Benjamin

  Back in the days..............     
  Ben and I, camping, enjoying hot chocolate with our trusted BB guns.                                                                                                                                           Siblings. I've observed how many of my friends have evolved within their own family structure to elevate what was once a pesky sister or brother, to that of friendship, closeness, family. I meander around online journals, reading of family bonds, sisterly and brotherly ties.

One amazing example is a journal I can't get enough of by Jtuwliens, Judith at Mirror, Mirror on the Wall/jtuwliens   . The bonds she shares with her twin sister, Julie, is just inspiring, fascinating, heartwarming and frankly precious, especially to someone like me.

       I have a brother. It's a rarity I mention it, it's odd to even write that. He is two years younger then I and we have no relationship to speak of. A honest me, will have to say, however bad it sounds, that I have chosen a long time ago, not to include him in my life.

       I have a legitimate reason, I really do, and I'll get to it. I saw my brother this week for the first time since Christmas Eve of 2003. So naturally he's been on my mind and I think an entry is in order to release some of my thoughts. My brother was always a strange duck. Growing up with him was challenging a lot of the time. He had many learning disorders, social skills weren't similar to most mainstream humans, 1 plus 1 equaled 2 in my world, in his world it meant 5 and he would come out fists flailing to prove it. By the time he got to high school he found sanctuary in the name of drugs and alcohol.

       But didn't a lot of us? I had my 2 years 9 months of crazy party, have fun, antics and thankfully I came out alive and healthy. My brother on the other hand, used drugs and alcohol for his personal escape from his ADHD, social disorders, low self esteem, etc., etc.......you name it, at least one doctor diagnosed him with it.

       My poor parents. Beaver Cleaver kind of parents. Never smoked anything in their life, drinking wasn't something we ever saw them do growing up, they were stable, simple people who ended up with a teenage daughter who took parting with friends over the top for a few years, and a son who had disorders in every direction and eventually made their lives hell.

       By the time Ben, my brother, was about 20 he had took to drinking like a fish in water. He elevated himself to alcoholic status in no time flat. This is when I truly believe I started loosing him as a brother. To understand his level of alcoholism, you need the cold hard facts. He would steal, pawn, take anything of value in order to get his alcohol. He would drink and drive without regard to life at hand. He managed to get 3 drunk driving tickets <stealing my parents cars> by the time he was 21. Thankfully, the worst he ever did was take out someone's fence. He was reduced to a bicycle by the time he was 21, lost his license for 9 years, spent a good amount of time in jail, etc., etc.........He was still living at my parents house. I HATED that.

       He is a mean drunk. Uncontrollable mean. My parents tried to help him. If I knew the true amount of money my parents put into his rehabilitation, courts, lawyers, fines, bus passes and bicycles <remember, he'd just pawn his bike if he needed money> doctors, counselors, I bet they are still paying it off. They had to put a dead bolt lock on their bedroom door to keep them locked away from him if he was on a binge drunk.

       I hated it. I would go over there and beg my parents to kick him out, send him to live under the bridgeby the river in town, I didn't care,I just couldn't stand to see them live like that in their own home. It was my Mother, as I imagine all Mothers would, who held on, trying to help him, bring him back from the hell he had placed himself.

       Two very defining moments triggered the final move out. First, my Father was in Germany for a month <he's military> and my Mother was alone with my brother. He was on one of his drunk binges and called the police at 2 in the morning, to inform them he had a gun, was going upstairs to kill my Mother, then himself. Talk about a cry for help to stop him. The police swat teamed my parents house, found my Mothers bedroom window, broke it and drug her out of her sleep to the outside. They could see my Brother through the basement window on his bed with a pistol in his mouth. He never made a move to go upstairs to fulfill what he had told the police on the phone, and eventually fell asleep with the gun beside him. That got him 4 months in the crazy ward.

       Next came release, and where does he go. A plan was formed, my parents bought him a little trailer house, far from their home, and when he got out, he could go there and live his life of alcoholism. There ended up being a 3 week span between release from the ward, and move in date. Yes, they let him come home to stay. It was Thanksgiving, he hadn't drunk for months, he swore he wouldn't drink....ya ya....same old story. Thanksgiving he started drinking, and by that Sunday he was out of control again. A fight ensued, threats were made, police came again....back to jail this time after giving the police one hell of a manhunt chase.

       I was the one who picked him up from jail, took him to his new home, dropped him off and said "have a good life." It took five years for him to come around again. My father was the mainly the one who checked in on him, and occasionally I was asked to go make sure he was still alive. My Mother, even if this is hard for others to understand, thankfully did not talk to him in that 5 years. My Father and I begged her not too. The fall of 2003 he begged for help again and thats where I spent 4 months going to AA meetings with him, financially helping him, giving him odd jobs, because he was actually sober for once. After the third month of sober, on my own discretion, I decided he was far enough on the good side to visit my Mother again. It was a tearfulreunion, heartwrenching actually.

       Sober, my brother is a completely different person. Sweet, kind, considerate, wonderful with kids, still alittle odd, but good. Drunk he is evil, mean. Two completely different people. The night before Thanksgiving that 2003, the first Thanksgiving he would have been able to go to after all those years, he got drunk, got in a fight with his girlfriend, took a knife to himself, and put his arm through a window nearly slicing his arm off. I got the call from the hospital at 1 in the morning. I spent Thanksgiving eve, at the hospital, I spent Thanksgiving Day, had my Thanksgiving dinner, back at the crazy ward again.

       He got released before Christmas and I had put so much heart and soul into my brother that fall I was so hopeful he could at least do Christmas Eve with the family. We had talked, he swore he wouldn't drink a drop that day, because I told him if he did, he couldn't come. I showed up to pick him up that night. He was drunk. Enough said.

