Impressions

Impressions.

A longtime friend came to my house last night because she was both frustrated, tired and basically at her giving up point. She talked, I listened, she spoke, I listened, she expressed her dismay's and I offered advice when solicited.

At one point she said the words I'm sure we've all said, "I just can't do this anymore, I give up." To which I said, " Giving up really isn't an option, because tomorrow will come whether you want it or not." What a wise old soul I am.....or cliche.

I did not receive the response I expected. What I did receive was a bit of a friend smack that turned the tables on me, in a rather uncomfortable position.

She turned agitated and said something a bit accusing," You know Rebecca, thats easy for you to say when everything you do, you succeed in, and everything you do your perfect at and you don't have to work hard like the rest of us at making it in life."

A jaw dropping moment in the scheme of the night. I looked at her and wondered if she was indeed officially insane or just gravely mistaken.

I understand that sometimes in an angry mood, it's easier to attack the nearest thing around. In this case, I found myself in the line of fire. Carefully, I addressed her. I told her that she was mistaken and I have my own set of problems, difficulties, disappointments, failures and that perfection and I seriously do not walk hand in hand. To which she muttered 'bullshit,' and started to cry. Officially, for the record, I would like to state that tears are an unfair advantage and have the ability to penetrate the best of my defenses............

I came clean with her, and in my world, that is not a small feat. Since she's known me since I was about 24, I went back into teenagehood and started there. I told her about struggles, mistakes, screw ups, I elaborated about my 20's, telling her all that I never speak of. I explained to her the current heartache I live with day in and day out and how I live a dirty little secret, all details included. I showed her some of my writing, and shed some light on this persona I've evidently represented to those around me.

My cover is officially blown and I blame the damn tears. She also placed a thought of guilt on my shoulders. She told me that it was unfair that she had known me for almost 10 years and knew nothing of what I had spoken of. I agreed, and that was not easy.

When she left, the air had changed. I think in her eye's I saw pity, understanding, and knew she saw me for what I really am, just like everyone else, a vulnerable human.  My impression, the one she had of me, has seriously been altered. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Maintaining an impression is something I think everyone does. It's all part of presenting ourselves to the world.

There is a piece of me that worries about the impression I leave here on this journal. I know I shouldn't, but anytime you're presenting yourself, whether to friends, family, the mailman or a place like this, we leave an impression. I'm humbled more often then not when people leave comments that I am inspiring and such. But honestly, it doesn't sit well with me, or I have a hard time accepting that. I told an online friend, that sometimes it makes me feel like a fraud, to which their take on fraud/impressions put a few things into perspective for me. Thank you by the way....

Impressions are just one lining of a person, never the whole or even real deal. My friends turn about fair play, clearly showed me that. If anything I learned that should I have an impression of someone else, I cannot expect them to uphold it. It could be shattered by the revelations of truth.

Testing

       If I think back to my first memory of reckless moments, I picture a girl, 10, maybe 11, climbing a mountain behind her home for hours. Focused, and always determined to accomplish what she set out to do.
      
        She'd climb a mountain for 3 hours, just so she could sit at the top perhaps thinking she was on top of the world, or maybe just basking in the light that can only be found from such heights. And then, with a mischievous smile, she would run as fast as she could down the steep mountain. Reckless, and without regard to possible injuries, she'd run, and hurdle rocks, bushes, sailing through the air hoping she could recover when her feet touched again. Sometimes she did, sometimes she didn't.

       Sometimes, she'd walk up to her home with her Mother standing on the steps with both hands on her hip, exasperated, and clucking like a worried Mother hen over various cuts and wounds, proclaiming, "If I look out and see my daughter tumbling down that mountain again, I'm going to whoop your ass worse then that mountain Becky!"

       Then, I remember a teenager, about 16 standing on the cliffs over one of the lakes not far from home. Gangs of teenagers hiding in the Mountains, doing things that would make their parents cringe and pray to any religion available. Cliff jumping they called it.
      
       Various points could be found to jump from, from almost safe heights to downright terrifying distances to the water. She hated the water, always did, but to stand on the cliff and will herself from the edge was an exhilaration and test of willpower that couldn't be denied. She liked knowing she was the only girl who would jump from the highest point that could be found. Mediocre was never a choice for her, if there was a breaking point, she'd test it.

       Standing on the edge, looking down to the water was always a test of the mind. We all knew with each jump, one wrong step would mean a broken something, or maybe even something worse, but we did it anyway. To be teen is to be invisible. But honestly, she was relieved when she finally broke a leg, it bought her a ticket out of doing what terrified her for the rest of the summer, while saving face.  She would take a broken leg any day over being called chicken.

