I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar

The other day I shared this quote with the Boy Scout. When I read it, it was almost with a little sigh, like “of course we have.” It is a given. He looked at me in surprise and asked, “you’ve done that?” Many, many times, especially when I was younger and more apt to put myself in a position to need to use those survival mechanisms. I wasn’t being foolish, I was living life. 

Somewhere around the age of 30, when I was in my peak physical form and feeling strong and vital, there came the realization that no matter how hard I worked, even the average man could easily over power me. There was a nugget of anger that came with that knowledge. And also, a tiny nudge of fragility. The beginning of a feeling that would slowly grow over the years, getting bigger with a health set back, or when I could no longer do something on my own or when a nervousness sets in where there once was none. It just is. 

I’m currently reading American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins. Beautifully written with a compelling story, I can only take it in spurts because it triggers the feeling of the immense powerlessness of being a women. I find that I need to push it away until I have to go back to find out what happens to our protagonist who has the unfortunate, regretful characteristic of being a woman on the run in Mexico. 

Get That In Writing

I received an email from a friend. She’s a good friend who is wonderfully warm and well educated, an author, a counselor, a survivor and so much more.

I read the email. It was beautifully written to me and 3 other women who have become a group of mutual love and adoration. We are in our 3rd year of studying and recovering. We are 3 years into sharing our lives, struggles and victories. 

As I read it, all my writing, ranging anywhere from pathetic to well expressed, paled in comparison and I wondered why I ever thought I could, in these minuscule ways, write at all. I saw what a fabulous education and deep introspection afforded her. I felt shame.

Then, I took a full, intentional, generous breath, held it there for a few seconds and let loose. When I did, I let loose of the shame and the unworthiness. The sentence structure that may be questionable, the vocabulary that is limited, the tenses that flip and flop, the over and under use of commas that frustrate the hell out of me. All that, I let it go.

My writing is me, my story, my heartache, my quest for gratitude. It’s fine the way it is. 

Hit The Nail On The Head

I've become a jack of all trades (or better yet, A Jill of All Trades). I've painted and spackled, plumbed and cleared plugged drains, put in flooring and new base board using our new to us miter saw, used specially designed paint to cover some old sinks that I cannot afford to replace at the moment, pulled up carpet and spot repaired the old flooring. I've put the router, the cordless drill/screwdriver, the Dremel and WorkX (high frequency oscillating tool), along with the miter saw to good use. That WorkX is my personal favorite because it does a little bit of everything only a lot faster.

Today, with the help of a YouTuber, I fixed the garage door that has not been operating properly for over a month. I am feeling accomplished.

Now it's time to clean out that damn garage. It makes me crazy how disorganized and whack-a-doodle it gets. Ah well, another day. It's far too cold to stay out there for long. A parka and heavy gloves are not conducive to organization. I may have to wait until after Christmas.

Happy Monday all.

Friends In High Places

I let you go as if you were not important. It is so unlike me especially since it is hardly the case. I love and admire you.

Why did I?

It is so complex. It’s taken me a long time to figure it out.

You, truly one of the most resilient, exuberant and grateful people I know, are a hard act to follow. As I left on this adventure, I felt fear, dread and resentment. It seeped into my life, gradually taking up so much space in my heart.

I let other people go. That was easier, it was time. But you……I just felt ashamed. How could I tell the friend who had been through so much heartache and misfortune that I could not find my gratitude? How in the world could I cry on the shoulder of the friend who trusts and makes the best of each set back?

I couldn’t fake it and I couldn’t muster anything that resembled good sense in my thoughts.

Through it all, you sent messages and phone calls and unconditional love. You are amazing my friend. One of a kind. A bright star. Beautiful inside and out.

I’m working it out. Heading in a good direction.

Just wanted you to know that I love you and hope you can forgive me.

Blogger Bugger

Is anyone else having trouble with blogger constantly logging out so that comments often get made as "anonymous" ? Very frustrating. If you have a suggestion I would welcome it.

A New Perspective

Last night my dear sweet Winnie threw herself a birthday party. She knew what she wanted, knew who she wanted to spend the evening with and that’s what she got. It was lovely.  

We were not a young crowd but we all shared in our love for this tiny person with so much inner joy. To be quite honest I heard very little of what was being said but I could still share in the laughter and love.

Every person there, aside from Boy Scout and I, are from Winnie’s church. A room full of Catholics and us. It was fascinating. I asked the group if this was some kind of weird intervention, were they trying for conversion? They laughed and then invited us to Sunday’s pancake breakfast.  Hahahahahaa. We passed.

Instead, I watched the sun rise as Mt Hood supervised.

I’d say she did a fine job. 

By The Book......

I finally picked up my first Louise Erdrich book. I've heard all the hype. I am aware of all the awards but for some reason I resisted. 

Then the spirit moved me and I got The Master Butchers Singing Club. The book is well written and has an interesting story. Her language is lush, characters flawed and she demands that we look at the complete person. 

Even if I had not liked the book as a whole, the last chapter of the book is so stunningly beautiful that it would be worth the time spent. I had to read and reread it again and again. I would share it but, darn it, it's the last 3 or 4 paragraphs and it doesn't seem right to do so, just in case you decide to read it.

If you are not a fan or uninterested, at least go to your local bookstore, pick it up and read the last 3 or 4 pages. You won't be sorry.