This is one of the presents that Lauren made for Brent and me to give to the people that he works with every day. The majority are sweater monsters and hand-bound books with incredible cover creations. I like this shadow box. It reminds me of when we had a horse while living in Tampa, FL. Meg and La would ride bareback and once in a while one of them would start to slide a little bit sideways and then a little bit more and then a little bit more and then BPOOMP! land on the ground. Both were so casual about it--they just got back up and went on their way. Now Lauren and Megan and Nathan are all grown up. When people ask me what I'm doing now . . . I can tell them about classes I'm taking at the local junior college and about the plants I'm working with in my yard . . . and about my three dwarf rabbits. It doesn't feel like I have all that much to do anymore. My sister Martha talked with me on the phone this morning and she described all the things that her four boys were involved with and where they were all going this summer. I am still stuck in a vision of me holding an infant Nathan in my arms and crossing the street with Megan holding onto my jeans pocket one one side and Lauren holding onto my jeans pocket on my other side.

I can remember twenty five years ago like it was yesterday, but I have a hard time remembering if I have an appointment tomorrow. I went to see a doctor who worked with Alzheimer's patients--I was driving myself crazy with all of the doctor appointments and Church activities and school deadlines I was forgetting. He had his assistant do a battery of tests with me. He came in and asked me why I was there. He admitted to me that on one of the tests I had gotten 100% correct--something that had never happened before. I did not have Alzheimer's or any other form of dementia--I was just busy thinking about lots of stuff--stuff that didn't have to do with day-to-day commitments. So . . . I'm not going crazy. I'm just not paying attention to the world around me. Perhaps I'm just on a parallel plane with the world that everyone else around me inhabits and I just happen to be very visible in both places . . . Christmas is coming and I get to have all of my children with me for New Year's. I shall try very hard to be tuned into this world by the time that they arrive.

I keep thinking about all the things that I would like to be writing about . . . and then jotting them down on the empty pages of my day timer or on the next clean page in the spiral notebook that I have with me or on scraps of paper that I know I will remember later. And I don't. I just have to go on record before the end of this year to tell those who will read this that I am very content with who and where and what I am. I spent so much of my life preparing for . . . something . . . that I knew was coming . . . sometime . . . somehow. I have finished preparing and I am living. I am beautiful. I am beloved. I am talented. I am blessed. I have everything to offer. I have been given everything.

Tonight Brent and Nate were with me at the mall. There were hundreds of people there--a welcome contrast to the echoing walls that met us when we shopped there a month ago. Nate went to buy me a Christmas present and Brent went with him. I went on to the Hallmark place and found the Christmas gift bags and tissue paper that I needed to finish preparing Brent's office people gifts for this year. Before I had paid for my purchase, Brent was there in the store looking for me. We walked to the end of the mall where Nathan was shopping and Brent went in to see if Nate was almost done. In the mean time, I rode the escalators up and down--several times--and watched some 5 or six year old boys throwing pennies into one of the mall's many fountains. I actually stopped and began to get some change out so that I could "make a wish" along with them. I thought for a moment, and then continued walking--there was nothing that I would wish for.

Megan is in Maryland tonight and they have cancelled Church tomorrow and school--some classes in the middle of finals--for Monday. She says that there hasn't been this much snow in Maryland for years. She is home and safe, though, and has much to do to prepare for their family trip to California to visit Anton's mom, Ann, for Christmas. I called her on Thursday? Friday? to let her know that her Christmas package was in the mail. I felt so clueless when she told me that they would be gone from Monday until she returned from visiting us in mid-January. I thought that I would be getting everything there early--and she won't be able to open anything until two weeks after New Years.