       He looked good this week. He's managed to hold down a job now for over a year. He's still with the same girlfriend. She has so many problems of her own, the two are perfect for each other. He still drinks, he's still two different people. I just don't think I have it in me to step into his circle again. It's a travesty of emotion, it's a drain of life and breaks my heart. This passage of an entry is showing the bare roots of things that happened over the years, the list could go on for pages.........

       So when people ask me if I have any brothers or sisters, sometimes I will say yes, sometimes I say no. Because the person who should be my brother belongs to alcohol. I'm not sure if I'll ever reclaim him from the disease that holds him firmly in it's grasp. I mourn for my loss, my daughters loss of an Uncle, my parents loss of a son. It's a long twisted road that I find difficult to explain so people understand how one family could walk away from a blood family member. I see it as a forced choice. One that I am good with. 

       Long entry, sorry about that. Just felt the need to get the visit, reaffirm my thoughts and the events, my loss, off my mind and into relic form. 
      

Modern Movement

        As an observer of life, people, things and such, there are idee fixes that come across my daily path. Now, resist as I may try, some cannot be ignored. Tonight was no exception. As a parent, you must set aside a mini-fortune per month for other children's birthday parties. It's all part of the contract. Although, I never noticed that small print when I claimed my girls from the nursery at the hospital.
      
       I have, no correct that, my daughters have 3 birthday parties this weekend. Their social calendars certainly put mine to shame! One birthday party for young Kaitlyn, is at an art studio for tomorrow afternoon. A few balloons, a cake, a few games and playing ring around the rosie is so 10 years ago! Two birthday parties for Shelby, the legit teen. Of which, one of those birthday parties is for a BOY. 

       We went shopping this evening for 3 presents. Shelby brought shopping reinforcements in the shape of another legit teen friend. We went to a regular old supermarket/superstore. Fred Myers. So remember, this wasn't Fredrick's of Hollywood here. Walking around in the "teen" boy section, looking for a "rocker" tee-shirt, I heard the squeals of laughter.

       This wasn't regular, ha ha, kind of laughter, this was uncontrollable tears rolling kind of stuff. I cruised in the direction of this critical level sound. Standing in the aisle was my daughters friend holding what appeared to be a thong. Yes, underwear. Being female I am perfectly aware of the concept of thong and thats all I'll say there. But alas, this was a Jockey thong for boys/men..........Ok, what the hell?

       You know, I'm all for equality in life. I really am. If that concept is going mainstream, what are us woman going to do next to keep one step ahead? I consider it going mainstream if it's found in your local shopping center, rather then a seedy dive in the dark recesses of one's city. This was just wrong. Now if I could just forget I saw that little slice of modern movement. You would think, we as society, would have learned our lesson with the speedo.
       
       And as the great and clever Forrest Gump wouldsay, "Thats all I have to say about that!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

      
       Well, now that I've dazzled with my clearly important observation of modern movement, I find myself perplexed as to what could possibly follow after that. As a parent, sometimes it feels like you are constantly being tossed curve balls. One commercial on the TV can shock everyone into a silent, ummm, who's going to speak first after that one!

       You know, I don't remember this being in the print of the original contract either. I think I signed something along the line's of do you promise to love, cherish, take time, provide food, shelter, clothing and support this child......of which I quickly signed on for. Of course I had the notions of all that tiny print at the bottom. It was so fine you would have needed a high power microscope to see it though. When you have a new baby in your arms, who thinks about fine print?

       It's all good. I'll take the men thongs, commercials for XYZ pill that promises at least 1 hour of fine function, the curve balls and high drives, in exchange for good Motherhood memories. All part of the fun. I know there couldn't be a parent out there that hasn't been shocked speechless at something they knew was just all wrong for their child to see, find, or hear about.

        But we all live through it, and time has a way of adding laughter to those uncomfortable moments.

I have hung my interviewer hat up officially. I don't think I made anyone cry, so I won't be quitting my day job any time soon. It was a wonderful way to ask some questions and get a good peek inside the lives of others.

 Thank you Chris, Inane thoughts and insane ramblings   Carrie, The Way I Came to Be Me   Marti Midlife Musings and last but not least,

Paul, Aurora Walking Vacation who posted his interview late last night. Take a moment to meander over to his journal. His answers were most insightful!

Alittle This, Alittle That

  Is Now This
<It was the second time I was honored an Award for this essay contest>

Yes, I'm excited!
Thank You Virginia! Animal Spirits
Thank you Judi! Judith HeartSong

         A wonderful person emailed me about my essay/poem <hey look Paul, I actually used that word> with a congrats, a question, and revealed they were a longtime reader, and never a commenter. First, the question was asking  what was my inspiration, or how did I come up with that prose from the photograph.

         It came to me in one wash of a thought. The instant I saw it, I thought of a tiny me, stepping across the squares, almost like a hopscotch game of life. I think the game part of it is how those words, one step, two step, three step four came to mind. Once I wrote that first line, the rest just flowed from mind to computer screen. The whole time imagining myself assigning defining moments in my life to single squares. Climbing around the squares from time to time, reflecting on where I have been, beginning to create new squares with new choices in life. Simple right?