       Being an adult provided new challenges. What can an adult get away with without being called crazy? She still ran mountains, but changed her tactics. During times when her mind raced and there was no escape, she drove to the Mountains late at night and climbed in the dark, and ran down in the dark. A new dimension to reckless abandonment. A perfect solution and when one questions certain cuts on arms, legs, face, telling the truth is easy. Hiking, fell, it's all good.

       Then, she discovered rock climbing. But hated the ropes that bind. Free climbing was risky and exhilarating. And only produced one broken ankle from a nasty fall against a rock she was told couldn't be done. They were right, but she tried anyway.

       While flyfishing, being terrified of water provided a challenge. To wade in, test the mind, test the fear is always it's own degree of difficulty. When flyfishing, there is always a spot just out of casting distance. Always a spot that if you can wade in one more foot you can get to it. A few death swirls being pulled down a raging river hasn't stopped her, only enforced an irrational determination to not let water beat her.

       Once while laying on the bank, on the wrong side of the swollen river after a particularly scary death swirl, she was stranded for hours waiting for something, help sounds like the legitimate something, but she searched for something else. Answers? Absolution? A miraculous moment of clarity? Realizing in one way or another, she had been in that situation more then once was enough to scare her. Mortality staring harshly in the face of a person who tempted it and defied it, is enough to splash perspective on any fearless human.

       And now, I still do not stay on any beaten path. My last injury? A nail through the foot after a run off the safe trail. Not even worth mentioning, I call that a boring injury. Safe trails drive me crazy. Something laid out before me dictates far to much control. A classic habit in my life, take the unknown, run down the unexplainable, jump over the impossible to see if I can do it.

       Once, one of my parents said to me, "If you make it to the age of 30 it will be a miracle," to which I replied, "I'll take that as a challenge." I made it, and I am a bit more cautious now. Being a Mother is sometimes like a soft chant behind my ear, whispering do the right thing, do the responsible thing, do the Motherly thing.

       My youngest daughter is attempting to talk me into letting her ride motocross. A dangerous sport anyway you look at it. Hence the inspiration for my thoughts here today...... Last year, I got her a 4 wheeler, thinking 4 wheels are better then 2. She rides it like she is Evil Kineval. Testing jumps to see how far she can fly through the air. 4-wheelers aren't exactly meant for such thing. She seems to love giving everyone around her heartattacks, except when she looks at me, I know she sees a sly smile and proud eyes. I stick up for her antics and we're good like that.

       I see so much of me in her. It's hard to stop what is inside, even when there is a slice of danger there. I understand her. There is a fine line I've tried to master between enforcing as a parent what I think is safe, and what my children see themselves as capable of trying. I know I stand in a strange spot when saying I've never feared my daughters getting physically hurt. When it's time for stitches and casts, we just march off to the hospital and take care of it.

       I've always believed a person must fall sometimes when trying things, and a bit of blood is nothing compared to saying to oneself inside, I did it. From the time they were little I never dove between them and falling down, or stopped them from hanging in a crazy position on the monkey bars. And just so we are clear, I would indeed jump in front of a car and let it hit me before they were hurt in such a manner. But when it comes to day to day, I've always held back and let them experience things as they will. 

       Conventional and I may not stand hand in hand, as I continue to test myself and my time on earth. I don't know if I'm exactly a thrill seeker, or an idiot. I'm happiest off the beaten path and I'm restless when I'm not putting myself to a challenge.

       I just may have to buy that 2 wheeled motorcycle and let her fulfill her dream of doing a backflip off a jump....................scary, even for me.

Adieu of Nothing

              I have a thought process sans anything intelligent right now. I normally assign such pause in life as the calm before a potential storms in Rebecca's corridors. While I was driving today, pausing at a stop light waiting for the green proceed light, I realized how detached I've become lately. To which my next mind thought was detached is one emotional moment from self implosion. Sometimes it's unenjoyable to be connected to this brain of word linking and self righteous shrink inspired moments.

       Although, I've never seen a shrink. I've thought about it, but I'm afraid if I ever actually sat down with one, my mind would take it as a dynamic challenge and I'd be paying to pick the brain of my shrink. I can envision it now. We sit eye to eye, one mind against the other. Me toying with the person to see just how much they could actually pry out of my mind and just the opposite, my brain trying to pry as much as I could from them without them realizing it.

