I'm just pissed.

I don't know why this bothers me so dang much. Maybe someone can give me some perspective on it.

So... Mom has this screen door that is set up kinda like a window. There is a fixed piece of glass on at the top, a moveable (up and down) piece of glass in the middle--with a screen for when the "window" is open, and a sheet of metal at the bottom. Y'know how you catch the door with your hip when your hands are full? The screen part is at the exact height to be stressed by your hip when you do that, so the screen was needing to be repaired fairly regularly. A couple of times a year, for as long as she has owned, it needs to be stretched and tucked back into its side frame, from which it has been worked loose by hip action.

Last spring, not long after open-door weather has set in, Mom comes to me with her high pitched I-am-irritated-but-I'm-trying-to-be-nice voice and says, "Carlson has torn the screen." I look at it and it is indeed torn--horizontally along the bottom adjacent to the usual vertical hip-tug looseness. I ask Carlson about it. He does not know. He really does not seem to know what has happened. I don't either. And while he is a pretty rambunctious guy (and, I admit, has been allowed by his mother to grow up a somewhat wild child), and does sometimes break and tear things, he usually knows he has done it, and usually admits to it. But not always. So I tell Mom, "Carlson does not think he tore the screen. How do you think it happened?" She smirks and says she does not know, but who else would do that? I say I don't know.

The next day, the tear is worse, and has obviously been deliberately pulled. I take Carlson aside, and ask him what is going on with the screen. He does not know. No one else knows. And the next day, it is worse. I get angry. "Look, guys, whatever is happening with this screen is not an accident! Someone is DOING this, and you need to STOP!" Blank stares all around.

The next evening, I am sitting on the couch in the living room, and am startled by the cat jumping though the screen door to get into the house! a-HA! Mystery solved! So I go to my mother and say, " I figured out what is happening with the screen door. The cat is using it to come and go. She just jumped through and scared the heck outta me." I am surprised by her response. She smirks again and says, "The cat did NOT tear that screen. She may be using it to come and go, but Carlson tore it in the first place." I really do not know what to say, so I just shrug and walk away. Why would she rather believe that her Grandson tore the screen--with no apparent motivation--and lied about it, than that the cat saw the little verticle hip-hole as an opening and jumped through?

The cat continues to use the hole in the screen to come and go. Someday, when it makes it to the financial priority list--hopefully before next spring--I intend to replace the screen door with one of those sturdy, yet air-flowy, pierced metal "screen" doors.

Fast forward to today. The brother in law is here, and as he is leaving he says, "Do y'all have a dog? The screen looks like a dog's been tearing at it. I reply, "It's the cat. She uses it to come and go." And Mom smirks and pipes in, "She didn't tear it originally, though!" For some reason I can not resist the bait. "Yeah. She did." "Oh! No! She didn't!" she says, wagging her head. I continue what I am doing without response.

What the hell?

The Lady

I saw her by the old porch swing
when first we chanced to meet.
I only caught a glimpse of her
for she was in retreat.
I turned on heel and did the same
with quickened heart and feet.

I wondered where I'd see her next
but hoped I never would.
I opened wide my closet door
and gasped for there she stood
with evil smile on her face.
I knew she was no good.

From head to toe in basic black
tradition's mourning dress.
But, murderous heart! the truth is told
so none who sees need guess
a red bow tie all turned askew
She sports upon her breast.

And lately, by the garden gate
I've felt a presence--her!
And I believe she lies in wait
to make my husband widower.

(c) Ellen Rae 1985

I wrote the poem many years ago. (A fellow student in my poetry class at the time insisted that it was not about a spider, but about the fact that my (then) husband's ex-wife had turned back up in town and was making overtures. She was right, but that's another blog.) But my phobia of spiders still directly correlates to how closely they resemble a Black Widow.

I found a Black Widow in the dumpster yesterday and killed it. This was a big victory for me because heretofore I would never have been able to actually connect myself to a Black Widow, even with a five-foot stick (or broom as the case may be).

When I took trash out this morning, she was there again, alive as ever. So I killed her again. With the same broom. Which was handy because I had left it outside near the dumpster. (It is now the outside broom and will never be allowed in the house again.)

This time I killed her twice. Once with the broom, and once....(wait for it....) With. My. Foot!

Well, really, with my shoe. Which was on my foot. I actually stepped on a dead Black Widow. I am woman!

Memory: Midland, 1981; Two Bolts and Two Screws

Terry picks me up for work in his new car. It's a dark green miniature station wagon. On the drive out to the airport, where we work cleaning airplanes for Continental, I notice a small plastic rectangle on the floor near my feet. I have previously noticed a hole in the console that appears to be the same size. So I pick up the piece of plastic and slip it into the hole. It snaps neatly into place.

Terry stops mid-sentence in whatever he was talking about and says, "Two bolts and two screws."

I look at him. "Pardon?"

He repeats, "Two bolts and two screws. Oh, and about 20 minutes on my back with my head wedged against the accelerator."

