herself and her achievements, forces her wishes and agendas on an unwilling audience, and is defensive and gets hurt when she perceives anything that smacks of criticism. I am struck by this and reminded of when Kaveh told me a good therapist has a solid home life where his needs are met, he takes good care of himself.   When he enters a session, he doesn't bring his own needs to the doctor/patient relationship. As far as the new writing group goes, I think the leadership team is a good one (James, Liza and me).  None of us come to the leadership role with anything other than the desire to facilitate a good writing group - we don't need adulation, kudos, strokes.  We just want some serious, creative writing time in a group setting where we can be inspired by the creativity of others - no unconscious agendas.

Before Kaveh, I was never attached to anyone but my children and I've done a spotty job with them. The idea of surrendering to someone, lowering defenses, becoming vulnerable, allowing myself to be hurt, was terrifying and disgusting to me. Why would ANYONE want to open themselves up in that way? - stupid fools! The first years of our relationship were spent in a ridiculous bug dance - I would open up, he would hurt me, I would become furious with him and insult him, I would leave him, I would be bereft, he would woo me back, I would cry and vow to break the cycle and then we would do it all over again in a few months, exactly the same. I never thought the pattern would be broken.  I remember a dream I had about being held hostage by Kaveh in a small house in the country, he went to the bathroom.  Seeing my chance to escape I jumped out the window, only to have him pull me back by my legs, furious.

Kaveh knew what he was doing, that in time I would have enough trusting history with him to try something new.  And sure enough, now, when we fight, I mentally fast forward to the part where I tell him how hurt I am and we talk. We now talk only once a week (it used to be 3X/week) - I no longer cling to him.  I know he cares deeply about me, that he will rush to me if I need his help and something new, I respect his boundaries. There was a time I thought we'd never get here. I've come so far.  Here is a piece I wrote during the dark days.

"How long will you be gone?" she had asked accusingly.

"Eighteen days."

"That's irresponsible.  You can't leave for that long..you're needed," she had said.

"You'll be fine," he had said.

But she wasn't.  Each day she wilted a bit more.  Everything faded, first her smile, missing.  Her brow perpetually furrowed, her eyes, listless.  She stopped speaking - almost mute.  It was Christmas - she cared not.  He was gone and her life was on hold, an out of body experience, floating aimlessly over the fetivities, watching other people scurrying to and fro, buying gifts, parties, cocktails, singing , toasts, cozy family times.  None of it mattered.  He was gone.

Each day she bought him a gift.  He hated when she bought him gifts.  Solemnly, she wrapped each present and added it to the growing pile.  Only the best for him: Iranian caviar; civet coffee from Indonesia, harvested from the feces of civet cats who partially digested the beans and gave them an indescribably mellow flavor - $300/lb; jasmine tea in little compressed balls with a jasmine flower in the center that would burst open when he added boiling water; ginger cookies, thin as parchment made by Moravians in North Carolina; Callisson D'aix from France; salt water taffy from Atlantic City; ribbon candy filled with peanut butter from the Boston Candy Company, ironically located in upper state New York, Martha Stewart's favorite.

Eighteen gifts for him - he would love them all and hate that she bought them.  She wasn't well.  Gift giving was an act of desperation, something she did when she was inseure and angry, as if to say, "I dare you to leave me!"

He returned.  He opened.  He sighed at the sheer volume.  

"Next year if you don't want eighteen presents from me, don't leave me for eighteen fucking days!" she said fiercely.

Where I'm going with this post is thinking about where I've come from and where I'm going emotionally. Not having what other people get early in life, healthy attachment and role models for how a person can weather change gracefully and intact, I need to figure much of this out now.  I'm starting to suspect other people have been gifted with some deep inner strength that was breathed and kissed into them early early in their lives - it lives inside them, ready to be drawn upon when needed.  And I'm starting to appreciate that, what was once a huge empty space inside me, has begun to be filled in recent years.  Once I stopped hiding and protecting the void, people came forth with offerings to fill it, they saw the need and were drawn to it.   

