did I just meditate?

I had a very intense moment yesterday morning, standing at the bathroom counter. I was feeling so burdened and stressed and weary and frustrated and angry...

So I took a deep breath to send off a prayer - and before I could articulate my desire, the stress was gone. I was light as a happy cloud. I could feel pink, warm, comfy compassion swirling around me. It was kind of unnerving - mostly because I hadn't even "said" my prayer yet - so all the burden came back. I felt it physically settle back down onto me.

All of this, above, happened in what was probably 20 to 30 seconds, max, in "real" time - but it seemed to take much longer.

I tried again - I remembered that I'd just taken a deep breath when the freedom came - so I did that again. And it happened again. Then I tried to articulate some words in my mind, and the stress came back. So I just breathed again - freedom.

It was heavenly. It lasted for maybe 2 beautiful, happy, floating minutes. Then I had to come out of the bathroom and be with other people, and life of course came back.

But man. That 2 minutes was amazing.

Is this what you all aspire to, meditators? Someone tell me more, please.

'Cause I need a little piece .... whoa. I meant to write "peace" but the other word came out - wonder what that means? I need a piece of change? piece of heaven? a little corner of the sky?

I have a disabled husband. An amazing son who may need special ed services of some kind. I have so little money.

My shoulders are tired.

Maybe I'll get another 2 minutes of peace today.




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What I Did Today (subtitle: Marriage)

I helped my husband out of bed, made coffee, made husband's oatmeal, made my son's peanut butter toast,
made my own oatmeal.

That's all the specific chronology I can recall. In no particular order, I also:

- emptied husband's pee bottle, 3 or 4 or 5 times (I think)
- watched husband walk to chair
- watched him walk back to bed
- put pillows under his legs for elevation
- took pillows out
- watched him do his physical therapy
- listened to too many stories to mention (including a really, really, really long one about one evil nurse who tore his bandages off, giving him blisters unnecessarily, and who was snarky and controlling - and she really was; I know because I had spoken with her on the phone the day before while figuring out discharge)
- got regularly sidetracked from all tasks by stories like the one above
- brought husband water, meds, pens, a sketchbook, his reacher, headphones, corn chips, soup & rice, an apple, a banana, orange juice & sparkling water
- just realized that he either didn't have dinner or else I forgot what it was
- made a cheese quesadilla for son for lunch, along with his cut-up apple
- listened to son spell many words
- made son soup for dinner
- made chocolate chip cookies, from scratch
- cleaned the kitchen two or three times
- kept the bathroom clean, a necessary task when one little boy pees on the toilet seat and one man does as well (when he's not using the bottle) because he can't easily reach said seat to lift
- took husband's TED hose off and then 2 hours later put them back on
- signed family up for netflix
- WORKED for an hour on grant-writing
- watched small pieces of at least 3 football games
- gave son a bath and washed his hair, never a jolly experience
- read a story about Thomas the Tank Engine, the title of which I cannot recall, in which the steamies fight with the diesels until Thomas has a dream where Lady tells him she gets along with Rusty, so he goes and finds friendly Mavis (a diesel) and together they get everyone working together again
- took a bath myself
- helped husband learn how to use new laptop for the first time, including figuring out how to work speakers for his viewing of The Daily Show and Colbert Report
- took out the garbage twice
- folded and put away a basket of laundry
- WORKED for 30 minutes or so on coordinating young playwrights program
- moved furniture around, bringing dining room side table into bedroom to make an extended bedside table big enough to hold water, light, magazines, books, sketchpads, meds, headphones, more sketchpads, lots of pens and pencils in three different cases, purell, and a lavendar eye pillow
- emailed some friends
- fell into Facebook
- wrote this post

And all through the day, I felt constantly shifting layers of mild to moderate irritation, tremendous thankfulness to have my husband home again, gratitude for the friends and family who took Finn on an outing for the afternoon, and another who brought unexpected, yummy food for dinner - and I was filled with pride in my husband for working so diligently on his recovery. For his commitment to get self-sufficient as soon as possible. My list of what I did is long, but his was harder - strengthening exercises to get a new hip working, figuring out how to reach and grasp and get what he needs without calling for help, doing whatever he could to care for himself.

I am married. We, my husband and I, are married. And this is what it looked like, and felt like, today.

Right before he was going to sleep, 45 minutes ago or so, we were talking and we both said, "It was a good day today!" And it was. We had time together alone, while Finn was out - and we sat in bed while he watched football and I wrote a piece of a grant.

Days like this are why I am married. And why I love it. I don't in any way wish this to be an everyday or usual occurence, as I know my husband does not wish to have major surgery on a regular basis. But when things like that occur, when need for help is at a higher level than normal days - it feels good. I felt, to paraphrase Thomas, like a really useful engine.

