Living on the edge

Living on the edge of my own reality, trying to keep it from seeping into my conscious. My very good friend is beginning the battle of her life with breast (catstir)...she's creative and has unique stamped all over herself, and that is her word. I adore her, she inspires me and has given me the very amazing gift of recapturing our teenage passions. We were both rebellious and outspoken, definitely on the fringe of what was considered normal back then, thank God. She (can I say your name, Monkey) is courageous and resilient because of and in spite of what she's already been through, and this fight will most likely give her more than it will take from her, that's just her nature. I speak like I know Monkey so well, but we really just recently rediscovered each other. The connection is intense for me, I find myself considering her perspective a great deal. She inspired me to start a blog, and I do it for myself, to get it all out. I don't expect a reader base, I just need to vent, this is my diary.

So I'm scared for her and myself. I know this is selfish but I don't want to lose her, not that I think catstir will claim her physical life, I know it will not. I fear she will not need me in her life because she will be so much stronger than anyone realizes, even her, that she will change. I know she will change. I don't know exactly how, but this is one of those life altering events, like having a child, or losing a child, as she has. You are never the same after these events, never. Will I be able to stay worthy of her friendship when she rises up in this fight? Will I have anything to offer?

This is not happening to me, it isn't about me. But this is my perspective. For now.

I worry about how she is handling the emotional aspect of this frightening diagnosis, and if she has enough people giving her the support she needs, and do I dare feel I am able to help?

And then I think, change is growth, and that is Shannon. Always growing. Always rising. It will be up to me to make it my business to keep up. To continue to grow also.

I will start tomorrow.

Hopefully hoping

New Year's Day, 2012. Who would ever have thought we'd get here, with Nostradamus predicting our demise several times before this year, and the end of the world prediction by all those various religious groups, names of which I have NO idea.

But I have been hoping. And hopeful. And it started with our electing a black President, and a woman speaker of the house. It continued when we had some changes to health care that allowed me (personally) to keep my children on my insurance policy, and the credit card companies got slapped for trying to screw us without any notice by increasing interest rates. The foreclosure crisis dampened me a bit, and I hate to see so many people struggling with joblessness and homelessness. But then Occupy started, and my sister tells me today that Time Magazine voted the protesters as "Person of the Year". How perfect, as their collective effort have put greed and corporate greed specifically in the spotlight!!!! Then this same sister tells me a wonderful story of hope today.

Marleen is my Vermont sister, so we talk every so often and when she comes to visit in New Jersey, it is always a treat. Informed, peace loving, gentle and passionate about fairness, she is a buzzing force of  positive energy.

Feeling kind of down in the dumps today, a little mopey, she was just hanging around and happened upon a show about New Zealand's New Year's eve celebration, and the spectacle (she tells me) wasn't as elaborate as Australia's, but what moved her to teary eyed emotion was the human spirit evident, everyone yelling and clanging noisemaking, displaying HOPE!!! And the human ability to continue to hope. It lifted her. She felt a little better, a little less mopey.

Inspired, she was cleaning out her kitchen area and found a pot that had been given to her with tulips in it. The tulips had long been either planted or died, I forget, and there was soil in the bottom of the pot. At first she was going to just toss it, but decided instead to put some water in it to soak for a bit. Forgetting about it, she happened to glance at it several hours later. Hope really does spring eternal, because there was a bud forming!!! And by the time she called me to wish a happy new year, there was a whole blade edging it's way upward!!!!!

And there's more!!! She happened (again, this is the universe, you do realize this, right, giving my beloved sister what she needs) to be looking out her window in the front room, and hadn't been going to look out, what made her look out, I forget. Anyway, there is this huge cement mixer. Lumbering down her street. What makes this cement mixer different than all the other cement mixers? It is gorgeously decorated with Christmas lights!! The whole thing, even the drum thingy that turns!!!!! It is just beautiful and it elevates my sister, brings MORE hope to her.

