Behind his eyes

Everyone has a story. Don't believe it? Start up a conversation with a stranger. Or better yet, let them start one with you.

I went Christmas and grocery shopping on Saturday, maybe too much ambition for one afternoon, but I prefer to get a lot done in one swoop than in little bits and pieces.

I went to the gym post shopping to get a little soak in the hot tub and it was empty save one older man. I picked a corner and settled into the bubbles and jets (that is such an amazing feeling). We made eye contact at one point and acknowledged each others' presence through small but polite smiles.

I got the sense that he wanted to chat but was not sure if I'd be open to a conversation with a stranger.

After a few moments of nothing but the sound of the bubbles in the spa and some kids splashing in the pool he spoke up. He asked me if I had a lot of people to shop for this year, and I told him that my family is spread out all over the place . . . Washington, Utah, California, Florida, Alabama, South Carolina . . . but that my immediate family would be close by.

We talked about our families for awhile. He talked about his three daughters and one son and his seven grandchildren. We talked about his wife having a hard time after the youngest child moved out of the house because she had the whole empty nest thing going on. Just your average, generic, home town friendly chatter.

Then he brought up being drafted into the Vietnam War when he was 19. He'd just been married. He told me about some of the horrific things he saw . . . his best friend getting blown up right in front of him, for example, and having someone shot and killed right next to him. He told me that the Viet Cong would fight at night, so his unit would be getting shot at and they'd have to shoot back into the jungle without seeing who they were shooting at. The Viet Cong would arm their children with machine guns, so when daylight came they'd discovered that they'd been shooting at children. He told me that he watched reporters come and kick the guns away from the bodies of the kids before doing their report so it looked like the children had been unarmed.

But, he said the worst part of the whole thing was coming back to America and being spit on and called a baby killer. That, he said, was worse than being in the war.

He's telling me all of this, and I don't really know what to say. It really came out of no where. He continued that it took him more than 20 years to finally talk about it, and now he enjoys talking about it because it is a release, a therapy for him because he held it in for so long. He and his wife are still married, by the way.

He now works to help soldiers coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan get the help that they need, both physical and mental. He drives vets to Salt Lake to the Veteran's Hospital and makes sure they have someone to talk to.

He was a genuinely all around good guy. He loves his wife, daughters, son and grandkids, and seemed like the kind of guy who help a complete stranger in a time of need.

It would be easy for him to be angry and bitter and just all around mad at the world, and maybe he was for awhile. But on Saturday he was a friendly grandpa getting excited to see his grandkids for Christmas.

If he had not told me about his time in the war I would have never known he'd been there. I would not have heard stories from someone who was literally in the line of fire in one of the darkest times of our country's past.

Things that this reinforced to me are: 1. You can go through something horrific and still chose to be a kind and compassionate individual. 2. You can't always trust what the media tells you. They show you want they want you to see.

I hope I see him there again sometime. He seems like an old friend.

A chipped tooth and forgotten dreams

I chipped my tooth while I was eating lunch today. Sometimes when I'm chewing I accidentally bite down on the bar. Today it chipped one of my molars. I guess I should take that thing out for good, I've had it for about 15 years. I'm too old for that shit anyway.

I start my second job tomorrow. I have to be there at 5 p.m. and I get off at my regular job at 5 p.m. I told my boss I had to leave early and he was very understanding. So by the time I get off work at about 10 tomorrow night I'll have put in about 14 hours. I'm not complaining, it's only temporary, just seasonal. I know I can handle it. I was working full time and going to school full time during the last few months of college.  . . and I had a toddler at home.

I can't believe how  much we've gone through the last couple of years . . . Mike breaking his foot, getting into a car accident, hiring a lawyer to fight the insurance and not getting the claim settled and having one vehicle for 7 months, Aria moving to Kansas City, my unexpected surgery, my car engine blowing up and costing roughly a grand to fix, Mike's vehicle  breaking down and costing us $650 to fix (so we did not have a running vehicle for about a week), now my phone is on the fritz. I've gone back and forth between being on the verge of breaking down and wondering what I did to deserve all this to being just kind of numb to it. There's only so much I have control over. This will pass, things will get better.

I miss Aria so much. I can't believe I have not seen her since July 11. I'm counting the days 'til I can hold her. For awhile in our lives it was just the two of us and she's taught me alot.