When I simply stare at him blankly, he goes on, "That's what it took for me to remove it, so I can install the radio."

I took it down, again. My post on Elder Packer's talk, that is. It's very late (for me; I'm an early bird, and I am exhausted, both physically and emotionally, so I'm not going to try to explain why. It just feels like the right thing to do for the time being.

Next morning: Here's why: I am having all sorts of conflicting feelings about my blog post. I realized that I was seeking only to be understood, not to understand, and that my job at this moment is not to be understood, but to hold the gay community close and let them have their feelings, and feel my compassion. My compassion was totally eclipsed by my desire to be understood. There is a time for my truth, and this is not it.

I just finished reading about compassionate listening in the book Anger, by Thich Nhat Hahn, and I totally blipped it! I had a very enlightening talk with the friend who started it all (with her question) in the first place. She graciously accepted my intentions as honorable, while holding me accountable for the pain it caused her. If you read it, I apologize to you, as well. I am guilty of the same insensitivity I pointed out in Elder Packer. I have taken it down again, for the time being.

Up-to-date, and closed

I have not blogged for quite some time, and I'm getting ready to start up again.

I've been in a bit of a quandry for awhile now, which is partially responsible for my dearth of blogging. It is this: This is supposed to be my story, and I don't want to censor myself. And: My kids read my blog. I thought about two separate blogs with separate content, but that felt like compartmentalizing my Self--which can be quite dangerous for me. So I've settled it, I think, by making this blog "Invitation Only" and creating another blog for public viewing. This blog will have everything, and I'll repost some of it to the other.

If you received an invitation, it means I trust you with my uncensored Self. And frankly, I don't mind if total strangers read this blog. It's just a select few innocents (my kids) and a select few...um...others I'd just as soon didn't have access. If you find yourself wanting a more vanilla version of me (or find you can no longer look me in the eye when you run into me), you can follow me at the public blog.(one-eclectic-soul.blogspot.com).

So there it is. We'll see how it works.

I just spent the better of part of two hours transferring everything from my old Bebo blog, so there's even some archival stuff for those of you who haven't been with me from the beginning of my blog-journey.

Enjoy.
Or not.

Naked and Opened

We had a great lesson in Relief Society yesterday, taught by my soul-buddy Minerva T. She surprised and momentarily confused me by saying, “Sagefemme, get ready to talk about what you told me about God already knowing how we feel.” I still don’t remember the conversation, but I was able to find the scripture and read it for her: Hebrews 4:12-16. It is one of my favorites and I quote it, or paraphrase it, whenever it seems indicated, which is likely why I don’t remember sharing it with Minerva.

12 For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.
13 Neither is there any creature that is not manifest in his sight: but all things are naked and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do.
14 Seeing then that we have a great high priest, that is passed into the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our profession.
15 For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.
16 Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.


I am not a Bible scholar, and have never studied Greek. I don’t pretend that my interpretation of these verses is rooted in any intellectual truth. But I do know what they say to me. (What they said to me in 2006. I know the timeframe, because I penciled the year (why not a more precise date, I don’t know) in the margin of my Bible, along with the words “stop thrashing.”)

What they say to me is this: God knows everything about you. He can separate your emotions from your thoughts. He knows your intentions. Not only are you naked before Him, you are filleted out before Him; dissected, even. This being true, and knowing that Christ has experienced everything you have experienced, why not go ahead and be honest about how you feel and what you want? He already knows, so just say it to Him. He will sympathize and give you the help you need.

After Relief Society, the sister sitting behind me put her hand on my shoulder and said, “I want to thank you for having that conversation with Minerva, even if you don’t remember it. Because I have been faking it. I am so confused and I have been trying to act like everything is fine. Thank you for showing me I can be real with Him.”

I want to add that Christ does not only know how we feel, He has felt how we feel. I mean, not like a friend who has been through a similar variation of the theme. He has felt your feelings. Your actual feelings. The feelings you are feeling right now, He already felt them for you. How can we hide from, or pull the wool over that?

In the Bible Dictionary, under Prayer, it says “As soon as we learn the true relationship in which we stand toward God (namely, God is our Father, and we are his children), then at once prayer becomes natural and instinctive on our part. Many of the so-called difficulties about prayer arise from forgetting this relationship.” For some of us, the parent-child relationship is not so clearly comfortable and nurturing as this sentence implies. Hiding my feelings, denying my needs, keeping conversation on a superficial level; these were all coping strategies I developed because of the kind of parents I had. Sadly, my children learned the same things from their parents. But I now have some perspective on the kind of parent I wish I was. And I can translate that into an image of loving parents who really see their children, and who want them to feel loved and secure and to have their needs met and their wants granted.

I think we often have an image of our Heavenly Father—perpetuated by some of the teachings we have about prayer—as of a King. We have guidelines for how we are to address God in our prayers; we use the formal (and actually archaic) “Thee” and “Thou.” We should kneel. We should thank first and ask later…. It can seem as though we are being given an etiquette lesson on how to behave in the presence of royalty—curtsy this way, bow that way. I am not saying that these guidelines are wrong, or that we should not use them. I am just pointing out how this sort of training, without a balance of knowing how well He knows us and how much He loves us, can skew our understanding of---make us forget---the relationship that we have with Him.