       Then again, maybe I give myself to much credit here and a shrink has a better angle I haven't seen yet. Could be worth a few bucks just to see what would happen. If anything, I could get a decent journal entry from my experiment of human mind pitted against another human mind on a mission. Damn, I haven't even made an appointment and I've already set a stubborn tone. A shrink would probably turn me away for wrong/bad attitude. To self shrink that would be to say I have issues of privacy and my mind thinks it's just fine without anyone toying with it. Scary ehh.

       I wrote down today on a scrap piece of paper as I was doodling during a business meeting, that I am a recluse cleverly disguised as a Mother, Friend, Daughter, and business associate. Thus the detached inspired mention above. I really do think, given the right conditions I could be one of those sane, yet thought of as crazy ladies who lives as a hermit.

       I can envision it now, a simple shack, trade in the BMW for a sweet little 1970 Bronco without a top, living off the land somewhere in the back woods surrounded by tree's, nosey chipmunks and plenty of sunshine. Maybe I was just born in a wrong era. Me and Emily Dickinson could have been great friends, provided we both could have gotten over our reclusiveness long enough to chat.

       I think part of my current problem is a crash of too many thoughts/emotions. From missing someone so much it crushes me inside and out, day in and day out. To thoroughly not enjoying certain area's of my life, on to needing more minutes in a day, to worrying about children, family, friends. I suppose some could classify that as stress, but I've really never been one to assign such words to my world, to excusable, so I just call it crashing of the eclectic mentality.

       And this entry represents me, posting something of complete irrelevance just to get out of my writers block mentality, I have deleted far too many entries over the last 3 days.

 Much adieu about nothing.......

Full Circle

Last night, a moment I had almost let slip from my mind came about full circle. Life is funny like that, you finally let the haunting of a minute of time, 10 minutes of time or a day, go to the calm recesses of your mind and in one-second they can all come flooding back with crashing force.

       "Hi, is this Rebecca H******?" asked the quiet female voice on the other side of the phone. To which I thought, too sweet to be a telemarketer, and replied yes.

       "Well, you sent a letter to my Father many years ago and I just found it. I wanted to know if you would tell me about the night my Mother Alice died, how she was, did she say anything you can tell me." Pause hers and mine  "I'm sorry to bother you like this, but I want to know what happened that night, everything, I'm tired of wondering what my Mother went through and no one ever talks about it."

       My stomach did several backflips and my mind felt like static electricity gone haywire. I had expected this call back in 1997, and never got it. I was mentally prepared back then, last night I was completely caught off guard. The silence was deafening while I quickly composed myself.

       And so I told her. On the night of May 18th 1997 I was sitting at my computer just inside the front door of my old house. I had the front door open because the air outside was beautiful and warm. It was around 11:30 at night, kids asleep, neighborhood asleep, all was quiet. I didn't hear the squeal of tires stopping, only a loud thud that couldn't be ignored. I instantly thought maybe my dog had slipped out the front door and had been hit. I went to the front door and saw a car still in the process of stopping and a heap of something on the ground several yards in front of it.

       I didn't take a moment to put on clothes, or shoes, so in my large T-shirt and underwear I ran across my front lawn and straight to the person laying in the street. Her body lay in unnatural positions. Legs snapped like tree branches, bone exposed under the soft street lamp. Her shirt was partially ripped off exposing her breast. It seemed as though blood was seeping and pumping from so many parts of her body. A calm I had never felt came over me and I laid down in the street next to her. I knew, I couldn't move her, nor do anything for her. There were to many injuries, too much blood, to much of everything. I saw one of her legs, blood was literately pulsing out with each heartbeat and I did the only thing I knew, found the artery with my hand and pressed as hard as I could to stop the flow.

       She was alive and she was coherent. Her eye's were huge. I laid my other hand over hers. I locked my eye's with her and that is how we would remain until help got there. Then I started to talk. I asked her if she had children to which she said yes. I told her to hold on for them, over and over. She asked me how bad it was and all I told her was that she'd be needing some crutches. I didn't mention the blood that was pooling behind her head, or the blood that had pooled around my knees. I remember the only thing that kept coming from my mouth was about family. Children. Family. Children. Hold on, help is coming and you'll see your children soon. She told me to tell her children how much she loved them in strangled words. I told her, you can tell them when they come to the hospital to see you. I kept smiling to her, hoping it would disguise the worry in my own eyes.

       I remember the echo of sirens in the distance, and the way her eye's started to roll wildly around on her face. I remember talking and talking, holding her hand in one of my hands and pressing into her artery with my other. So much blood, yet, I didn't see pain in her eyes, only fear. Then, a police officer was next to me, yet, I didn't move. He asked me, "Did you see the accident" and I said, "No" and then he said, "Help will be here soon, keep doing what your doing" and then his presence was gone. I remember thinking, how can he abandon us?