The shots that they gave me in my back two weeks ago have made such a bit difference. I get up and I see things that need to be done--and then I just go and do them. No longer is my entire allotment of energy squandered on getting out of bed, getting dressed, eating more than twice a day--and getting both morning pills and evening pills into me at pretty close to the prescribed time of day. We planted plants this morning--I point out where I want Brent and Nathan to dig the holes for me. I add a little cured bunny litter and shavings and water--lots of water. This paradise . . . I just dosed offf tjinningkkk aviyt gett ubg Neoesd , Giid ujjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjZZ

So I didn't post this last night. I am ready for Church before Nathan and Brent this morning, however, and so I will finish this entry now. It is cold enough outside today that Nathan came and asked me if I had a sweater that he could wear--his suit is in the cleaners. Unfortunately, (or fortunately--depending on your view of the situation) he is 6' tall and weighs 178 pounds and I am 5'2" and weigh 127 pounds--and so, even though I do have several very-plain-could-be-worn-by-a-male-type-person, I didn't have anything to offer him. I think that the snow Maryland got Friday night and yesterday--closing just about everything, including Sunday this morning--might have finally pushed out the 80-90 degree weather we've experienced lately down into cooler temps that at least begin to put a United States/Scandinavian Christmas tradition into the hearts of all us Floridians.

Yesterday was wonderful. We planted stuff in the gardens around our home and then went to see AVITAR--an incredible experience (even though we saw it in 2-D rather than 3-D) that still fills my memory and floats just at the edge of my vision. After that--mall and then gas in the car and then shopping at Publix for stuff. Then we came home and I played with my rabbits while Brent and Nathan unloaded the groceries. It was a glorious day. If yesterday were my last day on Earth, that is the day that I would have chosen.

Today is going to be another day like yesterday. I am almost breathless in anticipation as I try to imagine what will be in it.

Playing With Fire

I have finally downloaded the Photoshop program that came with my drawing pad. I had it on my computer, but I didn't have the time or the interest to figure out how to use it. Last week I was messing around and came out with this picture. I know that Brent doesn't like it when I alter images. For him, photographs are photographs--a picture that captures a particular moment or event. I like trying new things with the photos that I have downloaded or scanned into my picture files. It makes me feel like an artist. I am changing reality and making it into something else. Dangerous? Changing my view of the past can be unsettling for some, I guess. My memories have never been precise images of what actually transpired--no one does. It is amazing to me that any of us can communicate with each other about shared events. State of mind, self image, focus, vocabulary differences, age and purpose all tweek "reality" to fit into our memories--who we are now. Changing pictorial expressions of what was before, crisp photographs, lets me feel that I am in control of my future. Changing the heat--the bad things, the lonely things, the embarrassing things--that produced me imbues me with the ability of a creator--an artisan who can, with incredible heat and force,dd take weak metal and layer and pound out the bad spots and make me stronger than I was before. The difficulties that have been part of my past are gone, but I can take what is there and use it to shape what I do, who I am, today.

Less is Better

This is the picture I was trying to upload. I guess the interior fixed its error.
I just tried to upload an image of my Brent and me when we were in Maryland, visiting my daughter and her husband when her first baby was born. The blog says that an internal error prevented the upload. I will try later.

I am watching Modern Marvels on the History channel and one of the commercial that just played was one of Magic Johnson--an athlete that I had held in high esteem because of what I have read and heard about him. He was selling the Rent to Own program as a source of "what's best for your family" because you don't need to worry about having no credit or even bad credit. I have known families that "buy" from this company and the things they invest in are huge TVs or stereo systems that they pay on until things get (more) economically difficult these things are repossessed--leaving them nothing for their years of payments. I have a hard time seeing Johnson hyping this company using the example of his mother working two jobs and raising a family at the same time. I just don't think that she was working to afford a 60-inch screen plasma TV for her kids to watch when they got home from school.

Most of the other commercials have to do with "spending smarter." Buy a new computer at WalMart because it's cheaper there. Buy a new car that gives you a year of gas so that you spend less on fuel that first year. Change your insurance from one company to another because you pay less--but EVERYONE can't cost less--eventually it would get to the point where it was free--or the next stage, where the company paid YOU to let them provide insurance coverage. No one talks about the fact that most elementary, high school and even college students need a 2-pound, 1/2-inch thick, 36-inch screen computer to do the word processing and simple internet communicating that they really need to succeed. Keep the car you already have and save the money you'd be paying on a new car payment--or even better, take the bus, your bike, or walk. Buy less so that you have less to insure.

