I've been on this fricking computer for hours trying to learn the finer points of publishing a blog. Every sentence seems to contain a phrase I have to cross reference. I have accumulated window after window yet am still quite confused.
I am only writing this post because I promised to try to write one every day. This seems awfully early to get iffy. If anyone reads this (and I have no idea if anyone ever will), I am open to assistance.
Learning is growing, but it can also be the cause of indigestion.
I think I will cut my losses for the day and hug a glass of wine with much enthusiasm. I'm sure that I will be much smarter tomorrow.
Falana For Now
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
IN THE SPIRIT OF SHARING ~
Randy was the love of my life, at least until I met my sweet Neil some 20 years later.
High school sweethearts and to be married when he got settled in the Navy. It was the Viet Nam years and everyone was on hold, one way or the other.
Sadly, but secure in our future together, I said goodbye when he left for boot camp. We kept in touch as well as snail mail and expensive, complicated long distance allowed (no email or free anywhere cell phones in them thar days). Suddenly, nothing. The young trusting mind assumes that there is always a simple, non life shattering reason for such, but the insecure, it was too good to be true, why would he want me, chubette knew it was bad.
I knew when he was due home for leave before he shipped out, so I always had a half eye out for him around town. There he was and coming my way down New Dorp Lane...maybe it's okay, maybe he's as glad to see me...yeah, right.
"I married someone I met while I was gone, sorry. Gotta go now"
I remember going blind, I remember having a heart attack, I remember the ground opening and swallowing me whole. No such luck. The Universe never puts us out of our misery when we most need it.
Over the years I thought of Randy when I heard our song 'Somewhere' and mostly hoped he was miserable.
Cut to 20 odd years later.
My phone rang at my home in Eugene, Oregon. The woman on the other end asked me if I remembered Randy. I almost said no, but some weird events want investigation. She explained that she was his ex wife. Not the one he left me for, she apparently didn't last long. See, I thought, the Universe isn't totally unfeeling.
She went on to explain that she and Randy were still friends, but couldn't stay together. They had talked one night about why it hadn't worked out. He told her that he had lost the love of his life and didn't think he would ever be happy with anyone.
You guessed it folks, ME!
Evidently, his first wife was a one night stand whom he had banged up. In those days, you played, you payed.
As I attempted to act interested and pleasant, in my mind I was screaming 'why didn't the selfish jackass tell me?'
She wondered if I might still have feelings for him. His present lady friend, she shared, was bad news and she was worried for him. She even offered to fly him out to see me.
I explained that, though I had loved him once, I was quite happily married to a wonderful man and wished both of them good luck.
I have told that story to folks over the years since and the usual reaction is 'that's so romantic'.
My personal reaction was one of such rage that the blind, heart attack thing enjoyed a rerun. This time, however, the open ground was swallowing him.
Had I known the truth, it would have broken my heart, instead of my spirit. I spent a large hunk of my adult life thinking that I wasn't good enough for him. There is no doubt in my mind that the abusive relationship that I subjected myself to was, in many ways, a result of that experience. A feeling that there isn't anyone else who will want them is the main reason that women put up with abuse.
It's easy to say that it's better to be alone than to be beaten, but if you don't think much of yourself, that doesn't ring true. Apology love is a heady drug to someone who feels generally unlovable.
I was lucky to find enough people to love me all at once. It gave me the courage to be alone.
Okay, putting my soapbox away.
Falana For Now
High school sweethearts and to be married when he got settled in the Navy. It was the Viet Nam years and everyone was on hold, one way or the other.
Sadly, but secure in our future together, I said goodbye when he left for boot camp. We kept in touch as well as snail mail and expensive, complicated long distance allowed (no email or free anywhere cell phones in them thar days). Suddenly, nothing. The young trusting mind assumes that there is always a simple, non life shattering reason for such, but the insecure, it was too good to be true, why would he want me, chubette knew it was bad.
I knew when he was due home for leave before he shipped out, so I always had a half eye out for him around town. There he was and coming my way down New Dorp Lane...maybe it's okay, maybe he's as glad to see me...yeah, right.
"I married someone I met while I was gone, sorry. Gotta go now"
I remember going blind, I remember having a heart attack, I remember the ground opening and swallowing me whole. No such luck. The Universe never puts us out of our misery when we most need it.
Over the years I thought of Randy when I heard our song 'Somewhere' and mostly hoped he was miserable.
Cut to 20 odd years later.
My phone rang at my home in Eugene, Oregon. The woman on the other end asked me if I remembered Randy. I almost said no, but some weird events want investigation. She explained that she was his ex wife. Not the one he left me for, she apparently didn't last long. See, I thought, the Universe isn't totally unfeeling.