       During a moment I cannot name, she was gone. Her eye's still wide open, but gone. Her heart still beating, but gone. She no longer held my gaze, she no longer made noises or mumbled, or tried to form a word. The sounds of sirens got louder and then, a fireman was beside me, asking questions, checking her for life, I did not let go of her hand. And then, when the fireman was ready, it was time for me to let go, and I turned my vigilance over to the people with equipment.

       If time is measured in moments, this entire moment of my life lasted probably less then 4 minutes. Yet, it will be a moment that both haunts meand I'll treasure for the rest of my life. I was with someone during their last moments of thought, life. If I call it bonding, it sounds superficial, if I call it connection, it sounds irrelevant. But something happened to me that evening that I've not spoken about much since I experienced it.

       When I stood up, I realized many people were standing in a circle around us. Neighbors woken up by the noise, other cars of people that had stopped. Not one of them had said a word, or came close to us, no one had interrupted my nonstop talking blather. Everyone a witness to this divine experience. I was covered in her blood, and astounded by the moment. I was silent. I quietly walked back into my home. The moment broken and gone, as she was.

       The card. When I learned that she had indeed died from multiple injuries that evening, I was torn, go to the funeral, or not. What I ended up choosing was writing a simple sympathy card. In it I wrote that I had been with her in the seconds, minutes after the accident and that should anyone ever desire to know what happened during that time, they only need to contact me. I sent it to the funeral home for the family and let time go by. I was never called, until last night.

       I hope, that in telling her daughter that all words, all thoughts were focused on her and her brother during those seconds, was exactly what she needed to know to find comfort.

       I've thought about it over the years, I know I could have taken it another direction. Technically, I could have asked her what hurt, I could have told her about the injuries I could see, I could have could have could have........but for whatever reason, I choose in that moment to focus on life, family, children and hope to see them again. I still believe I did the right thing.

       I hope her daughter heard what she needed from me last night. I hope I provided some comfort and rest to her thoughts. I realize now how young she was when she lost her Mother, and now, is probably an age where she could understand and hear the story, absorb it to her heart that her Mothers last words were about her. I am comforted, I was there and I am relieved I was able to tell her what I did. 

She said, "Thank you Rebecca" and the circle was completed.

Dynamics

This morning as I took my youngest daughter to school she proclaimed a difference that has stuck in my mind during the course of the afternoon. It went alittle something like this.

       "Momma, isn't it strange that your the Mom and you take me flyfishing and camping, and my dad is the one that makes me go to the mall and shopping when I see him a couple of times a month?"

       To which I said, "Well, I'm not so sure it's strange that I flyfish and take you, but I understand that usually it's the guys that do the things I do, and usually the girls that do the shopping.I don't mind shopping, but I love to be in the outdoors, especially with you kiddo"

     All I will say to that difference is, when I was married to their Father, I would have had to drag him into the Mall kicking and screaming. But alas, the power of another woman has overshadowed all previous fears their Father may have had and now he is as close to a Mall rat as most teeny poppers. All hail his youngster girlfriend, the female power of persuasion is strong with that one...........

       When I flyfish, I become someone entirely different. A wave of peace comes to the space around me and I am simply one. One with nature and one with myself. It's the one place I have found perfection in the world, a scene that could never be captured by camera or words.

       It is this peace that I've tried my damnedest to show my daughters. Family time watching TV, does nothing for me. Family time going out to a movie seems like a farce veiled behind good intention. Family time at any commercialized establishment always seems to be overshadowed by distractions.

       There are far to many distractions in this world and I've personally found the only way to escape them is going as far from cost incurring events as possible. Electronic devices be damned, paid events be gone, stationary entertainment is for late nights, and winter months.

       Of course, growing up poor, in the Idaho Mountains with parents that were outdoors enthusiasts is probably the main reason I enjoy my solitude in the outdoors as much as I do. We didn't have money for waterparks and gameworlds, it was all about, "Get your butt outside for the day and entertain yourself Rebecca" I wonder if things had been different, if I had grown up a city girl, without ever touching the rugged terrain of a river or mountain, what I would have established as my comfort activities.

       Comfort activities, we all have them. I wonder how mine differ from other people. When not in the outdoors I write of course, and read voraciously and rarely watch TV. I love to garden in the summer and during the winter months I pace like a caged bear. Spring fever is heighten like no other feeling right now. I've taken my pacing to the outdoors, checking for signs of life and soul inspiring green leaves around my yard and neighborhood.