People spend money on strange things--I am no different. When Brent wanted a metal detector--we bought him one. When I wanted to visit my sisters in Minnesota--we bought me a plane ticket. When Nathan needed motivation to finish geometry--I bribed him with a Wii. When a movie that we want to see first comes out--we pay full price and see it in the theatre rather than waiting for it to come out in DVD.

We drive old cars. We fly coach. We have never been on a cruise or to Europe on vacation. We don't wear designer clothes or live in a big house. Our biggest splurge is in keeping the house extra cool during the summer and in having a house with a pool so that I can swim when I want. Brent also lets me buy flowers to plant in our yard when it would be cheaper to keep everything grass and just mow it every week. We spend hundreds of dollars on meds and doctors every month to keep us sane and pain free and healthy.

We all chose our own poison, I guess . . . and if I had to chose only one, mine would be Brent.

Sisters and Handprints

I love this picture of Susan leading Fever and Zak from the pasture to the barn.

Martha really does not like horses -- she has been afraid of them since she was 12 when a horse ran away with her. But she was very brave and she humored Susan and me and actually rode around a little bit after she got on her horse. Her son told her that he was expecting a photo of her on a horse.

The three of us.

I love this photo of Fever looking through the slats that surround the pasture.

It seems a lifetime ago when dad poured cement and had each of our children put their hand prints in them. They stayed at the house in West Des Moines, Iowa, until Mom died and the house was sold. Susan has placed them at the side of the front of her home in Minnesota, underneath a beautiful tree and bush.

I have hundreds of thoughts and feelings that I want to express in words about the week that I had to spend with my sisters at the barn my sister manages in Minnesota. None of them come to me when I actually have time to sit down and type.

Minnesota Reunion with My Sisters

The TV is repeating a cooking show that has already aired twice today. I have it on because I am the only one awake in Susan’s apartment. I didn’t pack enough underwear and so I am waiting for the washer to finish so that I can put the load in the dryer. It has been such a wonderful day. Martha arrived this afternoon and she is so fun to be with. She looks great—confident and certain of herself. She says that they’ll be in Saudi Arabia for 13 more years. She is teaching Seminary—early morning—for the fourth time this year. This next year is Church History . . . her first year was with the D & C. I hadn’t known that Susan also taught early morning Seminary. “The best thing about it is that you really have to study the scriptures every day,” she said. She really enjoyed it, and agreed with Martha that it was one of the most challenging, overwhelming callings she had ever fulfilled. I feel left out—muddling through Seminary with Nathan during the years that he was home isn’t quite the same thing. I never thought about having to study for an hour everyday so that I could be ready to work with Nate the next day. He often couldn’t handle much more than 5 or 10 minutes worth—but even if he could have focused for a longer time, I didn’t really have much to offer him.
I went to ride with Susan and Nancy this evening. The temperature was cooler than yesterday and the wind was calm. Susan and Nancy laughed and talked and teased each other and then laughed some more. It made me lonely for Meg and La. As we were beginning to ride, I got a phone call from Brent. He told me about the supplies he had gotten to finish Nate’s bathroom and the glue and roller we’ll need to put up the stylized rabbit border around the room just below the ceiling. After being with Susan and coming to know more of the challenges that fill her days, I am so glad that I am me and have the problems that I have. Mine isn’t the life I would have wished for even a decade before—but I wouldn’t even dream of trading what I was facing for the difficulties that Susan has gone through. Nor would I consider exchanging lives with Martha. Exotic travels and insular living would push me into panicked anxiety about what I could not understand and what I could not control.
I met Susan’s grandson Evan today. He is 3 years old and an adroit manager of his domain. Susan confides that Evan is expert at “pushing his parents’ buttons.” I think that she sees what she has known before in her life. She became an expert at pushing mom and dad’s buttons herself when she was younger . . . as well as mine and M’s. The magic of the whole process is that it allows her an especially clear view of the situation now. “Inter-Family Dynamics” should have been required to graduate from high school, to get married, or to interact with any family member at anytime in the future.
*******Tuesday, 27 July 2009 noon
Nathan called me yesterday afternoon. He was at the pet store to buy shavings for the bunnies. “What kind of shavings do I get? Aspen, pine, the vacuum packed kind? One of the sacks looks like one of the bags at home, but it feels like there are just little pellets inside. Am I at the right store? And the bunnies have started to pee on the floor of their cage—what am I suppose to do about that?” There was no panic in his voice, but I could tell that he took the responsibility to care for our three buns very seriously. He is determinedly precise about anything that he undertakes. He attributes this characteristic to his Asperger’s Syndrome. I think that that may be a part of it—but he is also dedicated to making the environment around him better. Either way, I am grateful that he is as he is.
I miss Brent horribly. I have been away from him before, but I keep thinking that he would really enjoy hiking through the woods here. It is mostly flat land he could easily walk beside me as I rode one of Susan’s horses through the woods and meadows. Connections via cell phone are tenuous at best and we are often cut off in the middle of conversations, necessitating a quick re-dial so that we can finish our dialogue. It is OK though because we now say the most important things at the beginning of the call instead of waiting for the last moments before we hang up. To quote Martha Stewart: It’s a good thing.
Martha brought us both quilts. In Saudi she is the president of the quilting group that meets to make, amazingly, quilts. They are painstaking works of art: a sweet reminder that she loves both Susan and me and thinks about us when all of us are apart. I like that.