She went on to explain that she and Randy were still friends, but couldn't stay together. They had talked one night about why it hadn't worked out. He told her that he had lost the love of his life and didn't think he would ever be happy with anyone.
You guessed it folks, ME!
Evidently, his first wife was a one night stand whom he had banged up. In those days, you played, you payed.
As I attempted to act interested and pleasant, in my mind I was screaming 'why didn't the selfish jackass tell me?'
She wondered if I might still have feelings for him. His present lady friend, she shared, was bad news and she was worried for him. She even offered to fly him out to see me.
I explained that, though I had loved him once, I was quite happily married to a wonderful man and wished both of them good luck.
I have told that story to folks over the years since and the usual reaction is 'that's so romantic'.
My personal reaction was one of such rage that the blind, heart attack thing enjoyed a rerun. This time, however, the open ground was swallowing him.
Had I known the truth, it would have broken my heart, instead of my spirit. I spent a large hunk of my adult life thinking that I wasn't good enough for him. There is no doubt in my mind that the abusive relationship that I subjected myself to was, in many ways, a result of that experience. A feeling that there isn't anyone else who will want them is the main reason that women put up with abuse.
It's easy to say that it's better to be alone than to be beaten, but if you don't think much of yourself, that doesn't ring true. Apology love is a heady drug to someone who feels generally unlovable.
I was lucky to find enough people to love me all at once. It gave me the courage to be alone.
Okay, putting my soapbox away.
Falana For Now
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
SO, WHO MADE THIS MESS?
I am, by nature, inclined to focus on myself as the root of all evil. It's hard to say how I got that way, but it has always been so. It's not even that I think badly of myself. I'm very intelligent and talented. I think that I just don't trust that other people can see it.
I have my suspicions about where that came from and I'm embarrassed to admit that it all comes down to body image. I was the fat girl in a family of skinny folk. At the age of around 7, a bout with scarlet fever blew out my thyroid and in one year I went from scrawny and knobby kneed to 'pretty plus'. Of course, the medical reasons weren't discovered until my adult years, so it was always implied that the fat was my fault.
Just to add drama to the story, I grew up on a beach, surrounded by friends and family in bathing suits. I remember the tearful trips to Garbers department store, every summer, to buy a new suit. Reminiscing brings a lump to my throat as I type.
By my teen years, I had perfected the art of avoidance and got some control of my weight by never eating very much. A nice set of knockers helped a little, too.
I just read what I have written and I feel quite the whiner. I don't know that wallowing in my own crapulence is the secret to success, but I've done a bunch tonight and that is that.
What I know about myself is that I always feel that no one can really see me. I'm shocked and pleased when people remember me, even though there have been times when people from my long ago have remembered me better than I did them.
I do my art and show it to no one. On the rare occasion that it is seen, I get much praise, but never seem to trust that it isn't an aberration.
Truth is, that I am quite aware of my psychic dents. I just have no clue how to perform the necessary repairs. Intellectually, I know that I shouldn't let my fears pin me to the mat, but emotionally, I am more often than not, down for the count.
Okay, I'm out of metaphors, so I must be done for now.
Falana For Now
I have my suspicions about where that came from and I'm embarrassed to admit that it all comes down to body image. I was the fat girl in a family of skinny folk. At the age of around 7, a bout with scarlet fever blew out my thyroid and in one year I went from scrawny and knobby kneed to 'pretty plus'. Of course, the medical reasons weren't discovered until my adult years, so it was always implied that the fat was my fault.
Just to add drama to the story, I grew up on a beach, surrounded by friends and family in bathing suits. I remember the tearful trips to Garbers department store, every summer, to buy a new suit. Reminiscing brings a lump to my throat as I type.
By my teen years, I had perfected the art of avoidance and got some control of my weight by never eating very much. A nice set of knockers helped a little, too.
I just read what I have written and I feel quite the whiner. I don't know that wallowing in my own crapulence is the secret to success, but I've done a bunch tonight and that is that.
What I know about myself is that I always feel that no one can really see me. I'm shocked and pleased when people remember me, even though there have been times when people from my long ago have remembered me better than I did them.
I do my art and show it to no one. On the rare occasion that it is seen, I get much praise, but never seem to trust that it isn't an aberration.
Truth is, that I am quite aware of my psychic dents. I just have no clue how to perform the necessary repairs. Intellectually, I know that I shouldn't let my fears pin me to the mat, but emotionally, I am more often than not, down for the count.
Okay, I'm out of metaphors, so I must be done for now.
Falana For Now
Monday, December 10, 2007
WHAT WILL I DO WHEN YOU ARE FAR AWAY?
