An Invincible Summer - A Woman's Journey

Thirty Nine more days until this horrific, annoyingly embarrassing, maddening, awful election is over! Thirty Nine 'effing more days!!! That's all I have to say today.

I am #5 of 6 kids and I use the term "kids" loosely. My oldest sister is 63 and my younger brother is 51. We are a tight knit group except for one. My brother John, who is 55, has been the black sheep since day one. He has been in and out of our lives and when he is in, it is usually difficult or strained at best. Our mom instilled inside of each of us an intense loyalty. She never verbalized it but it is there just the same. All four of us girls are very close and we adore our "baby" brother. And even though we love him, John is another story.  He was the one that ran with the "bad" crowd in school. He was the one that my teachers would scowl about when they heard my last name on the first day of school. He and my mom were escorted by a police officer to sign him up for the military before he came of age....it was that or juvie. Thinned skinned and negative, he has lived with nearly every one of us for a period of time, here and there. Because

We're going through a bit of a heat wave in Southern Cal.  In Ventura, because we are a coastal city, very few people actually put A/C in their homes. The weather here is temperate and the blasts of real heat usually last only days. Sunday was a scorcher, so the Boy Scout and I made our way to the pool to cool off and then shower up (we are on week 4 without a bathroom). The pool wasn't packed but there was a good smattering of little ones playing and screeching and making the most of the heat and the cool water. The peals of laughter were too much for the Boy Scout to resist.  We made our way over to the edge of the indoor pool which has a proper view of the outdoor pool where most of the activity was taking place. Truly, I have never met a man that loves children the way my man does. As we watched, we had a running commentary....."Look at that bruiser" or "Blondie can't contain her excitement” and "That young dad with his 4 little ones looks like

I am not a writer. I am a woman, mother, partner, sister, orphan and, sometimes, just bat-shit crazy. Today, feeling more emotional than usual, I wonder what it is that causes the feeling of needing good cry and whether I could put it into words. To be sure, there are many things in this world to cry about. There is pain, hunger, sickness and violence or simply seeing someone I love hurting. I think of little Victoria Martens, who had the unfortunate luck of being born to evil incarnate.  Or of all the African American men who cannot walk or drive the streets of our country with the comfort and confidence that I am afforded. Of politicians that can say and do anything they want and still be followed like demigods. Honestly, if the tears flowed every time I heard a heartbreaking or maddening story they would rarely cease. The funny thing about crying is that it is not just for sorrow and pain, it is for joy and relief too. I read that Dr. William Frey, Biochemest and "tea

Well, the crazy bitch came back! She flew in on her broom and attacked. Using every weapon, she spewed forth nastiness, yelling and screaming. Picking apart the situation, finding flaws and faults...there was no pleasing her. Damn it, I cannot stand her. Why does she have to show her ugly face at my house. Why can't she leave well enough alone. Did I mention she is me?  Not proud, not one of my better days. Tomorrow is a new one. Good night. 

For me it started out with my brother, then my oldest son, people with low frequency voices that talk softly and, finally, anybody speaking when there is background noise. The sentiments are the same though.....don’t we all just want to connect? Dear Daughter — A Hearing Loss Poem Your voice is soft. You face away from me when you talk, distracted by something nearby. You cover your mouth with your hands. You speak rapidly and slur your words together. You laugh and talk at the same time. You cry and talk at the same time. It’s not your fault. You are a pre-teen girl. That is what they do. But it is hard for me to hear you. I do everything I can. I wear my hearing aids. I look at you to get clues from your face and lips. I remind you to speak up, to look at me, to speak slower. I remind you again. Sometimes I turn your face towards me. You don’t like that. But it is hard for me to hear you. Your father repeats what you say. Your brother repeats what you say. You repeat yo

A Different Kind of Beauty I am not so sure I like what I see today. Sags under the eyes, a mass of hair twisted into a low ponytail, my ears completely exposed. It took me two years before I’d let this much of myself show. My bottle blonde hair and palette of cosmetics usually help me blend in with the other moms who drive their children to sporting events on a warm summer afternoon. I turn the wheel, hoping to avoid the stark reflection that stares back in the rearview mirror. A profile of me with the low ponytail says it all: There is something different about me. I am wearing hearing aids. The chatty crowd becomes a little more subdued (at least I imagine that it does) as I walk past them with my behind-the-ear hearing aids in full view. This is the first time these moms with their casual T-ball attire have seen me with my hair pulled back. As a child, I walked up to complete strangers and introduced myself just to make them smile. How can I face these moms now who usu