We can certainly be real with God and continue to exhibit the reverence and respect He is due. When we pray in meetings or otherwise in public, we behave with proper respect and decorum, just as we would as a prince or princess in an affair of state. But when we have a splinter in our finger, we can let our lip quiver when we show it to Him, and we can holler at the pain when He pulls it out. And we do not have to bow or curtsy our gratitude, but can fling our arms around His neck and touch noses. When we’ve sneaked out of the house in the middle of the night and rolled the car, we can call Him. We can tell Him the truth (cuz He already knows) and we can count on Him to lovingly stitch our lip, ice our bumped head and get us safely home to bed.

He sees us naked. He sees us broken. He sees right through us to the marrow of our souls. He has felt our sorrow, anger, pain, joy. And He loves us anyway. Let’s boldly go before Him then, and open ourselves fully, not only to His scrutiny, but to His mercy, His grace and His love.

State "O" the Union Brickfish

its THAT simple

My favorite six year old asked me the other day, "Wouldn't it be neat if we could just decide when it was day or when it was night. We could change it back and forth whenever we want." 

I asked, "Who would decide?" 

he said, "WE would."  

"What if I wanted it to be day and you wanted it to be night?"

He shrugged and said, "We would Roe-Sham-Boe for it."  And he hopped up on the curb and tightroped his way to the car.

Coming Out

So I never thought my first blog at this new site would be about homosexuality. And yet, here we are. I guess it's time for me to "come out" to my family and friends.

The seeds of this blog germinated this morning, when a friend I value asked me point blank how I had voted on Proposition 8. And because I do value the friendship, and because it is such a big issue to so many people, I went ahead and answered a question I normally would have wanted to keep in my own hoop. I had to admit.... I did not vote.

And (aside from the fact that I am not registered to vote, and am generally jaded about the whole political process, anyway) here is why:

I'm ambivalent.

There. I said it. I am ambivalent. I do not have a stance on homosexual marriage. I have two stances. And I am firmly planted in each of them.

Here is a Reader's Digest Condensed version of how the circles in my head go:

Homosexuality is a paraphilia. I believe that. I don't believe it is "normal."

But then, I don't believe that the sexuality I experienced in my Mormon temple marriage was "normal" either. In fact, I know for sure that it was not. It certainly was not the highest and best use of the powers of Couple-ing that have been bestowed on all humans by their loving Creator.

In fact, I would venture to say that the attitudes toward marriage (and the resultant behaviors) that existed in my peer group as a dating teen and (very) young adult, and seemingly in the Mormon community at large, could also be described as, if not an all out paraphilia, at best a really sick way to behave.

I enjoy association with a lot of gays and lesbians. There are two in my immediate-extended family. They are great kids. I want them to be happy. I also know, fairly intimately, some gay and lesbian couples. As a result of being in a therapy/recovery community with them, I have learned a great deal about how they Couple (the couple-bonding process, not the sex act). And it is not discernibly different to me from how heterosexuals Couple. In fact, I would say that of all the couples in my almost-four-year-long group therapy career, I'd give the lesbian couple (one partner of which was in my group) the best chance of having a rigorously honest, loving and respectful relationship into old age.

So why did I not vote against Prop 8, and give gays and lesbians the ability to call their unions "marriage." Because I am ambivalent.

Regardless of how well they are able to make it work--I still come back to the belief that it is a paraphilia. I don't believe it is the highest and best use of the powers of Couple-ing that a loving God has given to all humans.

I do believe that marriage is a sacred covenant, and that it is meant to be between a man and a woman. I do believe that. And I also believe that God has a prophet on the earth, and if He wanted that status changed, He would let that prophet know. I do believe that.

So why didn't I vote for Prop 8, and reserve the right to marriage (in California) to be only for a man and a woman? Because I am ambivalent. (Return to top of circle.)

And because the argument goes, "They already have all the rights of marriage in their civil unions. Why do they need to call it marriage?" on one side. And on the other, "We are in a committed, life-long union, the same as a heterosexual couple, so why can't we call it marriage?"

And the only answer I can find within myself--to both of these questions, and to so many others regarding homosexuality--is: "I DON'T KNOW."

My gay and lesbian friends may be surprised by this post. You might have expected me to come out on your side. I hope you can handle it and continue to regard me as the person you have known and loved, and who has loved you (and still does.)

My Mormon friends and family may be surprised by this post. You might have expected me to come out on your side, and to have followed the church's position. I hope you can handle it, too, and not question my firm and abiding testimony in the Gospel.

When it came down to it, I had to do as I was instructed "from the pulpit" to do, and vote according to my own moral values. So I did. I could not vote one way or the other without betraying an aspect of my true Self. So I didn't vote.