       My daughter remarked upon something much deeper then I believe she even realizes. If there is one gift I can give her, it's appreciation for what cannot be bought. It's gratitude for something that is always available if one is willing to open a door and walk outside. I have such high hopes for my girls, that they will take from me that one thing, a love for the outdoors that will accompany them throughout life. It's the gift my Father bestowed upon me, and it's a gift I hope with all my heart I have given my daughters.

       I gladly give my Ex-husband the title of Mall rat, and just the opposite I'll keep my title of Outdoor rat. We'll see which gift of life my daughters treasure more in the long run. If I were a nicer person, perhaps I'd even mention that to my X, but for now, I'll keep my female persuasions focused on my daughters~

Oh all right, yes, I'm frustrated with the Father Figure and that makes for a slightly cynical state of mind. I just wish, I could show the man what a difference, what an influence he could, or should, or has the opportunity to do with his own daughters.

I have never understood the parent that falls to the wayside when it comes to their own children. That concept seems so, cowardly and as time continues to go by, I'm astounded that my own X is becoming the very type of parent I never understood.

 The how is the question that strikes me a bit like the question of 'is the universe really unending?' How does a parent walk away from their own children? How does a parent choose a boyfriend or girlfriend over their own children? This question is one I now have found I must face. Ironically, my daughters Father figure has choosen life of hickies on his neck and Malls over spending time with his daughters.

I do not understand the dynamics of this how.

But I do understand how I've planted a seed of comfort in my daughters and as life takes them through the streets of choice, they can always find comfort just outside the door.

All Is Good

       This was one of those days that I wish I could gather up all it's moments, thoughts, feelings and emotions and bottle up for a rainy day. Clearly with my previous entry, by tomorrow it will be in the past and just another notion of my life, but I don't care, I enjoyed today.

       Nothing extraordinary happened. Nothing spectacular in the grand scheme of things, and nothing that couldn't happen tomorrow. Today, I felt relief and for now thats all that matters. If there is a sanctity of mind, I achieved it today and I enjoyed it.

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       I wrote in my book today, finally figuring out a specific character thats been giving me "grief" as he will say from time to time in my book. This afternoon as I started writing this persona into my book, I smiled from time to time with ultimate satisfaction knowing I'd finally set an important puzzle piece within it's pages. Thank You, by the way, to the persona that gifted me with the inspiration.

       One of the dilemmas with writing a book is adding all the right characters. I appreciate ordinary, I delight in eccentric and embrace the quirks of each of the 'players' within the story I'm attempting to convey. But sometimes, all right, often, as a writer I find myself roadblocked by need. Need of protecting a personal theme. The need to add just the right mix of characters without diluting the overall picture. The need to say what's just banging against my head to get out. The need to add character 1 with character 2 with a clash of peeps 3 and 4.

       Perfectionism is going to be either the death of my writing career, or the death of me.

       On those dragging days, when nothing seems to work, I add alittle role playing role across my mind. It goes something like this.

      I walk into the blaring lights of the Today show, smiling sweetly at Katie Couric who's gray hair is remarkably silver with the lighting. Every wrinkle on her 70 year old face is filled in with unconvincing pancake foundation. She asks her first important question, "Rebecca, your the author of a best selling novel, tell us, how long did it take you to write your brilliant piece of work that has touching the hearts of millions?"

      I shift uncomfortably in my chair, and stare down at my calloused hands, "Well Katie, I have to be honest, it took about 25 years. Perfectionism is tough to manipulate around 100,000 words of thought. In fact, it equates to 1,000 rewrites and I've murdered off at least 500 people/characters that just didn't fit in my book. I'm a serial persona killer."

       Gasps can then be heard from around the world by all other wannabe writers and beyond that I can hear the laughs of the writers who plugged out a book in 6 months flat......Hey, it's my role playing, and my way of kicking myself in the arse to get a move on things. Ok, it's one of those creative mind things, we like to self torture on occasion, gets the creative juices flowing. Yes, ok, maybe just in my world. It is what it is. A delightful torture venue with a goal of possible finality at the end of the line.

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       The biggest notion in my mind about today, was that I'm finally feeling like myself again. I know I don't add a lot of details in my journal, all right, my journal is typically devoid of details. But overall, the month of February was a tough one for me. I had a surgery at the beginning of the month, some complications, some rather unexpected ups and downs, twists and turns that flayed me like a dead fish on a cutting board. But thats all over now, in the past and now, I feel like facing the future. I'm fine, is actually true for once and I adore saying that. I can even feel the pull of a possible Happy Dance coming my way soon........

All is Good, and I'm enjoying the peace of it.
And thank you, again, for the offer. Wish I could have made it happen,
on the Gray Reef horizon