         So after being revealed another person who frequents my journal, yet has never made a comment, that curious cat in me wonders just how many people come by on a regular basis and reads without comment?? I know in the language of Journal Land, thats been labeled a lurker. I don't love that label. I will call them silent thoughts. So if there are any silent thoughts out there, how about alittle wave today?  A wave is pretty noncommittal, a simple gesture without expectation.........Here, I'll go first

         I was observing how my journal has come along in it's evolution. I've come to believe it's really become a two part endeavor. First, my thoughts or the lead in, which is like the first half of a book, and then second, the comments i.e. the finale, the ending of the book. The comments I get in this here journal, are just amazing. I'm often blown away by the caliber, the thought, the insight, of all the comments my entries receive. The comments are the compliment, the final twist to what has become these pages.

         I've always agreed with the notion that "written words are the choicest of all relics." As these pages become my relic, so does your comments. After about 2 or 3 weeks of public offering, I print out each entry, with comments, 3 hole punch them and into a notebook they go. I started with a 1 1/2 ring binder. I've printed all entries since Nov. and about a month ago I had to upgrade to a 3 inch binder. I think thats a beautiful thing. How does it feel to know someday my notebooks will be handed down with my memories and your comments, to be again relived, rethought, and appreciated???

         Some of my interviews are in! I gave the same 2 questions, 1 and 5 for everyone, and tailored the middle per person. If you get a chance go visit these Great Journals.

Chris over at   Inane thoughts and insane ramblings    withstood the pressure of my intent Barbara Walters stare. His answers were genuine and insightful.

Marti over at   Midlife Musings    answered one of my questions so well, I read it 3 times to make sure it all sunk in.....regarding the advice to give us Mom's of up and coming teenagers.

Carrie over at    The Way I Came to Be Me  posted a picture that is sure to bring a smile and a joyish tear to anyone who looks. She gave us a beautiful peek inside her world.

Paul over at   Aurora Walking Vacation  is dragging his typing fingers, I'm still waiting for him to finish his honey-do's and post his interview. Would Barbara Walters be this patient?

I've seen the Light

  

Ok, I haven't seen it quite yet, but I will !!!
 I performed the Rebecca Happy Dance today, and it felt good, it had been awhile.
I discovered I was one of 3 winners, for the Judith Heartsong artsy essay.
Here's the link to my essay in case you missed it........Mosaic Artsy Entry
It was a brilliant day.
 Could everyone see the sun was shining alittle brighter?
The air was just alittle lighter?
Thats because I will soon have a beautiful, brilliant, cherished Light series original painting
from the talented and generous hearted Judith Heartsong.
<be right back, I have to go dance alittle more>
Thats right folks, she doesn't have to be sad to be alittle crazy

 
    So how was everyone else's day? Good, ya? A typical Monday? Anything interesting happen? Oh, you wanted to know how my day went? Well, thats easy, beautiful. Best day I've had since March 23, 2005, to be exact. Why you ask?
    
     Honestly, I woke up feeling better then I have in weeks, then I choose to work from home, so that was feeling pretty good, I was completely ignoring work calls, and that felt great. Then......well, I imagine you can guess this part. I discovered the honor given to me and that pretty much set the tone for the rest of the day. If any sad or negative feelings started to peek from their corners I told them to shove off, they were NOT to ruin this day!
 
    So thats my story and I'm sticking to it. You never know what Rebecca you'll end up with tomorrow, so we'll do this day by day! And no, I'm not really crazy, I've asked the doctors, but they keep insisting I just have an overactive imagination. Go figure.
 
    Just one more gushy moment. I would like to thank Judith Heartsong for the forum she voluntarily gives to every person in this space of Internet journal world. Her essay contestis open to everyone willing to take the time to write. She doesn't have to do such a thing, especially on a monthly basis. She doesn't get compensated monetarily for giving of herself this way, it is done purely from her love and heart. 
 

Judi is the extraordinary,
that is so hard to find in an ordinary world.
 She is a gift to us all.
Thank you for bringing Light.

Her Journal............Judith HeartSong

A Sad Notice

Tonight I've decided to use my journal as a bit of public service announcement.

       I know a family with a one degree of separation from me that something tragic has happened too. Every Mother's day, I take my girls and join one of my friends on what is now our annual Mother's day camping trip, the kick off to the season of getting outdoors. Last year this family joined our tradition, so I've only spent just 4 days in their lives. We are two weeks away from our annual camping trip and I've been told by my personal friend they intend to come, they need to come.  This may be the hardest Mothers day I'll ever witness.

       I won't use specific names, no need to, but here's the situation that I feel all parents should be aware of and thats why I am using my journal for such a thing. This family consisted of, husband, wife, two 13 year old twins a boy and girl and a young daughter of 5.
      
       A week ago the twin boy went into his sisters room to wake her up in the early morning and found her hanging in her closet. No further details needed here. What appeared as a suicide of a 13 year old girl with no known depression, no real "major issues," had friends and a good family has been potentially upgraded to something completely different.

       It was discovered, as they were frantically trying to figure why their beautiful daughter would commit suicide, that she had been participating in a "game" called "the passing out game" with several of her friends.
      
        For those of you who made it through the teen years without playing this game < I know I played it with my friends> it is where you hyperventilate for about a minute with your head down, as soon as you start to feel light headed, you swing your head up and a friend then, not chokes, but presses the sides of your neck to stop blood flow to your head. This causes you to pass out in short order. The feeling of a "high" is then produced when you are waking up.

       Evidently this little one really liked the feelings it produced and wanted to play it often. The police found notes from her to friends, and back talking about it. Everyone thinks it is very likely that she had never even thought of the possibilities of what her actions could cause, but simply wanted to feel the effects of such a thing before she went to bed. They think she tried to rig a system to help her do it alone, without the friend help. I won't betray the trust I was given with the details. As you can see, her passing out set up didn't work and resulted in a horrific accident. It's something I think all parents should take the time to talk to their children about.