Some from each camp may regard me as a traitor or a fence sitter. In response to that I will quote one of my favorite people in all the world (who happens to be a gay man married (in a state that does not recognize even civil unions) to his spouse for about ten years, with children). The quote is, "You know what? I can love you enough to let you feel that."

Books I've Read

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling (all seven, but stopped enjoying them after the fourth)
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger (i feel certain I read this in highschool, but don't remember it... so I'll have to read it again (or at least start it and see if I remember it)
19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce (has ANYONE ever waded through the whole thing and survived the sleeping sickness?)
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams (started it twice, but never finished it)
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

What have you DONE??

1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Alaska
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Been to Disneyland
7. Climbed a mountain
8. Held a praying mantis
10. Bungee jumped
11. Watched a lightning storm
12. Taught yourself an art from scratch
13. Adopted a child
14. Had food poisoning
15. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
16. Slept on an overnight train
15. Had a pillow fight
18. Hitch hiked
19. Built a snow fort
20. Run a Marathon
21. Watched a sunrise or a sunset
22. Hit a home run
23. Been on a cruise
24. Seen Niagara Falls in person
25. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
26. Seen an Amish community
27. Taught yourself a new language
28. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
29. Gone rock climbing
30. Seen Michelangelo’s David
31. Sung karaoke
32. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
33. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
34. Walked on a beach by moonlight
35. Been transported in an ambulance
36. Gone deep-sea fishing
37. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
38. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling (if swimming with the Manatees counts... we snorkeled)
39. Played in the mud
40. Gone to a drive in theater
41. Been in a movie
42. Visited the Great Wall of China
43. Started a business
44. Served at a soup kitchen
45. Sold Boy Scout popcorn
46. Gone whale watching
47. Gotten flowers for no reason
48. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
49. Gone sky diving
50. Bounced a check
51. Flown in a helicopter
52. Saved a favorite childhood toy
53. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
54. Eaten caviar
55. Pieced a quilt
56. Stood in Times Square
57. Been fired from a job
58. Broken a bone
59. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
60. Published a book
61. Had your picture in the newspaper
62. Read the entire Bible
63. Visited the White House (saw the outside....)
64. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
65. Had chicken pox
66. Saved someone's life
67. Sat on a jury
68. Met someone famous (Invited to Peggy Lee's birthday party...but I didn't go)
69. Joined a book club
70. Lost a loved one
71. Had a baby
72. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
73. Been involved in a law suit
74. Been to a foreign country
75. Had someone die in your arms
76. Watched kittens or puppies being born
77. Had a concussion
78. Driven through a redwood tree
79. Sailed on the open sea
80. Been whitewater rafting
81. Hiked a portion of the Appalachian Trail

And a few more Texanisms (thanks James)

It's colder than a welldigger's a$$

It's cold enough to freeze the b@lls off a brass monkey

A face that could make a train take a dirt road

That dog won't hunt (Texan for "I'm skeptical")

carlsonism

*I* think the things he says are adorably cute. And it's my blog, so....

Last night Carlson said the family prayer. He asked God to "keep us from harmony and influence."

(That's five-year-old for "harm and evil influence," by the way)

Why Americans should give up their cars (not!)

Being currently without a car (see previous blogs) I decided to do a little experiment in mass transportation. (Please note that with a mother and two sisters living in town I was not without a ride. And Mom did try to talk me out this) I live just two blocks from a Regional Transit bus stop, and had taken the bus to work a few weeks ago. Excepting the extra two hours of travel and the less-than-friendly bus drivers, it was really fine. I could do it if I had to, and not suffer much. (There is a lot that can be accomplished in an hour on the bus...but that's another blog.)

So, anyway, I was taking a trip to my beloved Memphis and decided to experiment with mass transportation from point A to point B. Planning the trip involved a good deal of time on the computer, and would have required a very patient and diligent travel agent in the pre-www era. I knew I had to catch a flight out of San Francisco at 12:55 pm. So starting from there, and giving myself ample time to check in and get a quick something for lunch, I worked backwards to catching the Regional Transit bus 28 in my home town at 7:32 a.m. I'd figured the whole thing out. (Except that, anticipating touching down in the Land of the Delta Blue in the middle of the frigging night, I opted NOT to take the bus from the airport to Midtown.)

I left the house (point A) at 7:10 with my clothing and accouterments in a nice little wheelie suitcase and an overstuffed (and phenomenally heavy, even for its size) "purse." I arrived at the bus stop (point B), which consisted of a pole with a sign on it, at 7:16. Ooops. I forgot my jacket. Oh! and my sunglasses. Yikes! and my Prozac! At 7:31 the bus almost whizzed right past me, which would have thwarted my entire plan. But I flagged it down and embarked on my six-minute journey to the LightRail station (point C).

7:37 to 8:04 I alternately stood in the wind and sat in the wind on a cold concrete platformy bench sorta thing REALLY wishing I had remembered my jacket. LightRail arrived precisely on time and I took a 38 minute ride to the Amtrak Station downtown (point D), arriving as scheduled at 8:42. Just enough time to purchase my ticket from R2D2 with my ATM card (I love technology that eliminates the human element, don't you?), and wheel my nifty luggage out to Track 2 where all my fellow commuter train-ees have gathered as per instructions.

