Why Knitting?

Have you ever been asked why you loved something or someone and found yourself at a loss for the answer? You just do, you always have, its like air, you can't imagine life before or after this love of yours. Such is the case when I think about knitting, or quilting for that matter.

I believe all art has a transformative quality, to be able to participate in the act of creation is divine and yet my experiences with fiber arts are even more remarkable. Knitters, crocheters and quilters have a long tradition of community. Their art is taught and shared and grown in groups and a part of the shared experience of their lives. When you join a knitting group or a quilt guild you don't just share your problems with purling you share your heartaches and your joys. Your scarves grow as your children and grandchildren grow, you weather death and divorce and plan weddings and bar mitzvahs. Every sweater and quilt is filled with parts of you and the women you love. It has a history before it is even worn.

Knitting is magical. A wad of fiber becomes yarn, which one stitch at a time transforms into an object of beauty (at least in the eye of the knitter) and a unique heirloom is created. There is satisfaction in the making and completion, personal growth within a community and ultimately a product that will give comfort to whomever receives it. Knitting is such a powerful way to invest ourselves in the human experience; to both create and commune. Why do I love knitting? It is the only magic I have ever really known.

All I Really Want............

Ever remember something that hasn't entered your mind since what seems like forever? I had that experience very recently.

The psychologist in me is always fascinated by the nature/nurture phenomenon. How much of who we are is "hard-wired" in our DNA and how much is the sum total of our experiences? And better yet, how do we know? This is mostly a curiosity for me and not a real research problem I intend to solve, mostly because I suspect there will never be an answer and part of me likes the mystery that such a quandary creates. Anyway..............

Since I've sort of rebooted my life lately and find myself in the process of reinventing my life I've found myself pulling back and really asking, "what do I want?" Recently I was trying to imagine my ideal life without allowing my logical side to interrupt and the most vivid memory washed over me.

When I was in high school one of my teachers, probably an English teacher, although I don't exactly remember, asked us to write an essay about our ideal life. What it would look and feel like, what a "typical day" would be like. I can remember nearly every thought, image and feeling from that essay. What is remarkable is how similar my desires are now. The place I imagined, the life I was living, the way I was spending my time. All are things I still want today (with a few additions and modifications.) Remarkable really.

I suspect that I "forgot" this little dream because I decided at some point that is wasn't realistic or responsible. I'm sure if I had remembered it or stumbled across the actual essay I would have chalked it up to youthful idealism and dismissed it offhand, but I really was on to something. I knew what would make me happy, what would be the truest expression of myself. I knew it better as a kid than I seem to have as an adult. Amazing really. At some point I started trying to live a logical, orderly life that fit someone else's mold. I never even let myself want anything for myself somehow assuming my needs would get met in the end, or maybe disregarding them altogether. Maybe its time to listen to the inner teenager (excluding fashion choices) and pursue a life less ordinary?

On Beauty

In my now long litany of unimpressive jobs I have transferred to the cosmetics department at the store where I've been working. For those who know me that is a source of amusement because until recently I rarely wore makeup. The primary reason for my lack of makeup has always been that I'd rather sleep ten minutes more in the morning and cosmetics lose out as a priority. That said, I now wear makeup daily. Apparently a large number of women do.

My actual position is selling fragrances, but I help out with the cosmetics as well, and I have plenty of opportunity to watch the other salespeople with their customers. The thing that is interesting to me about the buying behavior of the cosmetics shopper is that they often come in with a problem to solve, rather than a item they want or need. When people buy sweaters they say, "I want a blue sweater to go with these pants." When women walk up to the cosmetics counter they say, "I have these deep wrinkles on my face, do you have something that will fix that?"

I'm not the first to notice this, Eve Ensler's The Body Project is a play all about this very concept. That women somehow view our bodies as a project, a problem to solve. And as much as I know this, to see it every day is heartbreaking. Most of these women are already beautiful as they are. Just yesterday a woman bought $400 worth of wrinkle creams and as she was checking out she told me she was 60. She didn't look a day over 40. Now maybe that is a testament to the effectiveness of the products, but I can't imagine a man fighting nature to the tune of $400 on a regular basis.

Of course as I drove home wondering how women get suckered into this quest for youth and beauty I had to think of myself. I'm pretty fortunate to be in reasonably good health and good shape. Yet I focus on tiny imperfections that I see through a similarly distorted lens. If I had the money would I blow large amounts on things to fix my tiny imperfections? I hate to admit that I might. The sad truth is that the beauty we see in people seldom has anything to do with their appearance. I've known some physically gorgeous women who were so ugly as people that I never even thought of them as pretty. And I've known some odd looking people who were so spectacularly beautiful in their hearts, minds and actions that I didn't even notice their odd physical appearance anymore. I guess at the end of the day a beautiful soul is much harder to package and sell.

It's About Forgiveness

To understand is to forgive, even oneself.
Alexander Chase

Somehow we all know, whether it be through popular wisdom, religion, or therapy that forgiveness is essential to healing and growth. We know in our heads when we need to forgive, but somehow it’s complicated to get our hearts to comply. I knew the only way to “move on” with my life was to forgive my ex-husband and ex-boyfriend for whatever hurts and wounds they may have caused. I knew I needed to forgive myself for my failings in those relationships, but the problem was in the execution.

