The Ecstacy

Big storm on the way. I can hear the thunder already, and the bottom third of the tv screen has a red crawl - tornado watch until 10 pm.

I used to have a recurring nightmare about tornadoes.In my dreams, I would run from them, hide from them, seek shelter wherever.

But no more. I watch for this one. I face the southwest window, open myself to the storm. I know they can send shards of glass. I long to be opened, to be impaled, to be Bernini's Theresa experiencing the Ecstasy. Did she bleed? I wonder that. I imagined, if she did, it would be pure and white.

Mine would not be like St. Theresa's. Mine would be black. I imagine myself, purged of the inky black within.

I would face the fear that has plagued me. And I would be purified.

Emotions and the Sexes

Here I go again, with a question that continues to dog me. It has me so upset that I need to put it into words, just to get it out of me.

Why is it okay for men to get upset and tell us that they are having a bad day and just "deal with it". But women cannot get upset. We can't yell (because then we are told we are being a bitch). We can't cry (according to men, that's not fair). We are just supposed to be perfect and happy all the time, which, as anyone can tell you (and, in particular, any man can tell you) is impossible.

So, tell me, what exactly are we supposed to do?

Opening the Door to My Past

I thought I'd just spend a little time last night researching my past history. I kind of got a bit more involved than I expected. I couldn't believe how much information was available (and how much more I need to go through!)

I followed my father's family down to the first two people from our family who came over from Europe. It was kind of an interesting journey to watch unfold. First, I saw the information on my immediate family. Then went back a bit, and found connections to cousins, second-cousins, etc. In this area, I still had some familiarity with most of the connections, and knew some of the names - a great aunt or great uncle, who I remembered from childhood.

Then I went back further - all the way to the early 18th century. And an amazing thing happened when I tried to do a search that would take me one generation further - I found a long list of people doing the exact same thing - searching for more information on our ancestors. It was as if I had opened the door to a huge family reunion and met blood relatives I had never known existed before.

And all of us were here, searching for our roots.One of us will, eventually, go to Europe and search some more. I just wonder if it will be me.

The Empathic Civilization

I saw this video and just thought it was great!

Summer Project

Along with the planting that I hope to start soon, I have given myself a new summer project to work on, which involves researching my family genealogy in greater detail. I started this project sometime back, but have since had to close the original account (and now find I cannot access it.)

However, since the last time I worked on this, a great deal more information has been made available (thanks to the work of my sister, niece and a cousin-in-law who I have never met, and who, I am surmising, has a great deal of time on her hands! Their combined work has made me aware of additional family roots that go back to various places in Europe.

While the information has been, so far, helpful in letting me know where my family has lived, it has not yet given me insight to how they lived. Who were these people? What were their days like? Did they experience the same joys and sorrows, appreciate the beauty of nature, accept the terminal nature of their existence and still seek to learn, grow and understand?

The first summer project will give me food to fill my plate; the second, food for thought to enrich my mind.

Redemption

Hard to really tell, but this is a nest in the tree out back. I took this picture in late February, when the winter wasn't quite over. Still snowy, still cold.

I checked the tree today. I couldn't see the nest easily - the branches now had buds opening to display the first signs of leaves. The beginning of spring - warmer weather, no more snow!

Spring is the redemptive season of the year. It's the do-over. So what if we had a bitterly cold winter - it's spring! So what if we had snow up to our - well - it's spring!

A new year, a new season. We can look past the mistakes we may have made, regroup, look into ourselves, learn from all that has happened, and then grow. It's our spring!

A Dog's Life



Shep's busy day

 This is Shep, my Border Collie/Australian Shepherd mix. This was taken just before I left for work.

It's his most common place to go in the morning, once he knows I'm leaving for the day. And why shouldn't it be? Nice, comfortable down cover - soft, warm, inviting. Just the perfect place to spend the day napping.

How nice I imagine it must be to be this relaxed. No worries about money, no concerns about how the rent will be paid or if Bank of America or Citifinancial will be calling, harassing, taking away your house and money while gladly accepting payouts from the government.

But I digress. No, Shep's only concern is when he will get fed and walked and petted. Pretty nice life, isn't it?