The train actually arrives on Track 4 and it seems obvious to all of us (after, really, no discussion at all) that it would be easier for us to go to it than the other way around, so we amble over to Track 4 and board.

The train is lovely. The seats are slightly more comfortable than the bus's, should you choose to sit in them. BUT you don't have to! There is a snack car just below where coffee and doughnuts can be purchased. Or a deck of cards. There are six cars to wander through, upstairs and down, and a bathroom on each level of each car. Cool. Way cool. But I choose to sit in my seat much of the way, plug in to the nicely-provided electrical outlet and watch an educational DVD on my portable DVD player. (I would love to have said I'd watched it on my laptop or my Ipod, but alas, I don't have either.)

I disembark from Amtrak at 10:34 at the BART/Amtrak station (point E), and after a bit of confusion as to where to purchase my BART ticket (signs would have been nice. I wasn't the only one confused...) and therewith missing the next train to the San Francisco Airport, I get on BART at 10:52, switching trains at MacArthur Park (point F. Fortunately it was not dark and therefore the station was intact....not melting; I don't think that I could have taken it...oh neverMIND) and arriving at the San Francisco Airport (point G) later than I had anticipated, but still within my comfort zone. The BART station is also the station for AirTrain, on which I ride to Terminal 3 where, as indicated by the map of the airport/Airtrain routes, USAirways--through which my tickets are booked--resides. The Airtrain is an automated electric train with a Mother voice that announces the stops well ahead of time and admonishes "Please hold on. Set luggage cart brakes to lock" each time we begin to move away from a stop.

As I approach the USAirways counter, I notice a sign that says flight #'s this to that should check in at United. My flight number happens to be between this and that, and my flight leaves in an hour and a half and I do not have a clue where the United Airlines ticket counter is, nor why I should check in there. So I ask the two USAirways men in front of me, "Excuse me, I just saw this sign and--" The lady who either does not like her job or does not like people and whom I was not addressing in the first place snips at me. "Are you asking if you need to check in with United or are you asking where United is?" I hold out my itinerary and say, "I'm asking how to get on this plane which leaves in just over an hour." She looks at it and says, "It says RIGHT HERE that the flight is on United." And sure enough under the USAirways flight number is a parenthetical and--to me--not fully explanatory note that says, "Operated by United." Okaaay. In the interest of time, I suppress the urge to argue that it does not exactly say on my itinerary that I'm Flying the Friendly Skies, but instead ask. "Where is United" And she replies... "Go down to the end of this building and walk out the doors, across the street and into the next building. Go all the way to the end and walk out those doors and across the street into the next building. It's at the far end." And she is serious. I say to no one in particular, "Yikes. My flight leaves in just over an hour." I look in the direction of the two men I had originally addressed and the older black man with grey hair gives me the parental look that says, "I told you to go to your room." and points (pointedly) in the direction I'd been instructed to go.

I trudge, then trot, forward pulling my lovely-ly wheeled suitcase along behind me, briefly considering trying to re-find the Air-train, but not remembering how many escalators I had come down.

I make it to the United kiosk (another R2D2) to get my boarding pass and note that I will, with only carry-on luggage--nothing to check-- be able to board on time, but will likely not have time to get lunch. Ah well. Perhaps something from a vending machine (except I don't see one). So. On to gate Z-172 (yes that's a joke). Upon arriving at my gate I find myself a seat and wait for the boarding to be announced. Except its not announced. Turns out my flight has been canceled. I get to wait for three hours and fifteen minutes for the next flight to Phoenix, which will give me just over an hour to make my connection to Memphis. So okay. A layover is a layover; what do I care which airport its in? And now I have time for lunch.

And fortunately I have brought two books and a portable DVD player. And being in the airport is much like being in the mall. So I look at some shops, buy a shawl (since I forgot my jacket, and its on sale for 25% off making it almost what I would pay for it at a regular store), and read.

And finally they call my flight, which has been delayed another half hour, still giving me thirty minutes to make my connection in Phoenix. Except we sit on the tarmack for a good while before taking off and by the time I reach Phoenix (point H) I have twelve minutes to make my connection and it is at USAirways which is, again, at the very OTHER end of the airport from United. At seven-minutes-to-take-off I am standing in a very long line waiting to go through security, and at two-minutes-to take-off I have only moved up one maze-row. So I weave my way back through the maze rows of people OUT of line and down to the ticket counter to ask what to do next.

Turns out the next flight to Memphis is at 8:47 the next morning. So I can come back and they will get me on that flight. But where will I sleep? They can give me a coupon for 15% off the airport motel of my choice. I think not. "I contracted with you people to get me to Memphis tonight. I do not have plans or the budget to sleep in Phoenix. You delayed me. You put me up for the night." So they give me a voucher for a night's stay at, and book me reservations for, the Marriott. And give me a meal voucher for an airport restaurant. I eat at Flo's Chinese Buffet and take the motel shuttle to a nice room with a hot bath and a king-size bed (point I). Not my plans, but not the worst way to spend a night, either.