I wish I could say there is a magic formula, but I know there isn’t. A great deal of time and contemplation and soul searching may or may not have led to my breakthrough, but it happened. Recently I was reading one of the many books I’ve read in my attempts at understanding the mess and hopefully learning from those failures to prevent future screw-ups. I realized how hard it is for me to receive love, which in turn hurts those who try to love me. It’s an ugly thing to know about yourself and yet to see it for what it really is and where it comes from sheds so much light into all the shadows. Somehow I was finally ready to forgive myself for my part in the demise of my relationships and it all came full circle.

With the simple act of forgiving myself I was finally able to fully forgive them and my heart was filled with a renewed and yet also new love for them. I finally understood, the questions were answered and I found peace. I stumbled across a photograph of my ex-husband and I only felt joy when I saw his face, then, much to my surprise, my ex-boyfriend called and again I felt but one emotion, pure and simple joy. I never dreamed I could feel this way. It was almost magical. Even more inexplicably it all combined in such a way that my love for my current partner grew within me as well.

Forgiveness is the final form of love.
Reinhold Niebuhr

So, at the end of the day understanding my failed relationships came in the form of forgiveness and included the unexpected surprise of peace, love and joy. I guess Don Henley said it best:

I’ve been trying to get down
To the heart of the matter
But my will gets weak
And my thought seem to scatter
But I think it’s about forgiveness.
Even if, even if—you don’t love me anymore.

The Unexpected

There are all kinds a clichés about looking for something forever only to find it right in front of you. I guess that’s what seems to be happening for me. I moved to Ohio practically kicking and screaming, being here felt like the ultimate defeat: a life sentence to a purgatory of sweatshirts, fried food and corn hole (a game I still fully do not comprehend the joys of,) in Marion, Ohio. I would NEVER find a rewarding job or an interesting partner (at least one with a college education and all of his teeth.) But, as is often the case in my life, I was wrong.

Sure, I'm bankrupt and divorced, been fired from one job and working and equally unrewarding, albeit entertaining, one in the lingerie department of a small department store. BUT, I've been interviewing for the PERFECT job for me, and as disheartening as it would be if I were not to get the job, it restores my hope that I'm not doomed to an unfulfilling existence. And equally surprising, since I lost all faith in my ability to choose a partner, I've met someone pretty amazing. To my credit he isn't actually in Marion, but he lives close by in a slightly larger, but no more impressive town. I'm taken aback almost daily by his thoughtfulness, caring and concern.

I returned to Marion as beaten down by life as I have ever been and I found something truly unexpected--hope.

Fired

There are all sorts of failure--some people even get labeled as such. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would experience so many failures in my life, let alone in such close proximity to one another. In the last 12 months I have experienced the following failures: divorce, unemployment (due to layoff), foreclosure (which led to of course losing my home), another failed relationship, debilitating depression, living with my parents, bankruptcy, applying for food stamps, and last, but certainly not least, being fired. How, you may wonder, could someone be such a colossal disaster? Well, for one thing there seems to be a snowball effect with failure. My advice is to avoid any failure at all costs at the risk of multiple successive failures creeping in. I also have discovered (okay, it’s nothing new, but still….) another approach. Embrace the failure as a part of your big picture and see it for what it is.

I was fired recently from I job I hated. Or maybe more correctly, a workplace I hated. I rather enjoyed selling furniture, but I didn't enjoy my obnoxious boss and disrespectful co-workers. I kept plugging away at it and trying harder because I was so determined NOT to fail again. I knew I could do that stupid job!! At first I sold tons, I was exceeding my co-workers numbers immensely, and of course they didn't like that. They started "snaking" deals and making fun of me, it turned into some sort of junior high hazing nightmare. In truth, 2 degrees and a love for furniture and design does not a furniture salesperson make. I simply didn't know how to navigate the commissioned sales environment. Once co-worker competition and outright underhandedness factored in I lost my confidence. The result of course was terrible sales. It seems the harder I tried the less I sold. And so I was fired. At first I was devastated. I pride myself in doing things well, in being great at whatever I’m pursuing, and I’m usually rewarded for this. I understood that this was not a case where that was true. I simply wasn’t selling enough and they were in business to make money, they needed someone else to sell their furniture.

My life coach recently pointed out that firing seems to happen when you failed to leave a job when it was time to go and so if you don’t go they’ll arrange an exit for you. Like a mother bird pushing her babies out of the nest sometimes we won’t go unless we’re pushed. There was absolutely no reason for me to stay in that God forsaken job, I kept hanging on hoping to get better, not wanting to admit defeat. The truth is the real defeat would have been to stay there. Being an especially great furniture salesperson would put me no closer to where I want to be in life than I already am. My energy needed to go elsewhere. And now it can.