       This family will live the rest of their lives without knowing 100% that their beautiful daughter didn't commit suicide, there will always be the question of did it happen because she didn't think out the consequences of her set up for passing out.

       I also thought about the fact that if this was a stupid, crazy "game" that I played when I was a teen, then there must be many, many others who played it too. Like the nursery school rhymes we all sang in school are passed down generation after generation, is this too a game thats been passed down? I hadn't thought of that "game" in YEARS. But now I look at my 13 year old daughter, and have now questioned her, and scared the hell out of her with this, and guess what.........we live in a city 30 miles from that family, we haven't seen them in a year and my daughter knew of this "game."

       Please add this to the ever growing list of things to talk to your children about.

Local News - The Idaho Statesman - Always Idaho Here is one of the articles about it.

Interview

I've seen this meandering around the world of journals lately and decided to go out on a limb, throw caution to the wind, and sign myself up. OndineMonet from Ellipsis sent me over my interview questions and thankfully they didn't give me a heart attack <wink> It is a great way to get to know people better. If anyone else would like to "interview" me, just let me know. I hope some of my readers sign up to be interviewed so I can personally ask some questions I may have been dying to ask :o)

1. What was your favorite book as a child, and what affect did it have on you?
       This is a pretty tough question for me, I read so many. I was a human book absorption machine growing up. What stands out to me the most would have to be all my horse books. I was obsessed about horses. I basically read every series, every scrap or piece of written word that had to do with horses. From Flicker to The Black Stallion, those books represented a connection between owner and animal, a freedom to run the hills, untamed, free as a bird, exploration. I had one more book that didn't have to do with horses, simple as it was, it was my first taste of poetry and fairytales. It was a Mother Goose book, large, full of poems and stories. It's funny now, to read, some of the poems are quite twisted for youngsters!
 
2. Who do you consider your personal hero/heroes?
       With this question, I see I could go two ways. With someone whom I've never met, but read about and admire, or with someone closer to home. I think I'll choose closer to home. My Grandmother Mary is someone I can't get enough of. She's 83 now, has lived a life that astounds me everytime I sit down with one of my informational probing quests. As a good Mormon, she had 8 children, has outlived 5 husbands <only divorced one who was actually my "real" grandfather," he was also a bad man, the rest have all died>. I tease her sometimes that she must be a black widow <only I can get away with such measures> She came from living on dirt floors, poverty in it's perfect form, buried far to many loves, and yet, this woman, has an outlook on life that is simply amazing. The test of time has not taken anything away from this her. I stand where I stand today, and glance to where she sits now, and only hope I can be as courageous and beautiful as she, towards the end of her circle of life. She tends to drill into my mind everytime I visit, "Don't give up on love Rebecca, it's whats gotten me this far in life."

 
3. If you HAD to give up one of your five senses, which one would you choose and why?
       This is pretty easy for me actually. Taste would be a goner. Things like food are not all too important in my life. I've never had much of an interest in eating, other then to satisfy a hunger. If it's edible, fills the stomach, I'll toss it down without a whole lot of thought.  My poor children, if they want food other then standard fare, they need to schedule dinner at my Mothers house :o)      
 
4. If you could interview any one person, past or present, who would you choose and why? How would the interview be conducted? By television or by written article?
       I would love to interview Emily Dickinson. The manner of which she lived, wrote, and her emotional convictions is a bit perplexing/fasinating to me. It wasn't until her death that her true volume of works were discovered. She let one rejection slip convince her the world wouldn't understand her form of expression. As for the interview, I think either one would be incredibly tough. I have to imagine in front of a television she would be unable to speak, much like the throat constrictions of paralyzation I get. I also imagine a written article, she would be able to write elusive non descript answers, with riddled meaning and elusive clues. I imagine if it were in her time, if I could get through the door into her recluse world, carefully placed and tentative questions may have shed some insight.
 
5. If you were commissioned to create a painting that would best represent your life as a whole, what would it look like, what colors would it be, and to which museum would you allow to display it?

       I've been thinking about this one, since you sent me over the questions. I've decided it would need to be a rather large mural. Abstract in feel, with deep colors, no pastels belong on my painting. Hints of symbols in my life, a dark blue river secretly flowing through it, deep reds to mark the loves I've had and felt, a deep purple iris hidden in it's colors to represent the one love I covet the most. An elk in shadow to show the strength I borrow from time to time. But I wouldn't want anything to be obvious, it would be something to sit and let the eye's try to figure out what was there, and what wasn't. I don't think it would belong in a museum, I think it would need to be painted on the wall of something outside. Something open and free, something for people to walk by and give passing thought too.

Thank you Carly for taking the time to send over such great questions!

So, there you have it, now here are the rules if you would like to play along with this fun game. Leave me a comment if you would like me to interview you requesting I do so. The first 5 to ask will receive an email from me with 5 questions. You will update your journal with the answers to the questions. You will include this explanation and offer to interview someone else in the same post. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them the 5 questions. Fun and easy...right?

Rambling at it's finest

    For whatever reason it did feel good to let the cat out of the bag last night and confess all is not great. It's been interesting. Ever since my ultimate failure, due to divine intervention/prevention, I've been unable to discuss it other then to myself in private journal and written paper. Right before me the changes struggled and fought for, were eliminated.  Woohooo boohoo for me. Damn worn out song. But, I do feel alittle free tonight.
    
    Today I felt alittle anger, and thats probably a good thing. When all else fails, get pissed, watch out world, I'm on a rampage. I slapped alittle attitude attire on, the only thing I was missing today was a Harley and some leather chaps. I just don't think I could do the whole leather halter top though, that may be pushing it a bit. Then again, a little leather top might be just the ticket for an overall makeover. I would need some serious Victoria Secret help for such an item. Jump click.
 