Next morning the flight leaves only about 15 minutes late (I could have driven to Phoenix by now, seriously). And I arrive in Memphis (point J, if you continue to count the Phoenix airport as point H, even though I went there twice)) just 14 hours later than planned, having left home (point A, that is) 31 hours before. (I've driven from Memphis to my new home town in 42 hours--albeit with another driver. See previous blog.)

And my two day stay in Memphis is wonderful--almost holy. I get to see some (not all) of my most-beloveds, practice doing the work I feel called at this time to do, and spend a couple of nights in the house I wanted to buy while I was living there.

Of course the flights back are not exactly on time, but I make my connections and end up in San Francisco only about 30 minutes later than I expected. The Airtrain is not working and the only way I know to get to the BART station is on the Airtrain. So after going up and down the escalators trying to diligently follow the woefully inadequate signs "directing" me (BART --> and when you go --> BART is not X) I ask at an information desk, where a kind elderly gentleman shows me on the map just where BART X. And just then the Airtrain starts working again so I board it and it takes me one stop before staying ominously still. For a long time. For a very long time.

There are instructions overhead for using the in-car intercom to communicate with Airtrain Personnel and I am wondering whether I am going to be able to resist using it, when Mother announces that the Airtrain is experiencing technical difficulty and will be moving shortly, and please only use the intercom for actual emergencies.

And eventually we get going again and I make it to the BART station in just about three times as many minutes as it would have taken me to walk (after Granpa Information had given me some). So at the BART station all of the LED destination signs are blank and, being a neophyte, I do not know where to stand to catch my train to Richmond (via MacArthur Park). So I ask a driver and he says, "Well,. you could get on the Fremont train and switch at 12th street, or you could get on the Pittsburgh train and switch at MacArthur. But if you want, you can get on my train and go back to Millbrae--next and last stop on this route, and then catch a train that will take you to Richmond with no transfers." So I do that. And when I get to the Millbrae station, all of the LED destination signs are blank. (A pattern is developing, no?) So I ask The Lady in the Little Glass Booth what train I get on to go to Richmond. And she points to the train I just got off and says, "You get on that one and go to the Airport, then transfer to the East Bay train and get off at 12th street, then get on the train for Richmond." I stare blankly and say, "I just got ON that train at the airport. And he said if I came here I could get on a train that would take me straight to Richmond." She says (very nicely; she likes her job, I think, even on days like this), "I'm sorry. The whole system is having trouble and we are having to reroute." I begin to have an absolute panic attack at the thought of being stuck in the Bay Area with no earthly clue where I actually am, with public transportation down.

And my cell phone battery died shortly after taking off from Phoenix (even though I'd charged it all night...)

So, having no idea what else to do, I get back on the train I just got off. And immediately upon my tush hitting the seat, the driver announces, "This train goes to San Francisco Airport only. This train does not go to Fremont, Pittsburgh or Richmond. Do not board this train unless your destination is San Francisco Airport." Meanwhile The Lady in the Little Glass Booth is now out of her glass booth, herding passengers on to the train with the words, "This is the only train. You must take this train to the airport and make a connection there. There is no other train leaving this station. You must get on this train." and she is making sweeping motions with her arms to encourage compliance with her words. So I leave my tush in the seat.

The train does indeed take me back to the airport. And I do transfer to the East Bay train which takes me to the 12th street station, where I board the train that is bound for Richmond. Except all of this takes over four times as long as it is supposed to. What should have taken 45 minutes takes three hours and ten minutes. Needless to say, I have missed my Amtrak connection home. Oh, and the train after that, too.

But good ol' Amtrak has another train leaving soon, with just enough time to buy a ticket from R2D2 and make it back up in the amazingly slow elevator to the only track where the train stops. And it is pleasantly air-conditioned. And I eat a remarkably-less-disgusting-than-I-anticipated cheeseburger and fries, charge my cell phone in the nicely provided outlet, and call my daughter--who is already at the train station to pick me up--to tell her that I won't be there for an hour and a half. But I actually make it in an hour and 20 minutes. And we make it back to the house in her car in about 20 minutes, notwithstanding it being toward the end of rush hour. And I am SO grateful to not be sitting on the bus.

I'm thinking the shortest distance between two points is a Toyota Prius.

okay, its getting to be no longer amusing....

The engine light came on in the newly-transfered-from-sister-to-mom hybrid Honda wondercar. What karmic debt is this about? I'll "let your people go." Please stop the plague!!

'nuther funny

Carlson the Clown (though he doesn't mean to be):

He's been studying animals in science ('studying" and "science" being relative terms. he's five.) tonight he was talking about being a meat-etarian or a veg-etarian. He told me, "I like meat. I'm a carnival."

bad Car-ma

As Dave Barry would say, "I am not making this up."