The afternoon of my firing I was lamenting that all of my friends, family, and even my ex-husband were taking vacations at the beach and I was stuck in Ohio landlocked and unemployed. Then it hit me—there is a beach nearby. Its not the beach, but it sufficed. The day turned into a sort of celebration of freedom. Suddenly I had a weekend off, which I hadn’t had in a long, long time. My boyfriend had come over to comfort me and we ended up having lunch with my grandparents and then spending the afternoon at the beach. In the evening we grilled out at my aunt and uncle’s house and as I drifted off to sleep that night I didn’t feel failure, I felt love.


It seems all of my recent failures are less failures and more of a nudge to hop out of the nest and see if maybe I can fly. Although the nudge isn’t fun I hope I can catch an updraft and soar to the next tree.

Knee High by the 4th of July

There are millions of metaphors for time. Measuring time, the speed at which it passes, it's infiniteness, it's meaning and so on. In Ohio there is a portion of the year that we measure time with corn. If you've never had the pleasure of driving through Ohio, then you may not be aware of what the rest of the world already knows--in Ohio we grow corn, and lots of it. I may be biased, but I have to say it is probably the best corn you'll ever sink your teeth into as well. That said, whether cognisant of it or not, Ohioans measure their summer with corn. Spring has passed when the first seedling have sprouted and school is starting when the harvest hits. It's just the natural order of things. In order for there to be a good crop it is said that the corn should be knee high by the 4th of July, and I'm happy to report that this year it is even a bit above the knee.

I'm spending a lot of time driving back and forth between this tiny town and another for the purpose of seeing someone who is becoming an increasing part of my life. The other day I was making the now familiar journey when it occurred to me that not only was the corn in good shape, but I just might be growing too. When I started making this trip the corn had barely sprouted and now it's more than halfway to harvest. And there I was measuring time in corn, I actually laughed to myself. The last time corn was my clock I was a child, but somehow the comfort of it's paradoxical slow and steadiness coupled with the surprise of seeming rapidity of it's passage was strange and familiar all at once.

In a few short days I will experience the last birthday I plan to have until 29 is an obvious and overt lie (or I'm happily married and settled into domestic life, whichever comes first) and my life feels like an Ohio summer. Part of me sees Fall right around the corner and is holding on for dear life to the waning days of summer while another part of me is looking forward to the Fall and what it might bring. There are moments when I wonder how I ended up here, literally and figuratively. I imagined facing 30 from a different vantage point. At some moments I yearn to turn back, wish I could start the season over in hopes of yielding a better crop, while at other times I wonder if the perfect crop will be just what I harvest this Fall. I meant to be somewhere else, and now I'm measuring time with corn! That said, I'm going to view it positively because after all, it's about growth and regrowth and that is what I always hope to see in my life wherever I may land.

You Can't Make this Shit Up #3: An Affair to Remember

This fun little character we shall name Trixie.

My current lackluster occupation is selling furniture, and I can't say that I'm selling tons of it these days, but recently I learned that blackmail is excellent sales technique not mentioned in most sales manuals.

A couple of weeks ago an odd couple came into the store. The woman, Trixie, appeared to be in her late 30s while her "date" appeared to be in his 60s. I spent a certain amount of mental energy trying to determine if in reality the man was her father and they had some sort of HIGHLY inappropriate relationship, or if he was her sugar daddy or whatever. The two of them spent at least 20 minutes looking at sofas and "trying them out" by snuggling, her climbing into his lap and other such nonsense all the while holding hands and grinning like idiots. They arrived at a lovely red paisley number, but I was unsuccessful at closing the deal. (A problem I'll probably need to address in another blog entry.)

A week later Trixie walks through the door with a man close to her age and four children that look remarkably like her and this gentleman. Within a few moments they sit down on the red paisley sofa. I walk up and say, "Did you decide to go ahead and get this one." Thinking to myself that maybe her family is just really screwy and the man from before was her dad or an uncle or something. Well, apparently not. She gave me an odd and uncomfortable look before turning to her husband and saying something about looking at sofas the previous week. Ultimately they decided on an olive green Pottery Barn knockoff and were hemming and hawing about whether or not to buy it. I elected to leverage what little power I held, looked her straight in the eye and said, "We're gonna write this up tonight, right?" This time I closed the deal.

Trixie and hubbie are now the proud owners of a lovely green sofa because you just can't make this shit up.

You Think You've Had a Bad Day

Ok, so I haven't had anything interesting to report lately, or at least any stories I've wanted to tell on myself. Basically I haven't been selling anything at work and I've been screwing up my personal life by overreacting and being the psycho ex-girlfriend. Fun for everyone. I've also been giving online dating a shot and finding it largly disappointing. A friendship is possibly taking a turn in another direction, but I'm not sure what is to come of all of that just yet. On the whole life is very up in the air. But, things could always be worse. Take for example one of my customers at work today. Her house was knocked off of it's foundation when a semi drove through it. On the upside, she gets to build a new house, but wow, that sucks.

Beautiful Ohio

My world was relatively small when I was growing up. Although some members of my family had ventured out, moved away and sometimes came back to visit with wares from their travels, for the most part my world was in Marion, Ohio. The trouble with that was my awareness of an outside world. Those reports from far-off lands like Florida, Maryland, and even Africa were just enough to put a restlessness in my spirit that could only be satisfied by leaving this eternally dull little world.