Pay Your Taxes? These 10 Companies Didn

Pay Your Taxes? These 10 Companies Didn

Bank of America is number two on the list. Bank of America holds my first mortgage and now, my house. It makes sense, right? Not only did it make $4.4 billion in profits, got a $1 trillion dollar bailout from the federal government and and an $1.9 billion dollar tax refund from the IRS, they need to take away a house from a hardworking single mother, and then harass me about the fact that they don't feel they got enough in the deal hammered out by a realtor and lawyer - at my cost. Yes, Bank of America - that really makes sense to me. Now we really know how you feel about the middle class that supports you  - you know,  your customers.

Late Night Clarity

I find myself awake in the middle of the night nearly every night now. I wake up, generally to make that early morning trip to the bathroom, then, before I can fall asleep, some thought, a remnant of the worry fabric that is my life, floats into my brain and blankets my thoughts.

I've tried to forget about it, to push it off to the morning, but I'm often unsuccessful. So, instead, I've started to turn it over, look at it from another angle, problem solve.

I've been fairly successful at this lately. Last night, for example, I had worries about the house and my reaction to a situation. I can't do anything about the house - this is sort of out of my hands - but I can look at my reaction. Why did I turn into a "puddle of tears" (the term the new man in my life uses for when I break down and cry)?

After thinking and reviewing what happened, and how I reacted, I suddenly had this moment of clarity. I realized in that moment that this all tied into my fear of failure; if I failed at something, I wouldn't be a success. If I wasn't a success, people wouldn't like me (this is not fact; just how my mind interpreted the situation).

Not having people like me would have bothered me in the past; now I know that if they don't like me for who I am, then they're not worth my concern. And after making that connection, it wasn't long before I found the peace of mind I had searched for, and with it, some much needed rest.

Is This Real Life?

The kid in the famous YouTube video (the one where the young boy is still coming down from a dental drug high) expressed it well - "Is this real life?" I understand what he means.

I was driving down to the southern tier of New York State, rain spitting on the windshield, daring me to decide between slow wipers or moderate. I hit the middle of the state - some point where the valley opened up to display the Allegany Mountains, the fog rising up in places, reminiscent of the rain-dampened fires of so many Iroquois tribes from years past.

I wondered if I was here or back there. I wished I could command the car to hover precariously over this 19th century Romantic landscape. I wondered if I was there - or here - or anywhere, for that matter. I wondered if this was real life.

A Movie of My Life

Over the past year, I have found (through Zabasphere) that I was getting hits on my Google account from some place in California. I was hoping that someone had been reading my blog and was considering making a movie out of it (I recently realized that the hits were probably coming from those turd-suckers at Citifinancial, because Citifinancial has decided to make my life a living hell, so they really are worse than turd-suckers; but that is another story for another post that I intend to devote wholly to Citifinancial).

Anyway, considering everything that happens in my life - the house, the failed marriage, the terminal illness of my estranged husband (who is playing beat the clock to get the divorce finalized before the hospitals come after me with his bills), and the treatment I have had all along by the ass-shats at Citifinancial - well, it sounds like a great movie, doesn't it? There is even romance in there, heartbreak, too, and some happiness. Oh, and of course the lesson, that I am still trying to learn (although, I am betting, part of it is to never, ever work with Citifinancial. Ever.)

Love or Something Like It

I remember reading about, or hearing about a study of the reaction people had to the people they loved. According to the study, there was an intensification of feeling in the person that helped them to feel pain less.

Well, I don't know about feeling pain less, but I can see there is an intensity of feeling (am I really saying that? Am I really feeling this?) I have several pictures now of the person I am now seeing (yes, seeing, dammit! Not a full-blown relationship, but, well, something, someone that, as the songs say, has a hold on my heart). Anyway, I know when I look at his pictures, I , well, feel something. In fact, I keep looking. And looking.

What is wrong with me? I don't remember feeling this way before, and I have to say, it is driving me crazy. Maybe, this is what I was supposed to experience all those years, and all those times I thought I found love. Maybe this is it. Really it.

But who knows?