A Writer's Soul

The humidity is staggering today as I sit confined to my bedroom, one of the only places in our home that actually has air-conditioning.  You have been on my mind a lot, lately.  Yes, YOU.  My lovely, intelligent, sensitive, dynamic, unique blog readers, especially the ones who have stuck with me during my unplanned, unannounced, fade-into-the-ethers blog hiatus.  I love you for sending me private notes, for continuing to check in on my blog, for knowing what I mean when I discuss my "Angel Daughters" in other places on social media.  I adore you for cajoling me, for gently poking at me, and for not forgetting about me.  I am not exactly sure why, but something shut down inside of me about a year ago.  I began to seriously lose/doubt my writing voice and it started to  frighten me…A lot.  I believe that I was born with a "writer's soul" meaning that it feels very natural for me to paint my life in words and for most of my twenties and thirties, I kept that portion of my soul buried deep within my life of domesticated, wedded, maternal, Orange County lifestyle bliss.  I put everything, and I mean everything, into raising my Angel daughters and maintaining a lovely marriage, family and home, but there was definitely a price to be paid for all of that loveliness because when the roles began to shift and I was not needed as much, I did not have a place to turn my attentions to.  I am not at all saying that I would choose a different path if I could go back to those decades when being a wife and mother was more than enough.  I am not even saying that in retrospect, I would have done very much differently because the product of all that I put in is a very successful husband who still loves me deeply after almost thirty years of marriage as much as I do him, and four incredible daughters who really are angels in so many ways.  But, the thing about being in my early(very early) fifties now, is that I do have the luxury of hindsight and reexamination and reconsideration which is forcing me to take inventory as to what worked and what did not work so well.  And one of the things that might not have worked quite so well for me is what I gave up as an individual and as a soul on a singular journey alongside a tribe of other souls whom I adore with all my heart.  It really is not so much about what I gave up because what I gave up in some areas, I gained in other areas tenfold.  It is much more about the things that I did not do for myself.  I allowed myself to get lost in the mix of the lives that surrounded mine(and this includes those outside of my immediate family) in a way that caused me to forget who I am, who I was before I became a devoted wife and mother.  I immersed myself so deeply, so fervently into who I always knew that I wanted to be, that I lost track of my own spirit and the things that called out to me as a singular person.  I lost hold of those other things that define who we are and what we should explore in order to still remain relevant to ourselves.  I completely ignored my writer's soul when I should have taken the time to nurture that part of myself.  I dismissed my own needs as a separate entity when there was someone or something else that seemed more worthy(or more needy) of my time and attention.  I allowed the voices of those around me to drown out that of my own.  I allowed myself to wilt as they blossomed.  None of this was intentional on anybody's part.  It just happened.  I am not placing the blame for this on anyone, including myself.  Self-blame would only continue the pattern and that is something that I do not wish to continue.  I will acknowledge the fact that I became who I am, who I was, because I did not have a proper role model.  My own mother would tell you that she was a "stay-at-home" mother meaning that she stayed at home when my brother and I were in school, and then mysteriously disappeared on the days when we were actually at home.  She would flit around with her friends going shopping or to lunch, never doing anything much of substance.  Or she would send us to camp during the summers, much to my protest…Anything to get us "out of her hair".  It felt like outright rejection to me and although I cannot speak for my brother, I do believe that the effect was even more profound for him than it was for me.  Even my father, who did take the time to show me affection and attention when he was around, often made me feel insignificant by spending so much time away from our family by going on "business trips" and also by pursuing women outside of his marriage to my mother.  He was a very strong father figure but he was(is) also extremely expert at compartmentalizing the different aspects of his life which is something that I realized and understood at an unusually young age.  My earliest memory of this was when I was around eight years old and my dad would bring my brother and I into his office once in a while.  He had a lovely secretary named Jennifer who I was also particularly smitten with.  She was young and beautiful and smiled at my brother and I a whole lot when we would go in to visit.  And even though she was seemingly wonderful, I would get a very strange sensation in the pit of my stomach when she would greet us, for I somehow knew that it wasn't just the fact that my brother and I were exceptionally adorable children that caused her to be so Popsicle-sweet.  She was trying to impress my father.  And as I look back now through much older and wiser eyes, I understand that Jennifer's focus was on my dad and not what pinchable cheeks my little brother had.   I liked her and I felt abject contempt for her all at the same time.  It is sad that an eight year old child was placed in a position that caused so much ambivalence at such an early age.  It is sad that my parental role models taught me more about how I would behave as an adult not through their positive behaviors, but through the selfish behaviors that I would most adamantly try to avoid as an adult, wife and mother.  I became just about everything that my parents, most especially my mother, were not.  Extensibly, I worked very hard to encompass the qualities that my parents lacked the most, so that I would be a good wife, mother, daughter, granddaughter, sister, aunt and friend.  I would include my daughters in my social activities.  I would spend summers participating in outings along with my children.  I would be present and not just pretend that I was.  These were the most mindful years of my life.  And yet, like my parents who successfully failed both my brother and me, I ended up failing someone very important too.  Myself.