When I went off to college everything that I had always suspected was confirmed. There was nothing special about Ohio. When my classmates would plan their holidays at home there were always special little traditions, restaurants, parks, stores and other distinctive features of home that they longed to return to. I was always at a loss for a contribution to these conversations. I couldn’t think of things that were in my hometown that were not in any of theirs. Sure we had a silly street festival, but every town has that. Our restaurants were all chains, our parks were typical and uncreative, the stores were chains as well, and few of them to boot. The best thing that I could come up with was the Isaly Shoppe, which I couldn’t even return to because it had closed the one summer of my life that I got out of that god-forsaken town.

Now I am at my 10th address in 11 years and find myself on a dimly lit porch on Church street in Marion, Ohio. My neighbor directly across the street apparently celebrates Christmas year round, at least judging from the lit grapevine Christmas tree on the porch and the painted cut-out plywood angels on the lawn this May. My neighbor directly to the West of me actually believes that the parking space on the street directly in front of her home is HERS and no one else is allowed to park in it. In the event that an unauthorized car does find it’s way into her spot she goes door to door until she finds the owner of the vehicle and asks the unknowing offender to remove their vehicle. If one errs on the side of protest a long story about her bad knees is sure to follow.

This evening I finally realized what I never knew I’d always missed these past 11 years. I missed dilapidated barns that lean like the tower of Pisa and yet just as inexplicably never seem to collapse. Measuring time in the summer by the height of the corn, all the while realizing that once that sweet and wonderful treat is harvested school is soon around the corner. June bugs on your screen door and humming around your porch light. The smell of dew on cut grass early in the morning is somehow different here. There is always the sound of a train in the distance and traffic is a constant, yet unfrequent hush of a lone car passing your home at 30 miles an hour. Night isn’t quiet, but the sounds are different here. For one thing, children still play outside after dark. And since no one ever thought to spray for mosquitoes there are ample fireflies to chase and catch and wish upon until mothers drag their children off to bed. The buzzing of a saw indicates that a neighbor is busy making birdhouses or some other wooden handicraft in his garage while another has friends over playing cards in the kitchen and I can hear their laughter through open windows. In yet another house a toddler cries for his mother. They’ve never heard of light pollution here and so the sky is an ocean of stars that anyone can swim in or kiss beneath or ignore altogether never knowing what a privilege it is to actually see stars on a summer night. I never reveled at what was special or missed these beautiful experiences because I forgot about them entirely. I doubt I would have ever seen their beauty if I had never left, but now I can bask in the glory of beautiful Ohio as I never knew I would, or even could.

Dream a Little Dream of Me

Ok, so the purpose of this blog, the focus of my existence these days is starting over. Beginning a new and better life for myself. As exciting as that may be at times, there are numerous days where I am reminded that I haven't a flippin' clue what I'm doing here. My old life may not have been everything I'd hoped it would be, but at least I knew how to live it.

I'm at an incredible impasse. I know a great deal about where I want to go and I'm very clear on where I am, but the part that falls in between there is VERY unclear to me. I'm on the sidelines saying, "Send me in coach," but I really don't even know what the game is, I just want to win and I'm pretty sure I can. I guess that isn't altogether bad, but I sure hate flying blind here.

I spent a good portion of my afternoon in a real funk feeling trapped in this weird purgatory of confusion. I just couldn't see a way to get to where I want to be, I felt so powerless and weak. I felt what I've always felt, unable to effect change in my life, that everything is somehow outside of my control. If someone else loved me more or supported me more, or if I weren't so alone I'd be fine. How could I possibly move forward if so much in my life is unresolved? Then I realized that I was right back where I started this journey. I was helpless all over again. By letting others create priorities for me I was by default waiting for someone else to fix it. That's not what I want, it never was. Damn it!! This is MY life! I have to do something. I CAN do something. I'm not sure exactly what, but committing to doing so is much more empowering than waiting for a game plan to fall from the sky.

So I don't need someone to dream of me or for me or tell me what to do. I need my own dreams and I must find my own way to get there. Thoreau said it best:

"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined."
--Henry David Thoreau

The Dreaded Drunk Dial

drunk dial
Pronunciation: /'dr&[ng]k /'dI(-&)l
Function: verb
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English drincan; akin to Old High German trinkan to drink; Middle English dyal, from Medieval Latin dialis clock wheel revolving daily, from Latin dies day
Definition: To telephone a member of the opposite sex, with whom the person has a current or past relationship, while inebriated. ex. Jennifer drunk dialed her ex-boyfriend to tell him that she is still in love with him even though he is now married with a baby on the way.

While in college I observed many a girlfriend make the fatal error of drunk dialing, I even successfully prevented a few friends from making that fatal error. I, however, was always careful not to drink and dial. That is until recently.........

What is interesting was that at the time I didn't realize that I was drunk. I haven't been drinking much lately and apparently I have no tolerance anymore. After only 2 drinks I called an ex-boyfriend and dumped a huge emotional load in his lap before drifting off to sleep. The next morning I had a vague recollection of a phone call, but very little memory of the content of the conversation. I could only assume that I had said exactly what I had been feeling that day prior to the call. One sober call later my worst fears were confirmed.