    The beautiful thing is I'll wake tomorrow and hopefully some of this attitude has made it past the insomnia of night. I am the queen of lack of sleep. I've decided peaceful rest is the reward for having a clear conscience. Awake. Wake. Tomorrow. The glorious sensation of rest. Tylenol P.M. Now, is this rambling mind captions on the road to a wreck or what. Woohoo I promise there is an end. Tomorrow.
 
    My irises are traitors. That may be what tipped me off this morning. Every year I plant a few bulbs in my yard. I call them my yearly reminders. They are beautiful, delicate, not perfectly symmetrical, with little rough edges, they are me. Mine are blooming. They are not supposed to be bloomed out right now. This is a traitorous act of defiance. I jumped in my car and drove around my neighborhood. I needed confirmation. Nope, nadda, nothing, all the other irises in the neighborhood are not out shining their beautiful colors. I'm not ready for them to greet me at the door. They have never bloomed this early. Rather creepy in my opinion. Or, like my earlier remark, traitors.

       Since I'm awake, at the beginning of my oh so fun insomnia, and it's pitch darkout, I won't attempt a picture for visual proof, but tomorrow, I'll add one to this entry. Who's the horticulturist out there? Iris in April/in Idaho? I need explanation.

       I did send out a blatant request for a sign today, and thankfully, even if briefly, a sign was sent. It provided needed relief. Relationship repair, stage one, under construction.

       Quirky musings, that would be this evening. On a more important note, I would like to say thank you to all the amazing encouraging comments I've received. Tammy Life, live it or miss out , said it in the nicest of ways, "Group therapy at it's finest." A shrink at a 100 bucks an hour couldn't rival this group!
      
       Ok, one more note, since I tossed it in my entry last night without much explanation and have received a few email questions about it. About the epilepsy, it really is not a big deal in my life. I do not have grand mal seizures like some unfortunate people do. I have small kickin chicken (again, if you have a condition, you get the added bonus of avoiding politically correct jargen> episodes. It's controlled most of the time, with a daily dose of meds., bring on the electrolytes!  I avoid things that are my personal triggers, alcohol is a big one, and ironically, lack of sleep is another. It's something I've had for a long time.

       I've only had my drivers license taken away once by a cruel neurologist. I remember laughing when this doctor explained to me the left brain lobe is where my malfunction is located. I told him "Hell that explains a lot!" When I have explained the location of my electrical malfunction, people often ask how in the world I know this.
      
       Well, you see, this is what they do to torture us with seizures. They insist on something called an ambulatory EKG. Meaning, they glue hundreds of electrodes to your scalp, wrap your head up, with "protective bandages," so you look like a cone head, or someone who just suffered a horrific head injury, click the wires into a portable computer and send you home for a week. Showerless, and mortified to go anywhere in public, it's all part of the fun. This little computer downloads all your brain waves for a week or so, mapping of sorts. When things start to go haywire, the computer captures your seizure on record and presto, they know what form of epilepsy you have. Technology, what a beautiful thing.

This concludes the central nervous system class for the evening, may all your mind rhythms be connected properly.

Overload

  Vincent Van Gogh   Irises in the Garden

  It's possible. That you can take in alittle too much perspective and end up with something that resembles a whole lotta of nothing you can do about anything. So when you find yourself in this circle of helplessness, what does a person do?
   
     I started a mission of adding alittle perspective into my life, that could have been a good endeavor, but me, being well, me, I of course had to dig deeper then perhaps I should have. I wish it wasn't true, but no matter which direction I looked, someone out there was suffering in some manner, and this breaks my heart. 
   
     If I felt bad about one thing, I would glance over my shoulder to another and say to myself, "See, what the hell are you feeling bad about, look at that person." Then, in the next hour when the feelings of remorse, sadness, etc., would try for another hold on my sanity, I would again, glance over my shoulder and again try this banter of rational.  Again thoughts of how dare you even think, much less verbalize how your feeling when so and so is going through xyz.
    
    It really seemed like a logical move on my part, downplay the overbearing with things that seemed much more significant then my own heartache and confusion. I know I don't hold the corner market on guilt, I know I'm not holding up the pillars of moral do right, humanity doesn't depend on my choices. Downplayed, ignored, locked into the silent world that is my thoughts, crushed beneath perspective research, the ploys I've attempted has not quieted the shit tormenting my everyday.
    
    I have a confession that I've been avoiding on these pages. The changes I spoke of, the hiding I did for a week, the new tone that has obviously not come out on my pages, it was all for naught. I failed. And for now, I'll leave it at that.
 
    This whole array of emotions, failure, guilt, panic, fear, sadness, loneliness, bone tired, isolation, perspective, longing, stress, choices, silence, heartache, is all the ingredients for a one way ticket into rock bottom. It's a highly specialized membership club, I do think there should be a better organizational system around here though. There's far too many voices all trying to say their position at once. Damn loud around here.  
 
    If your thinking send that girl some prozac or welbutrin, I already thought of that, and I don't have connections to a black market for such things. I have a little condition, and trust me, it's not a big deal in my life, called epilepsy. Evidently doctors think doing the kickin chicken <I have this condition so I don't have to be politically correct, and thats what I choose to call a seizure> is worse then feeling like emotional mush all the time. I don't even know if given the choice I would take such things, but it's great banter conversation to give the doctor grief about. You should see the way he roles his eye's and laughs during our little visits. Ya, like the cop and my boots, I like to see if I can make a person laugh in every situation.
 
