Unsolicited

I received this via email from my fella’s 22-year-old son.  It was the first message I opened on my computer when I arrived to work.  I saw an unsolicited email from his son, and I was afraid that something was wrong….

“I know ive told you this before but I’m going to say it again. Thank you for everything you do not just for me but for dad as well. Because you do a lot. Not because your asked or it’s expected but because you want to and the fact that it’s because you want to means a lot. Im a person of principle and your’s seem to be shining pretty bright”

Can you see my smile?  (I don’t even mind the grammatical and mechanical errors, and that is saying a great deal when you consider that I teach High School English and University-level Composition classes.)  I haven’t done anything special or out of the ordinary; I’ve simply been myself and treated his kids just the same as I treat my own. 

Sweet, sweet Kool-Aid…So refreshing!

Hey, there’s tequila in my koolaid!

Saturday was “el cinco de mayo,” a day that all of my friends assume I celebrate with relish.  Not because I am Hispanic; I’m definitely not!  The assumption that I “go for the gusto” on May 5th comes from the years I spent sharing my love of the Spanish language with high school students whose only goal was to obtain the necessary credits in Foreign Language.  At least the majority of them had that objective.  Learning to communicate in the actual language was FAR down the list of goals for most students.  But I digress.

I awakened Saturday morning to “Happy Cinco” and “Viva Mexico!” texts from friends and family.  “Are y’all having Mexican for dinner tonight?” and “Don’t drink too much tequila!” were close seconds.  How awkward!  I didn’t know whether to issue dinner invitations or contact a designated driver!!

Other bloggers obviously felt the same way.  One of my favorites, “Amelia’s Hope Blog” summed up my thoughts…”A day that once celebrated Mexico’s defeat of French troops and that has subsequently  been bastardized into a day of drinking and food!”  Her thoughts tickled my brain and made me ponder the loss of the original significance of the holiday.  Much like Memorial Day, the original meaning of “el cinco de mayo” has been buried beneath layers of marketing and consumerism.  In an attempt to rescue the true spirit, I shared the following on my Facebook page, and now share it with you, dear reader….

I hope that all my friends celebrate a personal victory today; whether your larger-than-life adversary has been finances, a relationship, or career issues, you can defeat it just as Mexican villagers defeated the French army on this date in history…with daring and determination.  Viva Mexico!

If I have learned anything from the path I’ve traveled from unhappy wife to divorced, single mom, it is that it takes courage to stand up for your own happiness.  To drink the koolaid that comes from your own source, not what is forced upon you by others.  And that is a true reason to celebrate.  “Viva Independencia!” is my own personal motto today as I sip the sweet koolaid of freedom.

God bless.

Reciprocation

Did he think I didn’t already know?

Each morning when I awaken, I check my phone to determine the time.  (It’s hard to remember when this was not my routine, when an actual clock provided me with the countdown to each day’s official beginning.)  And there, amid the numerous other messages and notices, tweets and posts, was a simple text from my fella.  It read, “I know this is uncharacteristic of me…but I’ve developed a feeling for you that is…” 

Even when baring his soul, my sweet fella is so obscure.  Does he think that just because he doesn’t declare his devotion for me that I don’t know it exists?  That because he is unable to say those three little words, I don’t already know that they are true?  Sure, it would be nice to actually hear them spoken aloud, but I lived long enough with falsely declared devotion to trust in words alone.  His actions announced his carefully-hidden emotions quite some time ago; his hands on my face, eyes staring into mine, during our most intimate times reveal that which he has so intently tried to conceal.

My response this morning?  “I know.  And I love you too.”  Sweet koolaid….

Gimme a Break!

Today is the first day of Spring Break, the halfway point for the Spring semester in high school and a much-anticipated break from the daily grind that is the life of a school-teaching-single-mom.  Spring Break also encompasses some important events for me personally this year; it will not only commemorate the 44th anniversary of my arrival on this earth, but also includes the 3-month mark of residence in my new hometown.  Honestly, I’m more excited about the second event than the first.  In many ways, it seems that I wasn’t living fully until I ventured out into the big, koolaid-filled world outside my “hometown.”