So The Dealership (see previous blog) did call and said, basically, "We will charge you almost as much as the van is worth to fix it for you. Or if you buy a new car from us, you can trade it in for about a third of what it is worth. OR, if you buy a used car from us, we'll just keep your van for no extra charge." I decided to have it towed back home until I could decide what to do. (it makes a pretty good storage shed, actually.)

So the declarer of it as healthy (see previous blog) feels REALLY bad about having done so, even though he drove it, like, 500 miles (I'm still not making this up) before giving it back to me, just to be sure it really was healthy. So...feeling as bad as he does about it, he is going to replace the transmission for me for about 1/3 of what the dealership wanted. O-K. good news. Just the logistics of getting it back down to the shop three hours away, but he can handle that, too. With a minimum of grovelling at his boss's feet, he hopes.

So...just gotta juggle cars with Mom and sister until the other sister leaves Sunday and I can use Mom's Geo until the behemoth is fixed and I can get some financial wrangling done around the divorce settlement so I can get something a little more economical to drive. >sigh< Good-enough news.

So sister juggles cars with her husband to get us all down to Monterey in one vehicle to spend a "Night at the Museum" (see future blog). Works out fine. comfortable car, though I am not allowed to help drive because its a company car....

Monterey with kids & cousin and sis. Beach, playground, beautiful weather, sunburned nose, cool aquarium overnighter...phone call from Mom. Stranded on the highway. Geo is dead. Bad news.

(I am not making this up.)

May I please whine

or throw my head back and scream?

I've been playing musical cars since September when my mini van was scrunched (see a previous blog). I borrowed mom's and sister's cars for a while and then flew to Memphis (ostensibly to get divorced; see a previous blog) and brought Evelyn's car back, taking over payments, and she started using Louise's (paid off) car that had been left there in hopes of selling it. (see a previous blog)

I just had the big van looked over, some repairs done, bill of health declared clean a week ago. I got it back Monday (due to procrastination and logistics as it was worked on three hours away), registered it today (well... provisionally registered, at least; "his" name is still on the title so I need his signature to actually get registered and THEN we can take his name off.)

In the meantime, Louise's old car (which is Evelyn's new car) has had to have some major repairs done, nonetheless dying a gasping death Wednesday at the intersection of Germantown and Trinity. At rush hour. We discussed it and came to the conclusion that Evelyn really needed her reliable car back. So she flew out here Friday and left with her car Saturday morning at the Crack of Dawn for a bat-out-of-hell drive (see a previous blog) back to Memphis in order to not miss too much school.

Somewhere between here and Phoenix, she called to ask about the "humming sound" coming from the rear. I was unfamiliar with it, and she wondered if it was just the newer tires. But it got louder the further away she got.... So in Phoenix she stopped and had it looked at. The mechanic could hear it, but had no idea what was causing it, and gave her the go-ahead. But it got louder. So in Oklahoma City she had it checked at the dealership, and it required several hundred dollars worth of repair. Wheel bearing in very BAD shape..."turning purple with the heat" is what the guy said. So she got it fixed, had an appropriate meltdown, and went on home.

On Sunday, Monday and Tuesday I borrowed my mother's Geo as she was driving my sister's Honda, as she was out of town visiting her daughter and is leaving for Columbia soon (the country) and will be leaving her car with my mom. But she got back Tuesday evening.

So, as I said, I got California registration for the big van today, (having let the TN registration lapse at the end of March, due to procrastination and the logistics of it being 3 hours away for the last month or so...) I drove it maybe 50 miles today, at the most, and it died on the freeway. At rush hour. I happened to be on my way back to work to get my cell phone, which had apparently slipped out of my purse. And I had two barefoot twins with me, cuz they wanted to come see where I work, and there was no reason to wait around for them to find/put on their shoes as I was just running in to get my phone.

So we were near an exit but not near enough to walk with barefoot twins, and did I mention I did not have my phone? So I said an out loud prayer: "Oh PLEASE just let us go three more miles to work and let me get my PHONE." I started the car up, and it moved forward!! About ten yards. So I said another, little bit louder prayer: "o KAY then, can we at least get as far as this next exit so I can call Triple A, please." Wilbur echoed "please" in a reprimanding tone and I said. "I said please." He replied, "yeah...but your tone was......"

So I started the car back up and it went! And I did it again, and again, and again, and...well, you get the gist. We made it to the Jack-in-the-Box parking lot and called the wonderfully "worth it" roadside service club, who sent a tow truck post haste, and we dropped the behemoth off at the Dodge Place, which was closed but had a lovely little 'early bird/late bird' key drop thingy. And Mr. Triple A was kind enough to drop us off just a block away from home on his way back to the shop (which he did not have to do). I imagine in the morning The Dealership will give me the prognosis, and I'll have to make a decision whether to euthanize or revive. >sigh<

And I'll take mom to work early in the morning so I can get the kids to their school state testing site...then get her again in the afternoon so she can get to her Dr. Appt.... and I'll use the Geo till I figure out what my next step is.....(or possibly many steps, or maybe pedalling?)