    Van Gogh was a mental tortured soul right? Yet, look at all the beauty he brought to the world. Ok, yes, I know, he had to die before any of his talents were merited, but still, it gives people like me, with minds alittle off canter, destination. I know I'll get it all figured out, I know I'll emerge on the other side with new lessons, alittle touch of extra wisdom, alittle stronger, alittle smarter, alittle tougher. I'll explore all options, try to salvage some hurt relationships, turn in my rock membership pass when the time is right and find my smile again.

       It will be all good. Tis a promise I've made to myself.

X

       The repercussions of the big X that has been taped to my mouth lately has come back to haunt me. When I should have been there for someone I wasn't. It's my personal catch 22. I use silence as a self protection mode, a way of preservation, a time to sort out before I make another wrong move. My silence serves as my hiding tool, a cowardly move on my part, slinking into the shadows, yes thats me with a capitol C.
      
       I can write, I can even express myself pretty well here on blank pages, all one way conversation. But when it comes to expressing myself verbally, and when those who really need me too, I am an illiterate mute.

       Get me in a debate or in front of the partners in a business meeting and I dare someone to get into a verbal debate with me, I rarely allow for even a draw, I like to win my point. But put me in an emotional position where things like personal feelings, thoughts, needs are required to be expressed, I wilt like a week old flower. The throat constricts, my mind screams to be released, yet no sounds can be made. It's a phobia I've created that I have no name for.

       It was my silence this last week, that prevented me from being available for someone who needed a person to count on. It seems all wrong to even mention my own weight of guilt that rests on my shoulders, so I'll toss that into it's own compartment for now.

       A young woman is very sick and needs the thoughts and prayers of the world.
       And with deepest apologies, I am sorry to both of you.

Mosaic Artsy Entry

For the Judith Heartsong Artsy Essay, http://journals.aol.com/judithheartsong/newbeginning/entries/1396

Photograph by Judith Heartsong

One step, two step, three step four.
Here, I'll open the heavy door.

One step,
Lets walk a moment with me.
Take a glance at the pedestals I've created.
This isn't a rhyme, but I command a reason.
A block at a time, space I inspired.
Each step a tribute to all that is mine.
One corner, two corner, three corner four.
It's about visionary lines. 
These square's of past,
Filled with terms I'll come to understand in time.
Isolated and my individual,
A beautiful unique which only I can discover.
It's a pattern, a pirates map, I know so well.

Two step,
Just a hop and a skip to my next choice.
How was I too know I could create such a jagged surface.
It's up to me to understand my design.
Like the tune of life, I have my ups and I have my downs.
With it's climbs and falls, the square is formed.
Four lines and angles divine.
I never counted on such clarity.
Moments can be single in thought and space.
Captured in element, reserved for reflection.
A mystery for me to investigate.

Three step,
Careful now, some of those memories are sharp.
If I had a witness, to mark the darkest of my design, there would be no need to explain.
I've laid in the middle waiting for pause.
In these moments I've felt strongest to shape new lines.
Sweet choices, cards of hope and defining character.
No one put a limit on the bounty of lines given.
Take the chisel and keep constructing.
I can't unbreak what I've already shattered,
But the tools are always by my side, a labor of dreams.

Four step,
Hang on now, it's a leap to the end.
One day, the composition will finish.
And I have to know.
I'll run my hands over it's textured surface and sign my peace.
Life, like art, is the reflection of a mind that keeps conceiving.
Deliver me the courage to revisit all the corners.
To have gathered enough pieces
The finely constructed, the cracked and mended.
This isn't a rhyme, but I demand a reason.
Insight and wisdom.
And with blessed relief,
Answers will be my final piece.

One step, two step, three step four.
Let's gently close that door.

Lead

" New black boots, new jeans, gives me lead foot attitude Officer." I said today with a mischievious grin.

"Miss, are you saying clothes is the reason you were speeding?" The officer attempted to hide his amused smile by shifting his weight and lightly resting his hand on his utility belt. Which of course contained the handcuffs I was starting to think would be my new accessory of a bracelet.

"Thats my story and I'm sticking to it, I'd be happy to elaborate if you would like to understand, otherwise, it's my plea and I'm prepared to accept my speeding ticket based on your discretion." I know my twinkle of lead foot attitude shone brightly through my eye's.

"Hand over the information, I'll be right back" he sighed. I could have sworn I could hear him laughing as he walked back to his flashing lights.

       A few minutes later after I'm sure he's deduced I wasn't an escape from the state mental hospital, or a habitual speeder <no speeding tickets since I was 16> he sauntered back to my Tahoe. I could see instantly he was going to do his best to refrain from laughing, I too could see the twinkle in his eye.

"Miss, you have one shot at explaining to me why clothes made you speed." He said with obvious effort to control laughing at me.

"Thats easy sir, I bought these new stiletto black boots last night, plus these Seven jeans and since the moment I've put them on this morning I've had a bit of an attitude. Much like I'd assume when you put on your black uniform boots, it's all in the mind. So, I've been feeling a bit racy today, and evidently thats came out in my driving too. It's just something that happens sometimes when I wear good clothes sir. Simple really. No excuse and I accept my punishment for good shoes." Twinkle Twinkle goes my smile.

The officer slightly peeks into my window down at my shoes,  "Well Miss, I give you points for originality. How about we make a deal, you tone down the racy attitude until your walking, and I'll let you get away with a warning. I liked that one, I really did!" And he finally allowed the smile and laughter to ensue.

And that ladies, is how a really great pair of shoes can be worth alittle racy attitude.