I had said pretty much everything that had been on my heart and mind that day, which of course is something I probably wouldn't have done completely sober. Thanks to the inhibition negating powers of alcohol none of what was said was untrue, but still not the best way to have the discussion. What's odd in a way is that I probably would not have shared much at all with him and I probably should have, so in some ways the alcohol did me a favor, but oh, so painful a way to go about it. I guess at the end of the day I really needed him, I needed to talk to him and I did. Even so, from now on I'll be mindful not to drink and dial.

Tick Tock

The biological clock may be one of the cruelest jokes in nature. It seems to be able to start it's incessant ticking at will regardless of the circumstances in a person's life. Here I am single, free to do anything I want with my life. There is nothing to hold me back. I could go anywhere and do anything. I could teach in a foreign country; finally pursue an MFA; join the peace corps. What do I want? The one thing I never thought I wanted......a traditional nuclear family. When I was married there were times I felt so trapped, I felt like my life was without choices. I wanted to have the freedom to pursue a more fulfilling career, to live life more adventurously, to do anything but rot in some suburb somewhere.

I guess what the biological clock teaches us is that life is really about timing. When I was married I assumed that some day I'd feel like having kids, but until that day came along I didn't want to be pressured into it. If I had kids I wanted it to be by choice when I felt we were ready. That time just never seemed to come along. Of course that time never came along because our marriage never became what it needed to be in order to have the right kind of home for a family. Thus my biological clock was on snooze.

Much to my surprise that clock kicked in shortly after the relationship ended. The first I realized it was when I spent an evening with a neighbor who was a stay at home mom of a three year old with another one on the way. I was overcome with a feeling I couldn't understand--jealousy. It hadn't been that long ago that the thought of being a stay at home mom seemed like an oppressive sentence and now I was jealous? Before long every time I was around children or babies I would feel this longing to have a family of my own. At times it almost hurts.

And what I want is more than children. It's the whole package. I want the daddy and the mommy with the kids, the cat and the dog. I want a swing set in the backyard and trucks and dolls to trip over on the floor. I want to be tired at night from playing with my children, not staying late at the office dealing with adults who act like children. I'd rather go on a play date with my kids than a blind date with "a really nice guy." I'd rather put a three year old in time out than write up a fifty year old for throwing a tantrum. I'd rather raise good people than hire and fire them. So my saved up wishes keep coming out. I'd rather be a mom than a manager, a wife rather than a boss. It doesn't feel like submitting to the patriarchy at all. It feels like the career I never knew I always wanted. A job where I can really make a difference.

You Can't Make This Shit Up #2

Interesting character #2, I shall call her Cleveland.

Currently I'm working in commissioned sales, which is a story unto itself, but we'll save that for another day. One of the things that anyone in this environment has to learn how to do is to overcome objections. Nearly every person will say that he or she is "just looking" and it is the responsibility of the successful salesperson to overcome that objection in any number of ways. There are entire books written on the subject and the management of any retail establishment will argue that there isn't an objection that can't be overcome. Well, none of these folks met Cleveland.

So my afternoon began like any other. A customer walked through the door and I waited for her to walk in and get acclimated before I approached her. I said hello and asked how she was doing, she replied in kind. I asked her what brought her into the store today and she mentioned that her sister had ordered some end tables made by our company and she'd like to see what they looked like. Everything seemed to be moving along swimmingly. I asked her questions about the tables, even showed her a few. We found some that weren't exactly what her sister had described, but she really liked them just the same. The set had a square cocktail table with inlaid black marble and matching end tables. Perfect. Exactly what she needs.

"Would you like me to go ahead and write those up for you?"

"Oh, I'm from out of town, I was just looking really."

"Oh, where are you from?"

"Cleveland."

Since the Easter holiday is this weekend I assumed that she might be in town to visit family or something of the sort so I asked what brought her into town.

"I'm visiting a friend who is in the prison here."

I bet no one ever anticipated that objection. Needless to say I didn't close that sale. You just can't make this shit up.

Is Conventional Wisdom All That Wise?

At this juncture I really am trying to live my life with intention, to remember that at the end of the day this is MY life, and yet I keep falling prey to the pitfalls of my nature. I'm an odd paradox in countless ways, a source of amusement for many who know me. One of these paradoxes is centered around the expectations of others. I seem to approach my life decisions in such a way that I'm either doing what I believe I should do or expressly reacting against what is expected.

Here is a silly example of the way that manifests itself. I tend to be a non-conforming conformist. If a given thing is exceptionally fashionable, and everyone has it, say pea coats for example. I may really want one, not necessarily because everyone has one, but because I like it. If I were to buy the coat I would have to have one in a color that no one else has, then I am conforming, but I feel unique. Yet there are other times when I simply go along with what is expected. In the winter when wearing a dress I wear a long dress coat because fashion and etiquette dictate it and I don't give it a second thought.