I must admit, there are times when I feel lonely.  After 20+ years of cringing whenever I heard, “Hey!  MS. G.!” each time I set foot in the local Wal-Mart, it is strange to wander the aisles in anonymity with only my shopping cart for company.  Refueling trips are much less social, but much shorter as well.  I know it is only a matter of time before I develop another cadre of former students to psuedo-stalk me and share the details of their grown-up lives, and I will probably long for these days of peaceful, anonymous grocery shopping.  Weekends are filled with inexpensive yet satisfying time with my fella; his love of biking, walking the Greenway trails, and yard-saleing for deals makes every day an adventure.  I love sharing sleepy, morning smiles with him and working by his side in the kitchen to create the vegetarian yet delicious meals we both adore.  Unfortunately, the work-week and family commitments keep us apart from Sunday evening through Friday afternoon.

I must add that I miss my friends.  The ones who stood by me all the long, dark days of my separation and divorce.  The only ones who can truly understand how wonderful it is to be free of the oppressive malignancy which spread through every moment of every day and choked out all the joy I had in life, leaving only a shell of the woman who once walked in these designer shoes.  She is re-emerging slowly.  I no longer have the amazing surety that I could conquer everything I would encounter in my life, but I do know now that I can endure even when the deck is stacked against me.  Both “White Chocolate Mocha” and “Obi-Wan” have moved on to new stages of their lives as well, and we maintain almost daily contact through the wonders of technology.  Hopefully, it won’t be long before we can all share some laughs and a pitcher; until then, I toast them with each glass of koolaid.  Cheers!

Once upon a time, there was a middle-aged, recently-divorced mother who moved her household and four children from their hometown to another location in pursuit of peace of mind and a fresh start.  The transition and settling into new routines, job, and schools took almost six weeks, but she was finally able to return to some degree of normality.  And life was good.  Really good.  So she returned to the blog she began before her journey, and looked forward to catching up on the blogs she followed.

Not the end.

LMAO!

Milestones

There are so many events in the course of a year that mark our passage through time.  The eve of each child’s birthday is celebrated with the retelling of the day he or she blessed my life, complete with my “last, pre-delivery meal”;  the anniversary of my father’s passing is spent cracking peanuts on the back porch and repeating the silly stories he told all of us over the years; July 3rd we dig the potatoes (it’s a long-standing, West Tennessee, dirt farmer thing…bless my PawPaw’s heart); December 23rd we wash, iron, and rehang the curtains (my maternal grandmother started this with my mom, my sister and I persist in the madness).  All of these silly, strange traditions combine with the more conventional to weave the cloth of my life.

Today is my 19th wedding anniversary.  It is also the day that the “90-day waiting period” for my divorce expires.  Sometime between now and the singing of Auld Lang Syne, a judge will take his pen and end what was begun in a poinsettia-bedecked chapel.  The naive and traditional girl who promised “Til death do us part” is only a faint memory, revived by photographs on days like this.  She never knew that the day would come when she would welcome the “death” if it would make “parting” possible.  Nor did she know that people really DO change and that vows taken by the person-who-once-was might no longer be honored by the man-he-became.

Regardless, I drink a toast this morning to the man I married.  To do otherwise would be a denial of who and what we were that cold, December day and the lives we joined with our own along our path together.  Not all of the 19 years were bad; in fact, if I could pick and choose the times to include, we had one really EXCELLENT decade.

Inspired by another

Ephesians 5…25 Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her 26 to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, 27 and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. 28 In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. 29 After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the church—

My grandfather cherished my grandmother.  Absolutely and totally.  His eyes would sparkle whenever she walked into the room; and I’m not sure that he ever even raised his voice to her in anger, much less his hand.  Granny completely worshiped him as well.  She put his needs before her own or even those of my mother and her two siblings.  She was his cheerleader, business partner, and best friend.  He was her protector, her confidante, and her entire world.  They spent their entire lives working together to build something lasting, permanent, eternal.  Separated by World War II, they wrote letters of love and support to one another and continually fed their love to keep it strong.  Whenever I read the passage from Ephesians that describes the church as the “bride of Christ”, their marriage is the example I see.  I’ve always wanted the kind of relationship that they had, felt like it was the pattern I could happily follow for my own life.