It is becoming more and more obvious to me, that when you truly need something, not want it, not desire it, not expect it, but truly need something, many times, not always, it will find you.

Sigh. Burning Man, the universe, human spirit. So much to be grateful for.

Happy New Year!!!!!

Rebel rebel, you swore you'd text...

Yeah, I'm a rebel. A groundbreaker. A free spirit, a random thinking, out of the box, weird kind of girl (woman) but I'm still a girl at heart..

I don't want to fit into a mold or a pre-determined way of life, and I almost, ooooo I came SOOO close for a minute there, did. I had the house, 2 cars, husband, kids, even had the dog. I stayed at home, made play dates, did laundry, exercised to Cindy Crawford tapes (remember tapes??? VCR tapes???) and cooked dinner. Sometimes. That wasn't my strong point. Neither was socializing with my then husband's people he knew from high school, they were all 4 years younger than me, and seemed so shallow and so, pointless. Not because I was better than them, but because I felt unaccepted by them. I mean, what is the point of going to events with people that clearly don't want to hang out with you, but are tolerating you because of whom you are married to???? Who needs that kind of constant negative self image bounced off the glassy eyed mirrored mom-bots???? So I did my own thing, I made my own friends. I joined karate, I started going to school for Nuclear Medicine (two very off the grid past times/vocations). And I got my black belt, then my teaching certificate, then my second degree black belt. And I graduated from Nuclear School. And not long after all that, I lost my husband to....I don't know. He probably was sick of me being so damned independent, and such a free spirit that needed to get away from him and his apathy. Oh he wasn't apathetic about everything, just me. And we fought. Yelled, pushed each other, got to hate each other. So apathy I could definitely rip hatred from when I wanted his attention. My youngest daughter and I were talking recently and I asked her what her earliest memory was. "You don't want to know". "Of course I do, that's why I asked? What is it?" "Mom, really, you don't want to know." Quizzical look on my face, followed by her looking at the ground. "Ok, just say it", I say. "You and daddy fighting." Oh. Christ. I shook my head and apologized (for the 100th time) for that part of our lives, and for her being a child of divorce. Ugh.

Fourteen years later, I'm divorced longer than I was married (either time-2nd marriage referenced above...) and feel, like in that movie, The Object of my Affection, when the older gentleman says to Jennifer Aniston's character, "Don't fix your life so you're alone just as you get to the middle of it." And there are no accidents, I take full responsibility for my actions and re-actions, my paths and decisions.  So I'm going to travel. I'm going to find a way, find the funds and the companions (maybe) to do it!!!! And I'm not going to do anything expected, I'm going to find my new path and forge it. With or without anyone else...we'll seee......but I bet whatever I do, it will be uniquely me. And that's ok...

Oh the places I've been....

While not that much of a traveler, up till this year that is, I am determined. I started by going to Aruba in July, Burning Man in August, NYC  and Connecticut in Oct and December. I have a plan, and I must dig deep to make it happen, to visit somewhere I've never been once a quarter in 2012. So, for the first quarter, I'm taking a few days around my birthday in March and possibly going to...I don't know yet...somewhere. Just have to think it thru and budget, nothing too far, only have four days...to fly or drive....hmmm....flying is so much more romantic.....maybe meet a handsome stranger...or just someone with an amazing spirit....

And I need to come to terms with going alone. I am alone. I don't have a mate, or a friend I can count on to travel with me. I have friends I have traveled with and they're fabulous, don't get me wrong, but their lives and commitments are different than mine, and I need to rely on me, no one else.

So the next step is to look online (where anything seems possible these days!!!) and pick a location....a destination...someplace...spiritual??? Fun??? Crazy???? Exotic????

Stay tuned...

Happy Holidays....