The challenge today is to consider whether or not there is a gaping hole in your heart.  If you have had a "normal" life you will probably decide you are lucky - you got what you needed as a child, you have a solid core - you are not a hollow chocolate bunny like some of us.   If you are a hollow bunny, are you ready to let someone like Kaveh crack you open?  Can you surrender to being a needy mess for a while and asking for help?

Peace,

Sarah

Accomplishment/Enumerate Your Successes

Today is Thursday, OK I lied, it’s actually Wednesday but I’m writing this blog entry a day early and saving it because I’ve been finding it work distracting to write during the day.  I’m having a hard time focusing these days and that has to change.

My mantra these days, what’s keeping me going when I, for instance, wake at 5:45 and just want to roll over, is “Do Hard Things”.  It’s as simple as that – Do Hard Things.   It got me to thinking about hard things I’ve done in my life, so I’m making a David Letterman list of the top 10, organized like Letterman would do, from easiest to hardest 

10.       Private Part Waxing – stop laughing!  This really was hard.  The first time it’s probably about the most embarrassing thing you will ever do.   I think I sweated this for days before I screwed up the nerve to do it!   And of course, there is the pain.

9.         Deciding it was OK to put my kid in all day nursery school when she was three.  I fretted over the choice of full or half day, worrying that she would be emotionally scarred.  My husband pointed out gently that it was probably less scarring for her to be in school than with me all day!  Ouch!

8.         Deciding to go to college in the Midwest.  I grew up on Cape Cod so it was odd to swim against the tide and “emigrate” to the Midwest for a secondary education.  But really in retrospect it was an easy choice.  My East Coast option was U Mass in a scary part of Boston – I had planned to pack a gun.

7.         Getting married the first time to a Grosse Pointe Michigan upper crust kind of a guy.   My sister told me recently that I had innocently asked her, as I pinned up her matron-of-honor dress, “Do you think it’s OK if I marry for money and respectability?”  Ouch, again.

6.         Getting married the second time when I wasn’t in love - just wanted kids.  It was a biological clock thing.

5.         Moving to Chicago….left the upper crust guy and moved here with no friends, having never seen the apartment I rented, to a huge job where I had just been promoted from a secretary to a professional.  Picture me with three cats winding around my feet in a little Ford Escort with a huge doll house in the back seat.  Freaky, scary.

4.         Scat singing.   I signed up for Spider’s class at the Bloom School of Jazz and was late for the first session because it is hard to find (you enter an unmarked door that you get to by way of an alley).   Upon arriving, the fellow classmates were up on stage scatting and Spider said to join them.   I had only two options:  curl up in the corner with my thumb in my mouth or try and scat.  I scatted.

3.         Singing Cabaret and Jazz in public.   I still get butterflies

2.         Taking on my youngest daughter’s health problems and trying to be a good mother to her.  Doing everything the professionals told me to do and knowing that much of her recovery was not within my control.  Learning to not be in control all the time.

1.         Psychotherapy, going into the childhood swamp.

0.         My recent breakup.  My sister pointed out to me that the loss of him touched on lots of my issues regarding attachment and loss – that the feelings I’m having are much bigger than the loss of a two month relationship.  Or as Kaveh would say with his hand over his forehead, “We have SO much work to do.”

I could have gone on and on!  As it was, I cheated and went to “0”.   In my life, I’ve done a lot of hard things that took a lot of courage!  I should be (OK, I am) proud of myself.  This was a really good exercise, and I think I will expand upon this in my private journal – writing as many life accomplishments as I can think of!   Wow I sure am missing some big ones:  the huge weight loss, the intimacy work I did with a tantra teacher (so scary), starting my own business, daring to put on exercise clothes and find a personal trainer when I was so overweight, the US Cellular project which no one thought I could deliver on time (I did) – so many!

The challenge today is to make your own list of life accomplishments.   This may sound self aggrandizing but, what it just did for me was make me take stock of the good stuff.  Too often we take stock of our deficiencies and weaknesses – things we need to work on.   Here is a chance to itemize all the awesome things you have done and gain strength from that list with the thought that, if you are currently struggling to accomplish something, or if the prospect of something scary that you need to do is looming, you can feel buttressed by the fact that you are a person who has great capacities – you have risen to challenges in the past and prevailed!  

Peace,
Sarah