I am entering my fifty-third year of life as of about two weeks ago.  Even at fifty-two years old, I know that I still have so many lessons to learn, only during this second half of my life(give or take a few) I believe that the lessons will be meant to be more about fine-tuning myself.  My parents are getting not just older, but old, and with their progressing years they are becoming more like abhorrent teenagers who are definitely not as cute as they used to be.  They are teaching me to be much more self-protective and much, much more forgiving…to myself.  I can no longer languish in the self-serving nature of the expectations that they have set for me without also allowing myself to expect a certain level of respect and honor for me, their only child.  I am, I have been, and I will continue to be a good daughter, step-daughter, wife, mother, daughter-in-law, friend, etc. as long as there is the balance of reciprocation in these relationships.  I am not even requiring that the reciprocation be equal, just present.  There will be a lot for me to muddle through as I decide where, when and how the boundaries will establish and reestablish themselves, time and time again.  And if someone wants to be exceedingly angry with me for no valid or apparent reason I will no longer beg for their forgiveness.  I will only forgive myself for not being the person that they would like to try to make me into.  I will float above the guilt that I used to drown in.  I will let them do them, and I will do me.

I will say it here as it will force me to be much more accountable from now on out.  I am going back to exploring my writer's soul.  Writing brings me clarity and balance and peace.  Seeing my own words reflected back at me on a page allows me to feel validated in a way that nothing else does.  It makes me feel heard and uninterrupted.  I cannot be cut short by spasmodic breaks in my train of thought when I write.  And because I am also a good listener, certain people cannot resist the temptation to take advantage of the spotlight that I seem to provide when they inadvertently interrupt what I might be saying out loud.  Writing allows me to be heard without constant fits and starts that cause me to give up trying.  One of my goals is to write a book.  In order to accomplish this, I will have to honor the part of myself that is a writer.  I will need to become more authentic about how I present my own story and if there are certain people who are a part of my story who might not like or appreciate what I have to write about them, then that will have to become a part of their life-lesson, no longer mine.  Maybe it would have done them some good to have behaved better, kinder, more thoughtfully, or more respectfully.  My story is about me, not about them.  We are all adults here.

*If anyone has any suggestions about how to get started in a regular writing routine, please do share them with me!  I would love some feedback about this as a fledgling writer whose wings are still quite wet!

And now, a few photos of the Four Angel's Momma family to catch everyone up a bit!  I promise more in the near future.  I hope that everyone is well!

So happy together. 

Angel Daughter Number Three and my beloved Angel Husband, Mark.

Angel Daughter Number Two and her sweet boyfriend, Justin.  AD4 is holding their puppy Layla Rose.

Angel Daughter Number One enjoying her 27th Birthday in June!

Angel Daughter Number Four is still dancing her heart out!

In Spite of it All

I think that my last post might have left the impression that I am in a bad place which could not be much farther from the truth of my life.  I might have been too close to the actual moment when I wrote that particular blog post, but the inner turmoil that accompanied the experience lasted for a fairly short time, most especially after I decided to post what I wrote instead of hiding it away someplace which is what I have done in the past.  My mother is who she is and I am who I am.  I accepted this a very long time ago.  I try not to fight the facts.  I try to get along with her except when I just can't.  And I try very hard not to burden myself with guilty feelings that are mostly invalid.  My relationship with my mother is a constant work in progress and I know that if I do not figure it out during this lifetime, I will most certainly have to deal with it again at some other time in some other place and that is something that I just cannot put myself through if at all avoidable.  I have also come to the conclusion that it does not help my body to heal when I try to shove the emotions that my mother often elicits in me back down into my gut because they almost certainly rise back up to my heart after a period of time and this is when I seem to become depressed for no apparent reason.  Then I must dig and dig until I unearth the issue that is really bothering me when acknowledging it right away might have actually made things so much less complicated.  And complicated it will always be.  If it's not one thing, it's your mother...