Just when I had my bah humbug up to epic levels, I get a huge dose of spirit...in the form of a patient. She came in for her test and had to have a two day protocol, meaning I got to spend two days with her. What a nut! She laughed at everything, talked to everyone, kept the conversation in the waiting room upbeat and positive and made us all laugh while we cared for her during her stay. She was 70 but looked 50, dressed in bright colors and had just gotten her hair cropped short to pre-empt the effect of chemo before it told her body what it would do to her. Take that muthafukka, her attitude screamed. Her son had died of a heart attack at 48, her husband was in a nursing home with alzheimer's and the daughter who came with her for her test was quiet, unsmiling, tentative. Worried. Worried she'd lose her Mom, who clearly, is the heartbeat of the family. But Mom never wavered, never once let on that there were forces inside her, claiming their right to take her life. For every ounce of cancer in her system was a pound of fierce, determined woman, strong and positive, thoroughly convinced of her own ability to beat the hell out of her disease with willpower and smiles. Her hips were aching every day from arthritis,  so each time we called her back for another stage of her test, it would take her some time to struggle out of the chair and upright, slowly swinging one leg out, then left, then right, grimacing but joking about her old bones and their arguing with her about who was in charge. When she left us, she gave us each a hug, wished us happy holidays and blessings for life.

I walked back to my camera room after she left and thought about my struggles, my obstacles. I laughed at myself, shaking my head. Sent by a higher power, this angel reminded me that there is always someone with bigger troubles, maybe impossible to overcome, but the importance of using each moment we have to enjoy what we can, when we can, with whomever we can.

Friendly fire

I had been looking forward to getting away for the night for weeks, my friend SB had a comped room at Harrah's in AC, (we call it hurrahs) for a Friday night. We were leaving right after work, as soon as I switched my new phone's sim card with my old one so my sister could (finally!!) have a reliable source of communication while driving all the way to and from Vermont.

After a quick tutorial on how to use my phone, I threw some party clothes, shoes, jewelry and makeup into an overnight bag, just in time, too, because SB was ringing the bell as I was zipping it up. Hugging my sister goodbye, running out the door, hopping into the car and blasting out of my neighborhood and my routine, I felt about 16 years old.

The ride went so fast, the two of us gabbing away, mostly about her stuff, it is all about SB, as you know. I can abide that for a certain amount of time, she just likes to talk more than I do, and I'm a better listener. I did get a chance to throw a story in about something I had gone through during the week, to which her response was, I'm going to be there soon, myself. All about her.

We got to our lovely room and changed, spritzed, made up blinged up, admired our beauty and downstairs we went. After telling the bartender how we wanted our French martinis made, he showingly poured two cocktail shakers at once, added our Chambourd and wowsa. Biggest martini I've ever seen or drunk!!! After 4 sips, I could feel the glow coming over me, and SB and I relaxed into the music and the scene. Just as she was saying what a huge mistake the last year had been, referring to her relationship with a married man, that had ended, predictably with his NOT leaving his wife, who walks over to us. I am stunned, and so disappointed as HE (the married man, of course) appears in front of us. As is SB, or so she says, I think it was just a tad too coincidental. The night progresses, mostly with me sitting alone while SB dances, flirts, kisses her paramore,  and basically tries to occasionally throw me a bone by saying, "let's go to the Borgata", "let's get away from him" "this is a mistake".  Of course that doesn't happen. Till suddenly, she is snapping, we're leaving, let's go and storms off, clearly furious with said paramore. I follow her and we agree to go back to the room after she tearfully sobs why is he doing this to me, blah blah blah. We're just about to get on the elevator, when, oops, SB can't find her phone. "We have to go back to the bar and find it." And we do, go back to the bar that is, oh, and find Mr. Notsowonderful, and doesn't SB forget all about her phone, and sit down and start fighting with him all over again. "I'm going to the room, SB." Barely nodding an acknowledgement, I know this is the last I'll be seeing her for the night. I get to the room and immediately order room service for myself, a compensation for a boring, disappointing night. I decide to let SB pay for it on her room bill.