Outlast

A womans words, give voice to the thought.
The things that should be said, the answers that should be made.
Outlast. How long does outlast give?
Can outlast be measured by months, by moments, by patience?
Patience and Guilt.
Can the two make it through the test of time.
Can guilt continue to ask for patience, and does patience understand the rewards.
In every heart there are pieces to which rational thought and irrational action take place.
I've never struggled as hard, as I have these last few months, to do the right thing.
There is one person who has suffered my consequences because of this.
To him, I am eternally sorry. 
To him, I am eternally thankful for he showed me love like no other.
To him, I can only hope outlast is worth waiting for.
Outlast is the last of the wait.

Alittle Tale

       Today I want to tell alittle tale. I needed some perspective.

       Last fall, the family was headed up to the wind us down from the camping season, final camping trip. Our place of choice was a high alpine lakes, the type you can only go to during August, early September, because there is still snow there in July. There are two ways into this wilderness. A long route, and a short cut. The long route takes an extra 2 hours, the short cut is up a incredibly steep back country road. The short cut is steep as hell, with your complimentary cliff on one side for about 40 miles of rutted dirt road.

       We had agreed when we left town, we would take the long route. No one enjoys the   8% downgrades, sometimes even steeper then 8%, and 1000 foot drop off, it's really tough on your trucks, etcplus throw in the white knuckled stance you must take........But when we came along to the opening into no return hell road short cut, my darling Father pulled off the road. I pulled up next to him and he called out he decided it wouldn't be bad, we could save the time. You know, Men and their short cuts.

       My parents were driving their truck and pulling a 18 foot camper trailer, I myself was in my Tahoe, with my girls following. Going up the Mountain was slow go, but we managed fine. It wasn't the first time we've driven this pass, but I can say now, it was the last. When we finally got to the top of the summit my father pulled over and gave me specific instruction to keep my Tahoe in low gear, stay off my brakes and I would be fine going down. Great, here we go, bring on the cliff I said. I personally think someone had a sick sense of humor going on to create a road on this monster of a mountain.

       After what felt like forever creeping down this road, following my parents, in a split second everything changed. Ahead of me, in the blink of an eye, my fathers entire truck and trailer was crashing into the side of the mountain. You must understand here, there is mountain on one side of this here road, cliff on the other......It's amazing what comes to mind in micro seconds of life. When he hit the mountain the first time, in the cloud of dust and flying debris I saw one of their dogs go flying out a window onto the mountainside.
      
       But the truck didn't stop, it kept going. I instantly knew something was horribly wrong. My parents cater to those dogs like children, and if one was ejected out the window, they would have stopped immediately and called in life flight if it was hurt. In that first brief second I slammed on my brakes, but when the truck went careening down the mountain, I stepped on the gas to keep up.

       What followed was watching my parents repeatedly hit the mountainside with their truck and trailer, slamming tree's, taking out boulders and slices of mountain over and over. What I wasn't privy to was the fact that the trucks brake system had suffered a total and complete overheat meltdown. Brakes were obsolete. My father was trying to use the mountainside to slow down the truck that was starting to speed out of control. My mother was inside pleading to wreck into the mountain, anything, but going over the cliff.

       My Father did indeed wreck, he put his truck head on into a culvert of sorts, the last chance before encountering a nasty turn they would have never made with that kind of speed.

       I wish I could say I was praying the entire 20 seconds or so this went on, or pleading for their safety, or saying something life changing profound. But my darling children tell the story of their Mother chasing an out of control truck chanting the "F" word over and over with a few "Oh" and "Holy" fillers in between. It was the sickest thing I've ever had to watch in my life to date.

       My parents lived, other then bumps and bruises, they were ok, the dog even lived, the truck even somewhat lived, the short cut? Didn't turn out so short after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       I go back to that story because it seems this fall was the start of life perspective outlooks. That was the first defining moment, the first slap to my face to stop wasting this life of mine with settling and accepting what is unacceptable. You can bury your head in the sand for so long, and maybe it takes something like this for a person to peek around and realize.

       It wasn't long after that, that my Aunt and Mother were both diagnosed with breast cancer. Slap, slap. It was also during this time that I began writing again. The need seemed pretty overwhelming to release all the thoughts that had been begging to get out for a long time. I'd learned how to quiet those voices, to temper the urge to write. When you bury your head in the sand, you lose sight of what's going on around you with beautiful isolation.

       When you find yourself so deep into something, or someone, it's a process of sorting. You sort away that which makes them unhappy. You remove yourself from friends or family that push the envelope, speak in truth tones and confuse the situation even worse then it already is.

       And the Mother said to her daughter, "Who are you anymore, because this isn't the daughter I brought into this world."

       Maybe it took a few slaps to wake me up from the isolation that had grown like tangled vines around me. Actually, I know it did. It saddens me that life can put such blinders on like that, to the point you deny what is truth and accept what is wrong. Did I recognize the loss as it was progressing, yes, I did. Did I fight it, yes I did, at first. But guilt and manipulation can guilt even the most rational thoughts.

       I should have known it wouldn't be easy to make a change. Nothing worth fighting for is right?

Levels

These days and exquisite runs for hold on situations, has a woman like me blinking in time with certain watch towers.  I'd like to speak of perspective. It's interesting to me how personal reality can differ so much from my neighbor, the home located a mile from my home, and a weeping mother in another state.
      
       It's a matter of, to each their own, isn't it. Your own reality, level of stress, level of happiness, level of trauma, level of love, and I could go on and on, is solely and directly individual. What's so amazing about one persons crisis, over another's? Nothing really, it's all directly proportionately to what has happened in your own life.