Since my phone has been messed up for a couple of days I haven't been on Facebook with the exception of the post about getting a second job. It's been great, all that political crap was making me crazy.

The last week or so I have not wanted to talk to anybody, and I mean anybody, including close friends and family. I want to hide in my office at work and shut the door and then come home and close all the blind and lock the doors and just hibernate. I don't want to be social. I hope no one takes it personal. I guess this is what a "normal" person's depression is like, I'm not depressed, not by my standards anyway. I am actually holding up better than I would have thought. I'm just overwhelmed and I don't want a lot of outside . . . err  . . . ness to make me more overwhelmed. If you know me at all you know that I tend to absorb everything around me. . . the good, the bad and the ugly. My senses are constantly on overload, most people just don't notice it. I watch the ants on the sidewalk, I can usually tell what kind of wood is burning by the smell of the smoke coming from the nearby chimney. I can close my eyes and isolate sounds . ..  the bird chirping in the tree on the other side of the river from my secret bench, the motorcycle accelerating from the stop light a couple of streets behind me. It's harder than it sounds, no pun intended (but that was a pretty good pun, am I right?!).

The point is I need the quiet sometimes.

I have had so much to say lately. I could fill the pages of an entire notebook with all the thoughts and poetic phrases bouncing around in my head. I come up with some of the most beautiful, clever, thought provoking things during the mysterious moments in between closing my eyes and falling asleep. The moments when I can still hear the box fan humming but am starting to lose the ability to distinguish which direction it's coming from. Some of the stuff I've come up with is epic, and it is hard for me to say anything good about my writing. I try my best to remember it so I can write it down in the morning. By the time this stuff magically pops into my brain I'm at the point where I am so close to sleep that I can't make myself get up and pull out a notebook. It's very vexing, but I'm grateful for the poetry and prose while it lasts.

I have really intense Stephen King style dreams. A lot of stuff that would make great movies. I dream a lot about situations that require making a big and difficult decision. I dream about fire a lot too. There's usually something stalking, like a monster, sometimes real and sometimes metaphorical. Sometimes when I close my eyes and focus I can remember bits and pieces, but I wish the recollections were as clear as the original showing.

It's cold outside today. Then again I'm always cold. I must be a woman.

Watch the weather change

I already miss the sun, but I'm looking forward to the serenity that winter brings. Everything has seasons, everything cycles.

I've been drawing a lot lately. There has not been a moment in the last few weeks that I have not felt like creating. Not sure why, but I have to learn to not question everything and just let some things be.

Busy day

Busy day today, too much going on.

I am meeting with my head doctor at 10 a.m. I am not sure what to call her. She's not a counselor, she's a psychiatrist. I guess that is the same thing.  She just checks in on me every few months to make sure that the medications are working for me. I am out of my anxiety pills. It took me a long time to go through them, I guess that is a good thing.

But I have needed them more lately than I did when they were first prescribed. Like I said, a lot going on.

I have another appointment at 11:20, but I am not at liberty to discuss that one at this time. Nothing bad, just a bit unexpected.

Just when I think my strength will give out I surprise myself. I often feel like I am just going to break, and some times I do, about twice a year I have a major depressive episode. My last one was a few months ago. We talk of physical pain in terms of its severity, 1-10 with ten being the worst, but being in pain mentally can be just be as bad. I woke up as a different person. . . I do some times. And I knew, I knew. I curled up on my bed, as tightly as I could, and just cried for hours. No rhyme or reason. It physically hurts because you're imploding. And you can't do anything but let it run it's course, just like an illness, you can't rush it away. Then when you "wake up" it is difficult to remember those few hours.  It's like those few hours of your life are just gone, they didn't exist, it's just a black hole.

But my strength always comes back. I can say honestly that I am determined, and when I'm "sane" I'm incredibly focused. I'm more passionate than most people, and in some respects much more calm and reserved.

I fight to stay optimistic, and I'm surprised to say that it is getting easier. Optimism is a word that was once not in my vocabulary. I don't know where it comes from, but I guess everyone has a secret reserve of strength that comes out when they need it most.

Today will be a good day, right?

Divided we fall

I remember, as a child, seeing several major events play out on TV.

I remember watching east and west Germans chip away at the Berlin Wall, eventually removing whole slabs at a time. I remember a man wearing blue jeans and a windbreaker jacket, the kind that everyone owned in the '80s, swinging one leg over the wall and then the other while thousands of people cheered. 