Dream Job

I have discovered today, after just a day and a half with my sister Susan, something that I could never have imagined.

My whole life has been dominated by the desire to be with horses: riding then, jumping them, showing them, brushing them, and loving them. My sister Susan has the job that—were I given the choice—I thought I would always want. She manages a horse stable and trains horses and teaches riding. After only thirty six-hours with her, though, I find that (were I given the opportunity to join Susan in her work) I would quickly become worn out and dissatisfied at the immense volume of effort, planning, self-discipline and sheer willpower that it takes to do what she does. In other words: I would hate it.

In living my life as I have, I have left myself with only the ability to pretend at doing what I love. I hear again my mom’s old complaint that I am good at lots of things, but master of none. What I really want is the life that I have—but with time and a horse to ride every day. I have become accustomed to being cosseted by Brent and protected by him from the grit needed to face the public and a real job.

At one time I think I could have worked as most people must, keeping to a time schedule, doing tasks that others have set for me to do, and being who my job needs me to be. I was ruthless in my approach to the “business” of running a family and keeping finances in order. Brent observed that in getting things done, I was unfeeling and aggressive. After almost twenty years of fighting the school system to get what my children needed, stomping down the feelings of others to get through the red tape, crashing through “established channels” to identify the person who could actually make the decision I wanted made, bullying the health insurance department manager into covering the surgery-meds-office visits-procedure-psychologist costs—after almost twenty years of this I was very good at it. But Brent asked me to please stop. I was becoming this “efficient” and “single minded” entity ALL the time—not just when on the phone or in the meetings. He wanted me to become me again. It was not worth the money I saved or the corporate compliance I achieved—my way of getting things done on schedule and under budget was turning me into something and someone that I was not.

So I stopped.

I do not think that I could go back to that “self” and ever come out again. I do not have the miraculous talent that Susan has to take care of business during business hours—and to take care of Susan during Susan hours. I have lost the ability to dichotomize. Brent can be at work and be an attorney and a manager—and still come home and be my husband and sweetheart. Both he and Susan can “leave the office at the office.” I have (if I ever really did have it) lost that ability. Everything I am is connected to everything that I do and think and feel and say and hear and ponder and read and desire. And at this moment of self-discovery, I don’t feel sad at the loss—only a great admiration for both my sister and my husband.

I am still smarting at Rob’s question of what I have that is worth putting on a blog. The only answer that I have, the only response that is genuine, is the contentment that consumes me as I put into physical form an approximation of the complex interchange necessary for my mind and heart to make sense of what my eyes and ears take in. I blog because I love to write . . .

. . . and because someday I hope I might make a difference with the words that I craft and send out into the wide expanse of the internet.