It's my birthday and a good time to reflect back just two 1/2 short years ago. What I remember most is fear. After the cops came and the SWAT team came and the Secret Keeper yelled and screamed at me, the kids and the cops, from the roof of the building.....fear became my constant sidekick.  First and foremost, I feared the Secret Keeper. Looking back now, I think it was inappropriate but maybe not....but he did scare me then. I worried for my kids’ emotional well being...and whether they would question the choices I made. My job was somewhat inter-connected with the Secret Keepers and it felt precarious (it was not, but the voices in my head didn't agree). I worried about judgment from our community and how that judgment would affect both me and the kids. The idea that my financial future was partially in control of a very mentally sick man kept my stomach in twists so that eating and sleeping were impossible. Something I have learned since then was that I was

Signs of fall fill the air even in sunny California. The mornings are darker and have a bit of a chill to them. The bedroom window remains open but maybe not quite as open as before. The children of Ventura are back to their routines and the soccer fields are full. Our late afternoon golf is being pressed into ever tightening spans and I am looking forward to the twilight rates starting a little earlier in the day.  We play a lot up in a tiny town called Ojai. It has its appeal. The Ojai stereotype wears Birkenstocks and drives a Volvo. It's considered a bastion for liberals with strong connections to Hollywood. A good proximity to studios, theaters and clubs but out of the way from the hustle and bustle and starstruck fans. There are two courses up there; the Ojai Valley Inn, which is beautiful and expensive, and our little course called Soule Park. I love it up there, nestled in the mountains with oak trees and pines vying for their space in the sun.  The Boy Scout and

It's another beautiful day in Southern California.   I ran into an old friend. We were "bench buddies" when our kids were small. We would meet before school got out and chat until the kids showed up. During that period of time of our lives, her husband, who had been a married couples co-leader with her in church, had an affair and had decided he needed to leave her and the kids in order to start a new life and be "happy". I remember at the time, I gave her advice from the small child in me who had deeply desired to have a relationship with my father. I suggested that the best thing she could do for her little ones was to, somehow, learn how to be civil with her ex and his new wife (who just happened to be their pastor’s unmarried daughter). I didn’t say forgive or become friends as those were concepts beyond my ability to fathom.  My friend ended up losing her marriage, her church home and a number of friends but she followed my advice. Since then, as

I have to be honest and admit that I was a bit manipulative this weekend. Saturday night was the night we were expected to go to a party...a second annual going away party for the daughter of the Boy Scout's best friend. I dreaded it tremendously and, as I mentioned in the previous post, the last time we attended this party things did not go all that well. As Saturday progressed I thought of getting sick...."cough, cough".... or I could pick a fight (Lord knows I do that well). Scheming and machinations; I am not proud but I came up with one that would be effective. As I opened my mouth to put forth my plan, I felt a pang of remorse. Then with shame, I admitted to the Boy Scout what I was doing with a heartfelt apology. Lo and behold, he took my plan joyfully and ran with it like a Labrador puppy with a stick at the beach. We packed up our stuff and off we went to Santa Barbara for a nice round of golf at a really nice course. Gorgeous day to play; cool breeze, ov

The black fog has lifted and I am back to being myself.  This morning I woke to a daily email from Gratefulness.org, which I recommend highly to start ones day.  Today's reminder; WORD FOR THE DAY I dwell in possibility. EMILY DICKINSON I don't always dwell in possibility but it is a great reminder to start the day that way and move forward with hope. Looking forward to a long weekend but not so much to the party that we will be attending Saturday night. I sometimes envy those social beings that think there is nothing better than walking into a crowded room and make their way through to see who they know or might get to know. I've never, ever felt that way. The Boy Scout and I have maneuvered through such situations but not without some ugliness and heated words. He, being the ultimate extrovert who enters  a room with the attitude of "Who is going to be lucky enough to meet me tonight", now knows that it's far better to give me s