I remember when they pulled baby Jessica out of the well, bandaged up and wide-eyed.

I remember watching Ronald Regan on TV. I knew him only as a president. It was not until many years later that I learned that he had also been an actor. 

I remember the 1989 San Francisco earthquake. The one that happened during the World Series and was hence broadcast on live TV from Candlestick Park. (Mike's uncle was at that game). I remember seeing the images of the freeway that had collapsed onto the other. It literally looked like a sandwich.

I remember hearing about HIV and AIDS for the first time, and that poor kid who contracted it when he got a blood transfusion.

I remember bits and pieces of the fall of the Soviet Union, though I had no idea what it meant at the time. 

I remember the Oklahoma City bombing. I walked in to my 8th grade art class and it was on the TV, the entire side of the building just gone. 

I remember WACO, the FBI and various other law enforcement teams staged outside the compound.
I remember when the smoke first started rising from the building, then becoming fully engulfed minutes later. 

I remember the Unabomber guy, Ted Kczynsky. The cabin he had been living in in the Montana wilderness was loaded onto a trailer and transported to wherever the trial was being held for evidence. It passed through Pocatello on its way there.

I remember Ruby Ridge unfolding.  That was when I learned that northern Idaho was known for white supremacist nuts.

I remember when the space shuttle Columbia exploded upon re-entry in 2003, when the Gulf War was declared, when there were riots in Los Angeles. I remember watching Rodney King on TV, then OJ Simpson years later. 

I remember the Lewinsky scandal, then the Y2K hype.

I remember the shooting at Columbine High School and listening to the media and so-called experts try to figure out why the Eric and Dylan did what they did.

Also the deadly Great White nightclub fire, the capture of Saddam Hussein, Hurricanes Andrew and Katrina, both of the Bush presidential campaigns, Bill Clinton's campaign, Obama's campaign, Al Gore trying to bring attention to global warming.

And of course, 9/11. Everyone remembers that day more than most others. Who they were with, where they were standing and of course that sinking, sick feeling that still manifests on each anniversary.

This week's events have made me think about a lot of things. I've thought about how scared my mom and dad must have been during the recession in the 80s, the seemingly constant war in the Middle East, the way that, despite everything we've learned, everything we've been through we aren't really better off. 

There have only been three times that I was afraid, genuinely worried and scared to the point that I can actually feel it in my body: April 20, 1999, September 11, 2001 and November 9, 2016.

I'm trying to be optimistic.

I believe in the freedom of assembly, free speech, the right to bear arms . . .
but I also believe in liberty and justice for all.

It's horrible to think that the person we've choose to lead us has assaulted women, thinks Mexicans are rapists and Muslims are terrorists.

I am not a raging feminist or anything, but it makes me sick to think that the guy making decisions regarding women's rights has said that flat-chested women can't be "tens," that he can do anything he wants to them because he's famous, and that they don't need to be respected. How does someone say things like that and then get elected president?

And then ban an entire religion? Muslims are not all terrorists any more than all Christians are members of the Westboro Baptist Church.

Mexicans are rapists and murderers? So are many caucasian American-born citizens, should we kick them out too?

We've spent years, decades working toward equality.  All men are created equal. . . . all of that is now being threatened by someone who thinks he can buy people.

Calls to suicide and LGBT hotlines have more than doubled in volume since Tuesday. Many people now have the idea that discriminating against people because of the color of their skin, religion or sexual preference is OK. He's endorsed by the KKK for hell's sakes. But that's Ok, right?

A friend of mine married a Hispanic man and they have three awesome kids. Their nine-year-old was told by classmates that he better go start building the wall and then climb over it. These are elementary school aged kids. My gay and lesbian friends are scared and confused. No one is born with hate, it's taught, and now it's being taught on one of the biggest stages in the world — American politics.

We tell our daughters that they are beautiful no matter what, that the size of your waist and chest don't matter, and yet we'll soon be governed by someone who basically thinks women are sexual objects. I can't be OK with that.

I think what terrifies me the most is that we've gotten to the point where many people feel that this is our best option. What have we become as a society that we're willing to not only accept this but endorse it?  How is it that we have gotten so out of control that we feel we need something this radical? JFK is rolling in his grave.

People are desperate for change, and I get that. Believe me I am all for some drastic changes in the way our government handles things. But it seems like a giant rift has opened, and instead of trying to fix it or figure out what caused it to open in the first place people are picking sides and are not willing to build a bridge until the other side admits they're wrong.

"Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country." We're supposed to be making things better for EVERYBODY, we are supposed to be UNITED.  We have not been this divided since the Civil War.

United we stand. Divided we fall.

This is still a democracy, and I'll take that over a dictatorship any day. The fact that we had an election is proof that we are free, and I don't take that for granted. I don't care who you voted for, I have friends and family on both sides of this divide. I'm just a bit freaked out.

But like I said, I am being optimistic. Maybe optimism is for fools, I don't know, but some times you have to be or you'll go nuts. The sun will come out tomorrow!

There's a few things I like to conclude with: Don't rely on someone else to prompt you to be a good person. Don't hate some one just because they voted the way they did, hating a person based on who he or she voted for makes you no better than people who hate others because they are gay or straight. You don't have to agree with someone to respect them. Many people think this really sucks, and I have to admit I am one of them, but all we can do now is move forward, change what we can, accept what we can't change, and be wise enough to know the difference.

You cannot change who is president. You can donate to your local food bank. You can't change whether or not we go to war — again. You can start a coat drive at your place of work. Take this frustration and anger you're feeling right now and apply it to something positive. 

Reality isn't always real

There exists in this world things too beautiful, too real to be true. And yet there they are — in the sky, reflected in a mountain lake. . . Don't let yourself believe that something does not exist because you've never seen it or it cannot be seen. There is a magic just below the surface, just beyond our understanding. You feel it when you love, when you reach the top of a mountain and look out on the valley to realize how small and yet powerful you really are. It comes to you in dreams and in times of deep grief. It's a peace like no other. It cannot be forced, but can be found — a reward for patience, for learning the beauty and value of silence.   Seek the real, but don't get caught up in what they they claim to be "reality."  Your idea of reality, after all, is mostly what you've be told. Life is too short to keep your mind in a box. 

Nothing in particular

Everyone says his or her life is boring, myself included. I go to work, I go home, I go to work, I go home. But really, the more I pay attention to the people, places and things around me and even my own thoughts the less boring I become. 

For example, several nights ago my dream included a nun and a wet chicken. I was the chicken. There's no explanation for that in my dream dictionary, so I will just have to accept that I won't know the meaning behind that nocturnal adventure. 

What else? I screwed pretty royally at work today. I accidentally billed a client twice. Most sane people would say that's not a big deal, the charge can be credited, but we all know that there are a fair share of extremely crazy people. So, of all the people I could have accidentally billed, in a Murphy's Law sort of way I happened to pick the craziest one. Super. The customer is not always right, sometimes the customer is bat-shit crazy. 

So rather than go home, sit on my couch and eat leftovers for lunch I went for a walk. People really should take walks more often. Not only is it exercise, but it's very meditative, thoughts can wander without getting boxed in by annoying things like other people and work. 

I happened upon some vines with leaves far more red than anything I've ever seen on fall foliage. It was so beautiful. I wish more people noticed these things. I wish I'd had my digital SLR camera.

I talked to Aria on the phone for more than a hour yesterday. We're making plans to get her here for Christmas. I am going to fly to Kansas City and spend a couple days there and then fly back with her. Knowing that plans to spend time with her are coming together gives me chills, I can't wait. That's all I want for Christmas, to be with her. 

She's having mixed feelings about being there. She texted me a few nights ago telling me that she wants to come back here. I told her that if she really wants to come back I will make it happen. But I want her to really weigh the pros and cons of both places -- it's  not like she just moved to Idaho Falls or something, she lives 17 hours away, she can't go back and forth to live every few months. She told me that she should have thought it out more. She told me that being without Mike, Devin and I is like losing a limb. But at the same time she does not want to disappoint her dad.  I hate that she's dealing with this. She's stressed and scared. I want to fix this for her and I can't . . .

Devin turned 7 last week. I can't believe he is already 7, it really does seem like he was in diapers just last year. People tell you that your child will grow up fast, but you really don't get it until you experience it first hand. He's so much more independent than he was even last year. He tells us he's going outside to play with friends and off he goes! He used to be afraid to go next door to ask if the little neighbor girl could play. He's so much more confident now and I am so proud of him!

He learned a song in school and he's been singing it the last couple of days . . . "Have you ever seen a bear comb his hair? Have you ever seen a moose kissing a goose?" He's silly. 