Such is the case with my life. There have been countless times that I've dutifully been the "good girl," the good wife or daughter or friend. I've done what was expected because it was expected regardless of my personal thoughts or feelings. Then there are times I've insisted on my own path in opposition to expectations. What is flawed is that the benchmark is always the expectations of others instead of the path I've chosen for my own life. The result is that I have a life of everyone else's collective creation and rather than my own. If I intend to live my own life purposely the benchmark has to shift to something of my own making.

Lately I've fallen prey to the pitfalls of conventional wisdom, which we all know has it's limits. Everyone has heard that puppy love is fleeting and yet also knows couples who have been married for 50 yrs. after being high school sweethearts. We've all heard that you should never go into business with a friend and yet some of the most successful businesses were founded by friends. The truth is that conventional wisdom, like many other things is grounded in part in truth and in part in fiction and most certainly isn't universally applicable.

Expected behavior following a divorce is fraught with conventional wisdom. Most divorcees will tell you that one of the most irritating parts of the process is everyone's advice about how you should "get through it." In my case I ignored it all at first. I was going to do my own thing and disregard it all. Then when life didn't seem to be going quite as well as I'd like for it to I questioned my approach and began to listen to the advice. Before I knew what hit me I was trying to follow some of that conventional wisdom and be a "good divorcee." Surprise of all surprises, that isn't working out for me. I'm not a good divorcee. I just don't fit in that mold so I'm going to have to make my own. Maybe I could try being a good person instead.

So I think there is one piece of conventional wisdom that I will consider for the time being. I think for now I need to "follow my heart" if I'm ever going to live the life I've intended and live it fully. This is after all MY life.

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

Miracles occur naturally as expressions of love. The real miracle is the love that inspires them. In this sense everything that comes from love is a miracle.
--Marianne Williamson

Everyone has a lowest point in their life, a time when the burdens are more than we can bear. My dark time was just a few months ago. Everything that I knew my life to be was crashing in around me and I could barely tread water enough to breathe. I nearly drowned, and in part I was losing the will to stay afloat. The weight of my problems had been pulling me down for so long I was losing the strength to hang on. And at the moment when I almost gave into the tide my friends and family rescued me.

I normally refuse the help of others, I prefer to be the one offering assistance, but I was so weak I couldn't push them away. My loved ones rushed into action and nursed my heart and soul back to health while helping me restore and renew my life and my will to live. They helped me piece together what was salvageable and build a foundation for my new life to come. They saved my life and I can't imagine a greater miracle than that. Before my rescue it became difficult for me to believe in anything, especially miracles. Now I have experienced the greatest miracle of all--love. And henceforth I will strive to be grateful for every day that I spend on this earth.

You Can't Make this Shit Up

I've decided to add an ongoing element to my blog. It seems that in life truth is often stranger than fiction, and nothing could be more true in a small town. One of the wonderful and yet bizarre qualities of small towns is that these locals seem to somehow nurture and support the odd characters in our midst. It's a theme in Southern literature, but I have to say that it is universally applicable to all small towns. Therefore I have decided to keep track of these quirky, and sometimes disturbing characters and events as I experience them. Yes, these people and events that are so off the wall that you just can't make this shit up...........

Here is the inaugural oddfellow, I shall call him Slick.

The other day I was running my usual errands, which now include buying pantyhose at Wal-Mart, an entirely frustrating experience to say the least. (And yes, the three dollar pantyhose run like no body's business.) I stood in the express checkout lane with my sugar free truffles, crappy pantyhose and a pack of substandard gum (I can't find Altoids gum ANYWHERE around here.) In a matter of just a few moments it was my turn to be check out and I met Slick. Slick is a chubby teenaged pimply faced kid who probably hadn't washed his hair in a few days and had mustard on his cheek. He dutifully scanned my measly purchase, tossed it in the bag and I swiped my debit card through the card reader. No beep. I swipe again, still no beep. Slick intervenes, "Sometimes the cards get dirty, " he says as he takes the card out of my hand, proceeds to lick the magnetic strip and wipe it on his dirty Wal-Mart vest. Then Slick runs the card through his card reader and PRESTO it beeps, authorizes and he hands me back my contaminated card. In truth, I wanted to say, "It's okay, you keep it," but I was envisioning Slick and his only two friends in the world emptying my bank account buying junk food and internet porn, so I took it back and left in horror. Now one might think that after such an experience I would never return to Wal-Mart in protest, BUT this is a small town and sadly the best place to buy crappy three dollar pantyhose. You just can't make this shit up.

Ms. Phyllis

Women want men, careers, money, children, friends, luxury, comfort, independence, freedom, respect, love, and a three-dollar pantyhose that won't run.
--Phyllis Diller (1917 - ____) US comedienne

Honestly, is that too much to ask?

Wonderful Town

Midwesterners, especially those from small towns, have a special fondness for musical theater. I've never exactly understood why, but I definitely took that trait to heart. There really is something magical about a musical, the old-school type especially. There are quirky characters, always at least one that you can identify with, a sitcom-like plot structure, and in the end everyone is in love and happy. Oh and the best part, which I failed to mention, is the spontaneously bursting into song of course. (Who doesn't do that?)