My life is really good.  I have been forced to face some pretty tough stuff this time around, but really, who hasn't?  We all have our own stuff, some of it harder than the rest, but it is ours to learn from.  If we can accept the lessons, if we can notice when the same issues seem to reappear, if we can absorb the knowledge in spite of the frustration and the pain, then, and only then, do I believe that we get to move on. I want to move on.  I want to grow and transform and evolve.  I try to pay attention so that I can do this.  When the same lesson seems to reappear in varying forms, over and over again, I believe that there is more to be learned from it.  I do not say to myself, "Oh no, not again."  That would be futile and quite a waste of time.(Albeit, quite tempting!)  I do often wonder, "Why this time?" and then I try to figure out another piece of the equation.  I also know that I cannot change my mother.  I  know that the likelihood of my teaching her anything carries fairly dismal odds.  And sometimes I have to think that maybe this is more about my mother, at this point, than it is about myself.  Maybe I have gotten some of it.  Maybe she has not.  When we are placed in certain relationships throughout our lives, especially one like the parent/child relationship which is one of the closest physical bonds that there is, the job is both to teach and to learn. Lord knows how much my own four daughters have already taught me over the course of the past twenty-five years.  If these same lessons keep appearing and reappearing with my own mother, maybe it is because at seventy-one years old, she still has something very important to learn and I am just the teacher.  For now, I am at peace.  It is very easy for me to love my mother from afar.  Mother's Day is coming up which will, once again, open up all sorts of windows and doors and cracks in my walls but I am allowing myself a breather.  I check in with her by text a couple of times a week which helps to alleviate any sense of obligation on my part.  Mark writes out and mails her check at the end of every month.  I am not dwelling.  I am not beating myself up.  I am not allowing this to eat away at me from the inside out.(Thank you, dear Angella, for bringing to light the cat eating my turtle's leg meaning from my dream.  It makes so much sense to me now!)  I am enjoying my husband and our girls and my father which is far more important to me than the parts of my life that have not yet worked out the way that I would like for them to.

A couple of weeks ago, we went out to Palm Springs to celebrate my dad's seventy-fourth birthday.  I am glad that he is not seventy-three anymore.  My grandfather died when he was seventy-three and for some reason, my father was burdened by the thought that he would pass away at that age, as well.  He obviously had a major scare not too long ago, but he is still here.  We are all more than grateful for that.  I know that I can no longer pretend that my dad is always going to be here, but at least I know that he is here with us for now.  That is something worth celebrating.

Even though he still bites...Just cannot help himself!

Angel Daughter Number Three and Angel Daughter Number Four took the opportunity to have an impromptu dance with their grandfather in the middle of the bowling alley.  It's how they roll, and face it, the man loves to be surrounded by beautiful women.

Angel Daughter Number One is such a gorgeous young woman now.  She brought her boyfriend Matt out to Palm Springs to celebrate with us.  We really like him.  He is a very bright young man who comes from a lovely family.  He is working on his doctorate right now so the next year is going to be pretty hellish for him but if they survive this year together, who knows what might happen:)  Matt has a younger brother, Zach, who may or may not be dating AD3 right now!  They met at Mathew's family seder which we attended, and they took a liking to one another right away.  It's only too bad that there aren't two more brothers in their family.  I'm just saying...

We had dinner at Arnold Palmer's restaurant in Palm Springs.  Lots of golf memorabilia and good food.  No Arnold, though.

My husband is my rock and my touchstone.  He keeps me grounded.  He knows when I need to be left alone and when I need to be spoiled a little bit.  He makes me breakfast in bed almost everyday of the week.(oatmeal and orange juice with my vitamins on the side)  I guess after thirty-three years together, we know each other pretty well.  Sometimes he worries about wrinkles and thinning hair(his, not mine), but I really do not mind one bit.  I think he is the most handsome guy alive and I've met Rob Lowe up close and in person;)  I would still go home with my man every single time.  My life is good, not perfect, but good.  And that is exactly how I like it.

Second Chances

My dad and I

Can I write candidly about this without completely hurting someone's feelings?  The heart can be a very delicate organ at times like these.  I am not sure that I can but I will try to anyway.  It is, after all, as much of a part of my story as anyone else's.  As I sat there staring down at the hands that had just held my father's temporarily non-beating heart, all I could think about was second chances.  Second..thump-thump..chances.  Second..thump-thump..chances.  Second..thump-thump..chances.  The heart surgeon's words were little more than rubbery sounding background noises as my own heart beat wildly against the words "second chances" and my eyes focused on those hands.  Something tells me that I could pick that doctor out of a lineup based solely upon the appearance of his long, lean fingers.  His gold wedding band slightly embedded in the skin of his ring finger, his short well-manicured nails.  But his face, probably not his face.  I was not paying any attention to his face or even his words, for that matter.  It was his hands that captured my full attention and all I was capable of doing in that moment was memorizing them, not necessarily on purpose, but because they had held something that I was born out of, something that has held me since the moment I was even considered.  My father's heart newly quadruply bypassed and cleared of as much plaque as humanly possible and then placed gingerly back inside of his chest to hopefully, prayerfully beat for another day.  Second chances.