The next morning, no SB in the other bed, so I try her phone. Low and behold, she has miraculously found it. "I'm so sorry, are you mad at me?" "SB, what are you 5?" "You should be...I'm getting you coffee." Ok, I say, great, bring splenda. "Is it ok if he comes with me?"

Are you kidding me? What am I supposed to say, No?

"Of course."

The guilty parties arrive bearing mea culpas of coffee and breakfast sandwiches, and we all have a good laugh, finally leaving after two hours of bizarro world conversation.

I get home and think to myself, self I says, what is it about the people in your life? why are you always the one making concessions and doing the listening and fixing?

Something is way wrong with this picture. It's time for a new paintbrush.

Fear and Loathing in my car

My sister from Vermont has been here all week, helping with my Dad. She is one of the most thoughtful, kind and  attentive people I have ever known, and she constantly grows in her own inner fabulousness. And shares that wonderful spirit unhesitatingly. This week we had dinner at a different house every week. First Peggy's, then Cheryl's, then mine, and back to Cheryl's last night. Now, Tuesday night we all trooped up to Cheryl's, about 8 houses from my house, my Dad, Marleen (Vermont sister) and my daughter, Colleen. I'm driving, and as I get closer to the house, I see there isn't exactly room in the driveway to pull all the way in, so I kind of angle the car to a position where my Dad can get out safely and onto a flat surface, positioning the car so his door opens onto the sidewalk as opposed to the inclined apron of the driveway. Sounds great, right? No. Loudly, and I mean shouting, Dad's response to my park job is "Back the car up! Back the car up!!! Back the car up!!!" Always in threes when he's giving directions, maybe that's why 3 is my lucky number? Anyway, I'm trying to explain why I'm parked where I am, my sister is frantically jumping out of the car, kind of swiveling between opening Dad's door and getting back in the car, a look of grim panic on her face. My daughter is silent. Absolutely silent. I'm saying, Dad, don't shout at me, please don't shout at me. He continues to demand the car be moved, and I'm trying to get a word in, but it just isn't happening. "Why are you arguing with me?? Just move the car!!!" he shouts. Beaten and humilated, embarassed and my ears are hot with this emotion, I back the car up. "STOP!! STOP!! STOP!!! Perfect, thank you!!" he starts to open his door and get out, but first leans toward me and says, "I don't know why you had to be so difficult, it was only going to take a drop of gas to back the car up." Uh huh. Now we're joking????? Sure. I spend the rest of the night avoiding him, and believe me, I'm good at that. I've been doing it since I was 5. The whole next day I feel this sad, beaten down feeling. I just don't know how to shake it. Another dinner, this time at my house, my aunt from Pennsylvania, Peggy and her fiance, Juliano, my daughter Theresa and Marleen, and the father. Whom I am still avoiding. Avoiding eye contact, avoiding conversation, avoiding getting anything for him, letting Marleen take over, which she so kindly does without question. The next night is my sister Cheryl's turn, but Dad stays home. When I get back to my house, he's on the couch. Sitting in his favorite spot, reading. I am dreading this, but I know I have to speak up. "Dad, I have something I need to talk to you about." "Ok." He puts his book down. I have his full attention. The words spill out, not rehearsed, but within me, like a waterfall. Letting him know that he hurt me, that I was upset for the entire next day, that I just can't have him yelling at me like that. He apologizes, he knew he "did wrong", he wanted to say he was sorry, but the occasion hadn't been right with all the people around. "I know, Dad, I wanted to wait till we could speak in private, too. And I know you were upset and scared, and I understand that, but please remember, I would never do anything to endanger you, I want to always be sure you are safe. And if something makes you feel fearful, as I suspect you were feeling that night, you can always tell me and I'll make sure you are safe. But you cannot shout at me like that, I'm 52, not ten." Then we hug. and it is a gentle patting on my back from this once fearsome and fierce man, that brings the tears to my eyes.

Today, I'm smiling and walking around like my normal (ha, totally relative term!!) self.

It's a good day.