I can't remember a time when musicals weren't a part of my life. My father was a high school teacher for 17 years and then became a principal. Every year we attended the student productions of musicals and plays. Sometimes in the summer my grandma would take me to see the summer musical at the Palace Theater, which was a community production, and of course when I was in high school I both performed in the musicals and helped construct the sets. I don't think I even saw a professional production until my senior year of high school. Oddly the professional ones have always seemed to lack some of the magic, maybe because the actors weren't people I knew.

As cheesy and unrealistic as musicals are, I've always loved the world they exist in. Things always happen for a reason and even the oddest character gets to fall in love. In part it isn't entirely unreal. I did grow up in a family where people would randomly burst into song, and every once in a while life does feel like a storybook come alive. There is a comfort in believing in happy endings.

Yesterday I was so lonely and heartbroken and not all that thrilled at the thought of spending my Saturday night at a high school musical. I wanted to be with my friends, somewhere where I'm comfortable and at home. Instead I was attending a high school musical with my parents as I had done so many times as a child. It felt pathetic and defeating all at once. I kept thinking, so this is all there is to do on a Saturday night around here.........

When the curtain lifted and the kids broke into song it wasn't long before I was fully engaged in the show. During intermission I overheard parents and friends discussing the performances and going on about how certain members of the cast would surely be famous some day. The second act resolved all conflicts comically, everyone fell in love and of course there was a standing ovation. While standing around afterwords and talking to parents and kids (some of whom I babysat as infants and yet are heading off to college soon) I felt something new. As a child I watched these plays in awe, it all seemed so real, and I wanted to be one of those pretty girls on stage. As a teenager I was on stage and I remember the exhilarating feeling of the audience's reactions to your acting, their laughter and applause. Now I felt something new. The great love and pride pouring out of the parents of these kids. The belief that they could really take the world by storm. Now of course the odds aren't in their favor, hundreds of small town stars end up cocktail waitresses waiting for the big break that never comes, but right now, tonight everyone knows they'll make it big. The warmth of that love is remarkable and in truth, if I could spend every Friday night this way I'd be a happy woman. Love is infinitely portable, a mom can be a mom anywhere on earth, even here. These lyrics from the musical seem quite appropriate:

Why, Oh why, Oh why, Oh--
Why did I ever leave Ohio?
Why did I wander to find what lies yonder
When life was so cozy at home?

Now, I don't regret leaving here even the tiniest bit. I think anyone from a small town benefits from knowing there is a bigger world out there. I doubt I'll even stay here, but I can't imagine a better place to be while I find myself and start my life anew.

A Weekend in Smallville

This is the first weekend I've spent in Ohio since I've moved here. Every weekend I had matters to attend to or plans with friends in Detroit and so I never went more than 5 days without seeing my friends. My heart has been breaking all day, I want nothing more than to be with the people I love. Even though I know that in time I'll have friends here, right now I just want my old friends. I want the comfort and support and love that only friends who've known you for a long time can give.

Saved-Up Wishes

When you love someone all your saved-up wishes start
coming out.
--Elizabeth Bowen

When I was in eighth grade I had a yellow pendoflex
folder that I recorded little sayings and quotations
upon in brightly colored pen. I'm not sure why or how
this practice started, but eventually the entire
surface inside and out was covered with tiny bits of
wisdom. I carried that folder through highschool and
even college like some sort of metaphysical security
blanket occasionally finding little spaces to add more
sage advice to the ragged folder. I carried it with me
into my adult life and until recently kept it like a
treasure in a box of other things that were meaningful
to only me. I decided that it was time to part with
the tattered folder in an attempt at purging some of
these "treasures" from my life (reference "Settling
In" to see the urgency of such activities.) Before I
could let it go I had to transfer the wisdom to another
source and so I recorded most of the quotations into
my molskein(my adult replacement for the yellow folder
I fear.) While taking this trip down memory lane it
was striking to see the ways that my perspective
had grown or changed now that I had I few more years
under my belt. Surely these words resonated with me
then, but some of them were so much more meaningful to
me now. As is the case with this particular
quotation.

I can't begin to imagine what attracted me to it all
those years ago, but I suppose it sounds good even
without understanding or experience. Now I've
lived those very words. I've loved and lost a few
times over at this point and recently that has been a
primary theme in my life. One of the wounds of my
divorce was this fear that maybe I wasn't capable of
really loving as I should. Then quite by surprise I
found myself in love. Suddenly my saved-up wishes came
bubbling to the surface and the life that I thought I
wanted was almost instantly negated. Things I hadn't
let myself wish for were now burning desires in my
heart. Was this because of my new found love? Well yes,
but not the man who I was growing to love. I was
finally growing to love myself. Now, I'm sure this
isn't exactly what Elizabeth Bowen had in mind, but can
we truly love someone else without loving ourselves
first? I think not.

So here is to saved-up wishes! Those glorious
desires of the heart that are well worth pursuing.
Henceforth I will purposely live so that wishes may
never go into storage again.

Home is Where the Heart is?

If home is where the heart is, why isn't my heart here? The obvious answer of course is that this isn't really home anymore and my heart is still in Detroit (sounds like the beginning of a country song already.) I'm really trying to make a life for myself here, but I can't seem to get past the heartache for the people I left behind. When you don't live near family your friends really become your family, and my friends were the best family anyone could hope for. Now I'm surrounded by my actual family, who do love me dearly, and I just don't feel at home. I'm not even sure that I want to.