Every important moment in my life has had singing and music intermingled with the joy or surprise or pain created. My dad was a barber shopper. I sang in many choruses and a few jazz groups. My sisters can take over a wedding in no time flat. When in doubt, sing.
So, when the moment came to let them unplug my sweet Neil from the machines that were keeping him with me, I sang. I didn't want him to leave in silence, just in case he was still way down in there.
I told him that I love him and to not be scared, but felt inadequate to say the profound things I thought I aught to say. Songs are the poetry that I know, so that was my goodbye.
'What will I do when you are far away and I am blue, what'll I do...What will I do with just a photograph to tell my secrets to. When I'm alone with only dreams of you that won't come true, what'll I do?'.Those were the words that described the pain in my heart the best. Thank you to the person who wrote it.
Neil's sudden illness and week in a coma left me broke and alone. My wonderful Mom and sisters each pitched in to help pay for his cremation. They had never even gotten to meet him (we live on opposite coasts and that was always going to happen in some future time), but they love me and that was enough. If I love them with all my heart, I will still never love them as much as they deserve.
Neil had told me that if he died first, he wanted me to take his ashes to Yosemite. He hadn't had the happiest childhood, but had wonderful memories of camping there.
The cheapest mortuary was in the next town over, so tired, carless and lonely, I took the bus to retrieve his ashes. I remember thinking how heavy they were as I tried to fit them in my backpack. I sat on the bus, trying not to cry, on the one hand, yet longing to cry out 'The man who adored me is dead!' on the other. I wanted to warn them that the world was less now that he wasn't in it.
So many feelings... fear, pride, exhaustion, anger. I suddenly remembered about Yosemite and frantically tried to imagine how I was going to get him there. Maybe even a little out loud, I said 'even if I have to walk there, I'll get you to Yosemite someday!!!'
Since then, that promise has become a symbol of my search for what to do with life when every plan and dream has been canceled, as well as a sacred vow to the nicest man I'll ever know.
I know that this is a very long first post. If you have read this far, thank you. My intention is to post a journal entry every day, but I have had a few life lessons on intentions, so I will best say that I hope to do so.
I am interested in hearing from people of bigger wisdom than mine. I am very good at taking care of other people, but apparently not so hot at figuring out my own stuff.
I find myself aimless and out of dreams. I am interested in everything, yet enthralled by very little. I know that I was a seeker once and hope to use this journal to figure how I got here and to once again become part of the world, not just take up space in it.
Falana For Now
So, when the moment came to let them unplug my sweet Neil from the machines that were keeping him with me, I sang. I didn't want him to leave in silence, just in case he was still way down in there.
I told him that I love him and to not be scared, but felt inadequate to say the profound things I thought I aught to say. Songs are the poetry that I know, so that was my goodbye.
'What will I do when you are far away and I am blue, what'll I do...What will I do with just a photograph to tell my secrets to. When I'm alone with only dreams of you that won't come true, what'll I do?'.Those were the words that described the pain in my heart the best. Thank you to the person who wrote it.
Neil's sudden illness and week in a coma left me broke and alone. My wonderful Mom and sisters each pitched in to help pay for his cremation. They had never even gotten to meet him (we live on opposite coasts and that was always going to happen in some future time), but they love me and that was enough. If I love them with all my heart, I will still never love them as much as they deserve.
Neil had told me that if he died first, he wanted me to take his ashes to Yosemite. He hadn't had the happiest childhood, but had wonderful memories of camping there.
The cheapest mortuary was in the next town over, so tired, carless and lonely, I took the bus to retrieve his ashes. I remember thinking how heavy they were as I tried to fit them in my backpack. I sat on the bus, trying not to cry, on the one hand, yet longing to cry out 'The man who adored me is dead!' on the other. I wanted to warn them that the world was less now that he wasn't in it.
So many feelings... fear, pride, exhaustion, anger. I suddenly remembered about Yosemite and frantically tried to imagine how I was going to get him there. Maybe even a little out loud, I said 'even if I have to walk there, I'll get you to Yosemite someday!!!'
Since then, that promise has become a symbol of my search for what to do with life when every plan and dream has been canceled, as well as a sacred vow to the nicest man I'll ever know.
I know that this is a very long first post. If you have read this far, thank you. My intention is to post a journal entry every day, but I have had a few life lessons on intentions, so I will best say that I hope to do so.
I am interested in hearing from people of bigger wisdom than mine. I am very good at taking care of other people, but apparently not so hot at figuring out my own stuff.
I find myself aimless and out of dreams. I am interested in everything, yet enthralled by very little. I know that I was a seeker once and hope to use this journal to figure how I got here and to once again become part of the world, not just take up space in it.
Falana For Now
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