Almost two weeks ago, my dad suffered a "minor" heart attack.  A heart attack, ironically, that ended up saving his life because when the doctors performed an angiogram they discovered that my father needed to have quadruple bypass surgery in order for his heart to continue pumping.  At first, I was numb, and then I was scared to death that I might lose him but finally, I prayed.  I pleaded, I bargained, I rationalized, I cajoled, I bartered until finally, something quieted the voice inside of my busy, whirling mind demanding that I stop.  And when I stopped, when I took a breath, when I listened, I heard a voice, presumably what I immediately assumed was The voice of God and that voice calmly yet firmly said, "If I wanted to take him now, Debra, he would no longer be here."  It was in that moment that I knew that my dad was being given a second chance.  It was then that I began to believe that he would make it through the very difficult surgery and recovery.  But it was also then that I understood that beyond all of that, there would be no guarantees.  It might not have been my father's time but a second chance will definitely require some significant lifestyle changes.  One of his doctors straight out told me that if my father does not change his ways, he will die.  I appreciate people who do not skirt around the truth.  I am a sensitive soul but surprisingly tough as nails and I do not like surprises, especially since my little brother dropped dead on us only four short years ago without any warning.

Here is where things get somewhat dicey.  My father was released from the hospital yesterday and although he is regaining his physical strength daily, he still will not speak to anyone on the telephone.  This includes me.  I am not sure if this is a rational or an irrational decision for he is back to running his business via email but he has absolutely no desire to speak to or see anybody right now.  My step-mother texted me to tell me that my father is repeating the words, "NO VISITORS" like a mantra.(insinuating that this also includes me)  This does not surprise me because when I arrived at the ICU to spend some time with my dad the day after his surgery, there was a handwritten note next to his room number on the checkin sheet that specifically stated that "only wife and sister-in-law" were allowed to visit him.  Sister-in-law...Not wife and daughter, but wife and sister-in-law.  They did end up letting me in after speaking with my dad's nurse but I will not even venture to guess what the hell that was about.  And my step-mother, whom I have known since I was sixteen years old and who readily admits that she has been with my father for over forty years(which would have made me ten and my brother four and my father a very married man), professes to love me.  I am too exhausted to even try to muddle through the feelings of another woman who somehow believes that a close relationship between her husband and his daughter somehow diminishes a man's ability to love his wife, first and foremost.  I have lived out that story for my entire life with my own mother and frankly, it truly bores the hell out of me now.  My dad lives two hours away from me and unlike the first eight days of this episode, I cannot completely drop my own life and spend my days waiting around in a hotel room for the couple of hours that I can spend with my father each day.  Of course, immediately after his heart attack and surgery and for the days until he was placed into the transitional care unit, there was no place else on earth that I would have even considered being, but I cannot continually put my own life on hold.  So, I wait.  And pray more.  And I will email him later because I know that he will respond to that, however briefly.  And then, in a week or so, Mark and I will take the drive out to Palm Springs whether he likes it or not because truthfully, it isn't really all about him, or my step-mother, or what he says that he does not want because I am his daughter, his only child.  I know the possibility that we could have lost him was real.  I know that the possibility that we could still lose him is also real but getting a bit more remote with every passing day.  I do not know what his plans are but I have some very nagging feelings in the center of my gut about that.

This is about second chances.  This is about decisions and beliefs and choices.  He can stay after living what he has been through, or, he can go...soon.  I think I already know what God's feelings about that are.  I know what my feelings are.  Mark's feelings. All of our Angel Daughter's feelings.  I still need my father.  In my heart, I am still a small child who believes that her daddy will always be the strong, brilliant, vibrant man who has all of the answers.(well, most of them, anyway)  But I am also a woman who knows that second chances come with both responsibility and a price.  So here we stand.  No bullshit, I will stand by my father in whatever he decides.  I will not nag him, berate him, badger him or judge him.  I will only hope and continue my conversation with God because sometimes, that is the only thing that is within our power to do.

I hope that you are all well and that life is good:)  I have some catching up to do and I promise to update again very, very soon.  Thank you for checking in on us and for sticking with me.