Settling in..........slowly

One of the biggest challenges of my "fresh start" is the actual move to a new home. Most of my worldly possessions have been relocated to my little house in the good ole hometown. Now the laborious job of unpacking and organizing becomes my all-consuming task for an indefinite period of time. On the upside the duplex is roomy and has character,on the downside it is much smaller than my last home. So here it is, my house full of boxes.......

"A good home must be made not bought." --Joyce Maynard

So what if I'm wrong?

The thing that is wonderful about a really good friend is that he or she will call you out when you're being ridiculous. Such is the case with me. A week ago I was with my friends at a dinner party lamenting my lost love and my friends helped me to see something that I was blind to.......... The lost love DID actually care about me. I had become so preoccupied with wanting him to talk about his feelings for me that I completely failed to recognize the ways that he showed his feelings. Maybe he did care.......

So then a friend broke it down for me. He listed the pros and cons of being with Lost Lover. There were strikingly few cons. To which my response was, "It's too late." What followed that was this somewhat comical list of questions and a reasonably wise comment from the friend:
"Did you break any laws?"
"Hurt any members of his family?
"Burn his house down?"
"Murder anyone?"
"Then I think you might have a shot."

So there it was, the ball in MY court. And I was realizing that maybe life doesn't happen to me, maybe I can have some impact. Maybe I needed to take a risk and try to mend fences. Suddenly I was soaring at the idea of having a chance, albeit a crap shoot at best. I was fully willing to go out on a limb and get shot down because at least I'd tried.

My jump into taking a risk for love came in two parts. First I called Lost Love to see when he would be around. I had two purposes in mind. I wanted to send him flowers and a simple apology with hopes that if the peace offering were well received I could talk to him in person. Step one was guardedly well received so I proceeded with step two and we talked.

The conversation was great, I was able to take responsibility for my part in things and we had a real conversation about where we'd been together and apart and where we might be going either together or apart. What's next? I don't know, but what I do know is that I'm growing in positive ways and if he is alongside for the journey that would be wonderful. If he isn't, at least I took a risk well worth taking.

3 Loves

In the wake of a recent breakup I've been spending a lot of time thinking about what went wrong. Up to this point every relationship has ended and that really isn't my goal, so what can I do to get this right?

Well, I've been in love in one way or another three times in my life. The first love was puppy love. My high school sweetheart was the most fun and romantic of all my loves, but outside of that there wasn't much substance to the relationship. My memories of our time together are so happy and fun. He was the ideal first love, the kind I hope my imaginary daughter will have some day. There is a reason that everyone has a first love and that is because first loves are seldom meant to last. My heart was utterly broken when we broke up, but life sent me someone else. My second love was meant to be the love of my life. I spent ten years with him and he was my spouse for 6 of those years. The attraction to him was so intellectual; he was the first guy I knew with whom I could discuss art, literature, philosophy and theology. I was thrilled and so was he; he fell for me quickly and intensely and it felt so good to be loved. I loved him for how he made me feel and how he felt about me. Sadly, that wasn't enough. I never dreamed things would end this way, but we divorced. Then my third love was a complete surprise. This time I was the one who fell in love without much thought or effort. I finally understood love. I loved him just as he was for a million big and little reasons that all added up to real unconditional love. I didn't love him for what he did for me or how he made me feel; I loved him simply for being himself. Unfortunately he never grew to feel the same way. I believe the relationship lasted as long as it did because of how I made him feel, which sadly is not unlike my experience with lover number two. Thus we parted ways. Even so I haven't stopped loving him and I suppose that sort of love doesn't really go away, rather the heart must evetually grow to love someone else as much or even more intensely.

So what can be learned from this? On one hand it might seem that I have a knack for picking ill-suited partners, but I've arrived at another theory. Maybe I'm meant to look for someone who possesses the wonderful qualities of all three, or maybe there are other wonderful qualities that I haven't even thought of. Some day someone will come along and we will fit, we will both love each other as we are and do so unconditionally. That is the partner I wish to spend the rest of my life with and I should settle for nothing less.

Surviving V-Day

So I made it through Valentines Day unscathed surprisingly enough. I of course would have preferred to be snowed in with a sweetheart cuddling up by a fire, but being trapped with Mom and Dad wasn't too painful. It's not that Valentines Day makes me feel any more single or lonely, most of my V-Days when I wasn't single weren't all that special, but still a day dedicated to romance is sort of lost on those of us without romantic options. I have to believe that some day I'll be in a relationship filled with love and romance and I'm looking forward to that.

Moving Back Home

I grew up in a small town in Ohio and never was thrilled with being there. So the first chance I got I left home never intending to come back. Well, life happened and here I am back at the beginning starting my life over after a very tumultuous year. I'm optimistic about what might be before me, but sad and brokenhearted about the old life that slipped away. I miss my friends, who of course can never be replaced, but know that on the upside my circle of friends will just get bigger. So this blog is intended to chronicle my new life and all the ups, downs and adventures that I encounter.