       The sky could be falling at my home this week, and next week the sky could be falling on my friends home. I'd gather it's equally as disturbing, to both households. Yet, the very next week, you could find out the sky is falling on your Parents home, plus a fire started in the living room and burned everything to the ground. Suddenly, just having alittle sky falling on your home doesn't seem as bad as it felt.

       That's a silly analogy, but if we put it in real terms, what has been my challenges, stuff that feels personally crippling, is tossed into the perspective pot of life when you take a moment to look up and around. Glance at your neighbor and you see they are dealing with finding a lump in their breast and has to fight just to get someone to look at within the month. Glance at another neighbor, and you see she has placed a hold on her "regular" life to caretaker for a beautiful twin sister, that is in the middle of chemo for breast cancer. Glance to another peaceful soul and you wonder how she ever dealt with the pain of living through losing her husband and grandson in a car crash. I could go on and on......perspective.

       Life's little perspective pot is swirling with every imaginable scenario. It's time's like this, my minds wandering questions, I have to take a step back and take a smile around the block and relax. That annoying saying, "It could always be worse" actually has some merit, even if it irritates us all to hear it.

       I'm always watching for the light in the dark. I admit it. For every dark, I know there is a light. If there is a light to be found, I'm on that search. Someday maybe I'll try soul searching with a stronger floodlight. So watching, glancing, spying on other lives, touching base here and there, encouraging myself and others, bringing light to the dark. A bit of the circus to the arena.

       An ounce of perspective can be found just as soon as you take your head out of the clouds and peek around. There isn't a soul I know who isn't looking for something. Whether it's lost love, the remote control, acceptance, your keys, understanding, a great book, connection, if you're looking for it, it falls in this column. There's always something to search, there's always something missing. Tossing on alittle dose of perspective just balances it all out.

      

Title

       I have been on mission impossible today. Meaning, catching up with all the journals I haven't visited over the last few weeks. So if you haven't already been comment spammed by me, soon, very soon.............
      
       I was in the process of spamming one of my favorite journals Life, live it or miss out and I came across an entry Tammy wrote a few days ago. She was speaking about us woman, and the sabotage we sometimes <always> do to ourselves.I highly suggest you go visit her journal and see her take on woman and the things we do.  She included a comment of mine in her entry that I had left in another entry of hers a while back..........which was as follows.........

"First, I'll say, I love being a mother, it is one of my destinies in life. But it is not something I conclude as my life mission, my last title, my one accomplishment. Being a Mother is just one facet of me. I'm always amazed when I talk to woman who's whole life if their children. I will be brave, face possible ridicule, stand up and say there is more to my life then just being a mother, I shamelessly say this without remorse or guilt. I'm a future thinker. I always think to myself if I do this now, how will it effect my future. Well, the way I see it, a GOOD Mother will teach their children, and someday let them go. Of course we'll always be a part of their lives, but a good Mom, will let go. So I've always thought about that letting go time. If I haven't made something for myself, know myself, attached several facets to myself, what would I be left with? A clinging Mother who doesn't know where to go next? I think NOT." <written by Rebecca>

       Now that "I think NOT" sounds kinda harsh to stop with, and in my original comment I continued on with my normal rambling style. That's just where she choose to stop.

       I guess why your seeing this here on my page now, is because I do feel pretty strongly about our roles as Mothers, and individuals. I can't help but feel there is more to my life then that of just Mother. I too couldn't wait until theday I had my own babies. I couldn't wait to set up home, nest, and await my little bundles of joy. Although they are 13 and 10 now, I feel just as honored to have them in my life as I did when they were born.
      
       But they are not my only honor in this life. I have many other titles. What I find interesting, is that my daughters know this. I tell them, without guilt, when I need to try something new that doesn't include them. This last summer, I started Mountain Biking. I bought a MP3 player, so I could listen to it as loud as I wanted while bombing down a steep hill. They asked me if they could do it too. Now, this is the part where I assume I could be looked at as selfish, but I told them 3 times a week, this old Mom needed to go alone. So I could breath and stretch my wings. They both said "Ohh ok we understand." And we set up some other times when they could go with me.

       The funny thing that became of that, is that anytime they could sense I was getting tense or irritable, they would tease me and ask if it was time for one of my 'personal' rides. They, even as young as they are, could recognize that I too needed things and time for myself.
      
       Sometimes I don't think parents give children enough credit to understand such simple human needs. Just as a child may want to hide in their room for a while uninterrupted, don't you think they too can understand why a parent would need time alone? Just as a parent should respect their childs needs for alone time, I don't think it's inexcusable or unrealistic to expect children to return the same courtesy.

       My girls are pretty self reliant. I've taught them to be. I've always told them they are perfectly capable of doing things on their own. They are perfectly capable of patting themselves on the back if they think they did a good job. Any door is open to them if they simply walk through it. I will stand aside and support them, but I firmly believe it's their choice. I'm just the avenue that makes it possible if that's their wishes.

       Maybe it's because of the way I've raised them, that I've left that door open to myself to keep exploring and adding different facets to my life. The three of us girls not only walk hand in hand, but we all have different interests and passions. Don't get me wrong, it's a not a free for all around here. They know without a doubt I am their parent and they are my children. A distinct and simple drawn line I've never wavered from.

       But I firmly believe as my role of 24/7 Mother will evolve someday, I need to have taken time during these years to find my own happiness that isn't dependent on them. I think that could be such an unfair burden to place on your own child.

       Basically, I'm just a firm believer in not standing on one single platform, and waiting around for time to knock me off the fulltime Mom stand. I've discovered there should be no hand in hand guilt with taking time for myself here and there.