Sailing the Seas to Alaska

Several months ago, my Angel Father Number One(as he now insists on being referred to), turned the corner to being seventy years old. It has been decades and decades since we went on a "family" vacation.(I was about thirteen years old and my was brother nine, at the time. My mother insisted on spending the afternoon in the tiny bathroom on The Maid of the Midst, instead of experiencing Niagra Falls, as to prevent her hair from getting wet. Oh, the horror.) So, when my step-mom brought up the idea of taking a family vacation, the idea sounded quite intriguing. Mark and I like to take the girls on vacation when we can. We know that it is only a very short jaunt to the time when each one of them will have lives of their own, and arranging a time when we will all be available at the same time will be increasingly more difficult. We have always prided ourselves on the idea of raising our daughters with value and respect for our family as a unit. For these reasons, and many others, we decided that a cruise to Alaska would be a nice way to create some new family memories with my dad(Excuse me, AF1) and my step-mom, Rita.

We decided on a cruise because it is a fairly easy way to travel to several different points without having to pack and then unpack, over and over again. We decided on Alaska, mostly for convenience. Mark and I had taken our Angel daughters to Anchorage, several years ago and we really enjoyed being able to experience the glaciers on land. The wildlife there was absolutely breathtaking. While taking a hike through the Anchorage wilderness, we were forced to wait and be still for over twenty minutes while a gigantic Moose grazed and grunted lazily on the footpath. There is nothing like having to remain still while allowing the rhythm of nature to take its course. It certainly puts life into a different perspective. Viewing Alaska from a cruise ship is a very incongruent and limited way to experience such a vast land of beauty. We did get off of the ship in different ports, but were only able to see what the cruise lines wanted us to see in the constrained periods of time which we were allowed. That being said, we had a very nice time spending some time together as a family.
The beginning of our trip started with a plane flight up to the dynamic city of Seattle. We were all filled with happy expectance, as we boarded the airplane for the two and a half hour flight.
Angel Daughter Number One and Angel Daughter Number Three settled into the seats across from Mark's and mine.
After about an hour, Angel Daughter Number Two and Angel Daughter Number Four fell asleep behind us. I just love the way that my children look when they are sleeping. So...Well, so angelic ;).
Once again, I took in the distinct context of observing the earth from the air. Here is one of the several volcanos which reached up beyond the vistas to greet us. Fascinating.
Descending into Seattle from the sky.
Once we arrived in Seattle and settled into the hotel for the night, AD1 was able to catch up with her beloved roommate from college. Theresa is like another Angel daughter to us. She drove four hours from Portland to see us. I am so glad that the girls got to spend some time together and that I was able to give Theresa a big hug.(She is a wonderful hugger!)
Seattle is such a diverse city. You can see the Space Needle off in the distance. If you can catch the city on a clear and sunny day, the mood of the city boarders on giggly. People there are so energized by the sun. Seattle is a wonderful place with a fabulous farmer's market. We had an extra day on the tail-end of our trip, so I was able to spend an afternoon enjoying all of the local splendor. I will share some photos of the farmer's market in another post.
Angel Daughters three, four and two(from left to right) arriving at the port in Seattle. It was our first journey on a such huge ship, so the girls were quite excited. Angel Daughter Number Three does not really like having her picture taken. I am not sure why, as she is such a beautiful girl, both inside and out. Hence the sourpuss...
After embarking onto the ship, we met up with Angel Father Number One and Angel Rita. We then went up to the very top floor of the boat to watch as we shipped-off to sea! We seemed to be on the side of the ship that was windward, so it took a lot of begging to get a photo of the girls as we sailed out of port. Angel Daughter Number Three had to use one hand to hold down her skirt(No Marilyn Monroe shots here), and the other to hold her sweater closed.(She gets cold!) I guess that left no hands to brush the hair from blowing into her eyes.
From the bow of the ship, I watched as we made our way out into the open ocean. The sky and sea seemed to share the same cerulean color as we embarked upon our journey. It's interesting how each day offers us the same opportunities to start out with that wonderful feeling of unbridled optimism and yet, we do not often take advantage of the tangibility that we are offered. I have to say that going on a trip, whether it be long or short, gives us the fortuity to look forward to the unexpected in a very good way. What if we took a little bit of that into each day along with us? Even the seemingly ordinary ones.

I will definitely condense certain days of our trip into shorter snippets. We spent at least a few days at sea without a lot of activity. I would say that all in all, our trip was filled with mostly good stuff(ex-boyfriend drama followed us from land that never should have) and that Angel Father Number One learned a whole lot more about his granddaughters than he thought he knew, but really did not. I suppose that is why spending time together as a family or with the closest of our friends(the ones who are like family), is such an important thing. Shouldn't we all know more about the people we love the most?

I am so glad to be back at home. And thank you for the lovely comments that you left for me in my absence. Your kind words mean so. I have missed catching up with everyone. I promise to stop by to say hello in the next few days.