I have been feeling very artistic lately. I just can't stop drawing and painting. I really don't think I've ever felt the urge to create more than I do now. Not sure where it's coming from, but I like it.  I've been drawing these zentangle things. I have always loved them, so I decided to draw them. Whether I am good at it or not has yet to be determined. 

I've also been dismantling pallets and sanding them down with the hopes of painting them and turning them into something beautiful. I've started one with a tree and birds. . . I know what I am going to add to it, but I don't want to give it away.

We're still trying to figure out what to do with my car. . . one way or the other I have to get something to drive, whether we put all the money in to fix mine or we buy something else . . . having one vehicle for both Mike and I sucks. 

I feel sort of stuck, like I need a change. That's not to say I'm not happy, I am so happy! But I need to do something major, something big. I need to unleash my potential . . . it's in there somewhere. I need to stop being afraid. My kids have both shown so much confidence in the last six months, so I need to find mine. 

I'm still trying to figure out what's going on in my head. I have these major moments where I think I am conquering my body image issues, but then I take two steps back. I hate photos of myself, and by hate I mean I avoid them at all costs. We were goofing off at a Halloween store a couple of weeks ago and I took a dorky picture of myself wearing Princess Laya hair. I decided to challenge myself and make it my Facebook profile photo. I know that seems super casual to most people, but it took some serious guts for me to post a photo of myself looking like a goof ball for the world to see. I have always told myself that I would never post a photo of myself on Facebook unless I was supermodel perfect. Posting that photo was a big deal for me, laugh and snicker if you want. 

And yet, at Devin's birthday party a few days ago I would not let anyone take my photo. No way, no how, it was not going to happen. It was the complete polar opposite of how I'd felt when I posted the Facebook photo. The thought of having my photo taken this time was literally nauseating. It felt to me that it should not have even been considered. I wanted to hide in another room. I don't get it. I hate battling with myself more than anything. 

I'm rambling now, so I should stop. 

Missing my daughter

I wish I could make time stand still, just for a moment, let me breathe this all in before I move on. I can't keep up. Maybe that's how it is supposed to be. Or maybe the sense of urgency in everything is brought on by a capitalistic society influencing us 24/7 and convincing us we need more, that we're not enough.


Sleep evaded me last night. Big surprise.

Downstairs I sat near an open window, breathing in the cool air and wishing to have the kind of peace the darkness of night envelops. I watched the moon ascend, making the branches of the neighbor's tree look like skeleton arms reaching up toward some unknown companion.

It's strange how we are all under the same moon, the same stars, and yet we feel so alone. Darkness amplifies distance — it's the price pay for its serenity.

I miss my daughter more every day. I thought it would be hard at first and then get easier. At first it just seemed like she was on vacation, like she'd be back in a few weeks. Now that I see her face on social media, posting about her interests and projects, her classes and friends, and it hits me that she had started a new life there, 980.7 miles away.

Her physical absence here has left a wound in me as dark as this night that now seems to be holding me hostage.

And yet at the same time I am overflowing with pride. She's shown that she has so much more courage than I, even though my time on this earth more than duplicates hers. At her age I would have never been able to move that far away from my friends and family with nothing but the promise that I'd be Ok.

She made a very adult decision, and she's shown in that and in other ways how strong-willed and undeterred she is.

I found a fitting inspirational quote online last week that I immediately knew I had to send her. It was something to the effect of that, I hope my daughter knows that she can accomplish anything she wants, I hope she sees the value I see in her . . . that type of thing.  Her response, "I already know that ;)"

And she does.

I suppose it is a bit selfish to want her here, when I know she is doing well where she is, but she'll always be my baby, and not being able to hug her is driving me batty. I don't want any gifts for my birthday or Christmas, I just want to hold my daughter, that's it.

She's excelling at school, all As and Bs, she's continuing to learn how to play the violin. She will be taking art classes next semester, and though I admit I am a bit biased, she is really a great artist. Her work amazes me, and I really hope she keeps it up.

She'll be 13 in a couple of months, pretty hard to believe.

These are the things that keep me up at night.

The moon had risen above the skeleton tree at that point, and the night air had turned from cool to brisk. I knew I should try to sleep, but I know myself well enough to know that it would be several hours yet.

I usually have some clever, quirky ending to all of my entries, but this time I am drawing a blank. I'll attribute that to my sleepless night.