Same old same

This website shows me that folks are checking in. It's nice to see the numbers go up and know that you are thinking about me.

Things are plodding along fine. I just got back from a week of Watsu 2 training, and fell in love with it again. And I received my first Waterdance session, and fell in love with that, too. I'm having the hours from one school transfered to the School of Shiatsu and Massage to consolidate everything and work towards getting certified as an Aquatic Bodyworker.

California has no standard licensing for massage therapists, which makes it sorta crazy to try to practice here. I can't get a massage business license in my own town, because of the moratorium instituted last June. I can get a job working for an already established business, but I'd need a license in that town. The required background check takes 2-6 weeks, and they won't start the background check until I've put in my application for a license--which I can't get until I have an employer---who won't hire me without a license. >sigh< So I'm going to just go ahead and spend the money to get an "outcall" license in my town (and get the background check done), and then spend the $$ again in whatever town I end up working in. Kinda crazy, but I guess we do what we have to do. I'm also looking for a pool warm enough to do Watsu in. The closest ones are too cold. My search radius is widening. Taking the next reasonable step is a good premise. Not holding on too tightly to any one outcome is a good one, too.

In the meantime I am working very part time with an eightyplus year old lady with Parkinsonism. It is rewarding work, and they pay me a more-than-fair wage. I'm only gone two hours a day, so it doesn't interfere too much with the kids' homeschooling.

The children are very happy here. And I am grateful to be near my sisters and mom. And I love the weather now that it has stopped raining. Right now I am sitting by the open patio door and the temperature is PERFECT. There is enough of a breeze to set the windchimes singing, and not disturb anything else.

College is on hold for awhile, I think. I may take one independent study course, but I won't be going to school full time in the fall. I have the younger kids signed up for Montessori school through the charter school program (no tuition or fees), but they get about three times as many applications as they have openings for. (They choose by lottery). We could be chosen as late as two weeks into the school year (or not at all...). So I'm trying to stay open to all my options, and to stay curious about what the outcomes will be....

Namaste

Onward upward outward....somewhere, anyway

OK

So. You folks who have been following me for the whole wacky ride are entitled to an update. I've been reluctant to post, but here goes....

Things did not go well for me--at all--with the financial aspect of the divorce. Oklahoma is an "equitable division of property" state, rather than a community property state....which gives the judge a great deal of leeway. He could actually have awarded me more than half of the assets, based on comparing my prospects for the future to my former husband's. Somehow the judge considered it an "equitable division" for him to keep the 4000 sq ft house on 4500 acres (with no mortgage) and the children and me to live in 1300 sq ft with my mother, who is 72 years old and continues to work for $12/hr because she can't afford to retire. I was awarded about 1/5 the value of the house itself (not the property it sits on) out of which I have to pay all of my attorney fees and court costs, some of the marital debt, my massage school costs, and the back rent and other debts brought on by his refusal to pay the full amount of the court-ordered support during my massage schooling. He does not even have to pay the unpaid child support. I'm not entitled to any alimony, either, except to pay for psychological care. And I get to pay my own health insurance. He has to continue paying the kids' but--get this-- he called me and offered to send me the cash instead, if I'll go on welfare and sign the kids up for state health insurance.

Do I sound angry? I hope I do.

On the flip side, my arm is finally doing better. I self-medicated with some freaky-new-age home remedies (DMSO anyone?), and got some good relief. And I continue to do the physical therapy exercises. AND I do some light exercises with my client who has Parkinsonism, which seem to help me even further. I still have pain when I work it, but the pain does not linger long at all. I have not done a full massage since I hurt myself in June, but I am going to try it out on a family member, soon. (I have done some brief, light hara (tummy) work and foot/hand massage on my client with Parkinsonism.) Still no word on the licensing moratorium, but as I've said before, there will be ways around that.

I have an appointment with a guidance counselor at the college next week. I will have residency in a few months, and may be eligible to start classes this summer. In the fall, for sure. I am going to pursue a Certified Alcohol and Drug Counselor accreditation with an A.A. or A.S. through the community college, then continue working toward my Master's. I can work in treatment centers, and with organizations such as W.E.A.V.E (to which I have become devoted) and a little private practice--without calling myself a therapist--with the CADC. I am excited about embarking on this leg of my journey.

I am settling in to life in CA. I can be happy here for the forseeable future. My opportunities for schooling--and training in various bodywork/psych techniques--are so abundant and accessible here. I love being near my sisters and their children. And I love being so close to the ocean/mountains/lake/river and wonderful good fresh produce. We've been given tons of kiwi, oranges and grapefruit from neighbors yards the past couple of months. I neglected my sister's fig and pomegranate trees this fall, but the kids scarffed up her cherries this summer. I'd started coveting a Victorio Strainer in recent weeks, plotting to make up for lost opportunity....then realized she's in a rent house and will be moving before I can take advantage of this year's bounty. >sigh<

So all in all, life is good. Different from what I'd hoped, but good. I'm hoping to get out to TN again this summer (and back for good eventually.....)

Peace to your souls!