I think that feeling cherished is what was missing from my almost-19-year marriage.  Instead, I was an emotional employee…convenient, but easily replaced.  Pleasant, but not VITAL.   Another wordpress blogger (ameliashope, “Counseling”, Dec. 15, 2011) perfectly encapsulated what I feel was missing.  I share her words here.

“I deserve to have my lover reach for me, to want to touch me and to hold me, to caress my body and to make love to me.  I deserve to have my lover make me feel sacred, special, smart, funny and to take special care of me when I’m sick.  And I deserve to have a life full of wonderment to share.”

We all deserve the same, no matter what flavor our Kool-Aid may be.  Drink up!

Leaking, and grateful for it

Today has been a leaky day.  I have cried more today than I have in a long time…tears of sadness, of joy, thankful tears, the kind that come from swallowing my pride.  The whole gambit.  Sometimes I wonder why I am becoming such a “girl”; why am I so emotional?  Then I realize that I repressed so many emotions for so long that I was numb to reality and humanity.  So tonight, I thank God for my ability to weep.

Words

 “Little kindness and courtesies are so important. In relationships, the little things are the big things.” Stephen R. Covey

My special someone has not told me he loves me, at least not when both awake and sober.  He has whispered it in his sleep, mumbled it as I poured him into his bed; but there has been no official declaration despite our lives becoming increasingly enmeshed.  Does this bother me?  Not at all.

My ex-husband told me every single day that he loved me.  He never bought me a Christmas, anniversary, or birthday present.  Never stayed home to take care of me when I was sick.  Didn’t come to the hospital with me to sit by my dying father’s bedside.   Left me to care for our six children, household, finances, automobiles, yard and maintenance work, parent-teacher conferences, baseball/soccer/basketball games…all without any backup or support.  Instead, he stayed late at the office until after 11 p.m. each night and returned at 8 a.m. the next morning.  Weekends and other days off were spent pursuing his own interests or ingratiating himself with his employer and supervisors.  The words “I love you” became meaningless as I fought through life as a “dual-income, single parent”.

Love is not a word spoken easily for my someone special; he is one of the walking wounded in the battle of the sexes waged in family court each day.  But his holding my hand, bringing me a Heath bar just because he knows they are my favorite, watching On Golden Pond without complaint…these things say all that I need to hear.

Guideposts

Today’s horoscope, delivered via email as every other morning, included the line “You also want true intimacy — the ability to be alone together, silently, with total comfort.” Don’t get me wrong.  I generally think that the daily bits of horoscope that come from newspapers and other media outlets are only valuable for entertainment purposes, full of nonspecific drivel, and (very much like the prophecies of the fortune teller with the traveling circus) easily contorted to make one-size-fit-all.  But from a larger perspective, who is to say there is no link between the stars, the whole universe, and human beings?  After all, everything in nature is interrelated.  God reveals Himself to us through His creation.

The Bible tells us that God is revealed in His creation everyday. Look at the human body and consider the likelihood of how thousands of body parts that must work together. Someone created it to work this well. If it were a manufactured product, it would be in the repair shop all the time because of all the moving parts required to make it work.

Consider the wonderful order and balance of nature and how the seas know their boundaries, the beauty of the mountains, and the balance of rain and oxygen needed to balance the ecosystems.  (Today God is First ministries, daily devotional for 12/05/2011)

Despite Simon and Garfunkel’s dark imagery associated with the “sound of silence,” personified as oppressive and controlling, and my affinity for their music, I have always found the sound of silence to be restful.  Peaceful.  Restorative.  And I value the ability to sit side-by-side with another person, lost in separate occupations yet invisibly connected by mutual peace.  No attention-seeking behavior.  No pouting or passive-aggression because of hurt feelings or feeling ignored.  Simply separate yet still together.

Jane Austen said, “It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy; it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.”  (Sense and Sensibility.  Volume 2, chapter 12) That is true of my deepest and longest friendships; constant chatter and interaction are not necessary to maintain our ties as our lives and hearts are so intricately interwoven.  The stars, destiny, fate…whatever label you give to God…I am being led down a path of peace and understanding.  And Kool-Aid.