Love was muscular today.
Active.
Not romantic.
Real.





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Anniversary

So, my husband and I went away for our anniversary.

Five years ago, May 1, 2004, we were married at the Rainier Valley Cultural Center in Columbia City in Southeast Seattle. I was nearly 8 months pregnant and I wore a bright red dress and a haku lei, and Kenny had a long maile leaf lei, and our family and friends were all bedecked with leis, too. We got married on stage, the same stage where the youth theatre performances took place, the same stage I'll produce on again this summer. It was filled with flowers, beautifully decorated by our family and friends.

And we went to the coast for our honeymoon, to Port Angeles and La Push.

And now, five years later, we went on our first overnight away without Finn. He stayed with his beloved cousin Melissa, and we headed east.

I had envisioned a cabin in the woods, hot tub under the stars. We didn't have that. Cost intervened, and convenience, the desire to drive 90 minutes or less since we had just the one night. So we had what we had.

Shopping at North Bend, new shoes for me. On to Cle Elum, antique store browsing, a room at the Snowcap Lodge (the fancy name for the new Best Western there). We DID have an awesome room - a soaking tub IN THE ROOM, right in front of the television.

Oh, part of me feels so crass - part of me WANTS to be the woman who goes to the romantic cabin in the woods! But in truth, we soaked in the tub and watched Grey Gardens on HBO.

And went to eat at the Roslyn Cafe, and it was just fine.

What is it about anniversaries, birthdays, events like these, that make me desire, or expect, or think I should desire and expect and HAVE the super-human experience? The romance novel... what is that part of myself?

Our trip took place on Saturday and Sunday, May 2 and 3. On our actual anniversary, May 1, we stayed home. Kenny went and did something, Finn and I played. Kenny came home and we worked in the garden. He planted flowers. I planted vegetables. We ate chicken for dinner. We kinda watched something on tv and then went to bed. It was just a day.

It was just a good day. Easy. No expectations. Just life outside in the warm sun, planting and chatting. And come summer, we'll have flowers to enjoy and food to eat.

Sometimes the best moments are the easy ones.

And someday we'll have our cabin in the woods, no TV, hot tub under the stars. That time will come. For now, all is fine as it is.




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Reprieve...

The job is not there, the one he was going away to do. My husband is staying here, at least for now.

He may travel north, to help another friend, soon - and I hope that he will, that he does, I hope this for him.

And I feel a little, tiny bit guilty. Because truth be told, I was silently screaming to the heavens:

"DO NOT LET HIM GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

I was afraid. Afraid of being the ONE, single parenting, and afraid on a superstitious level that something BAD might happen. That he might not come back.

I was afraid of a lifetime of single parenting. And I was afraid of losing him. And I was just plain afraid of the inconvenience and stress and all of that, of driving Finn to and from preschool and working and hiring babysitters and and and blah blah blah...

the hamster-circle of worry.

And now I don't have to. He's staying here, with us.

For a little while, anyway. Yeah, maybe he'll go up soon, to help Bret on the big paint job. And I'll be okay with it then. Really, I will. I promise. I won't scream silent prayers for divine interference, for adjustments in the cosmos that allow him to stay here. With us.

My husband. My bipolar bear.

He sits outside in the sun right now, talking to his friend. Sounding remarkably mature, calm, spiritually fit, loving.

Will he sound like that when he comes inside? I doubt it. Maybe he'll surprise me. But I seem to get the wounded, snarling side more often. I don't know why.

Have you ever felt that? Have you ever been that?

What side of me do I give him, I wonder...





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Single parenting... Survival... Holy crap.

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I have an active imagination. Ever since I was small, I have imagined terror and trouble, just to see what I would do...

8 years old, in church: "If TIGERS escape and come in here, in church, how will I escape? Could I climb up the altar? Could I then jump to the lights? Could I hang there until rescue came?"

Another scenario, albeit a similar one: "If a FLOOD came into church, how will I escape?" etc....

Sometimes even moral implications and consequences would enter my pondering:

"What will happen to my family? Will I save them? Will I even try? Or will I just scramble to my own safety?"

It would while the hours of mass away. Which was essential, considering I went to mass six days a week.

My penchant for bad fantasies has stayed with me all my life. I once read an interview with Mary Steenburgen, where she said she used to think she was insane, because she daydreamed about horrible things happening to her and her family. Then, when she was studying Meisner (an acting technique), she realized she was just an actor.

Lately, since I got married, my fantasies have primarily been about my husband leaving my life. Never, ever my son leaving my life - there I do not wander. Ever. Some places are unimaginable, even for bad fantasy time.

But my husband - he leaves a number of ways. Sometimes he dies. A pleasant, peaceful death, that's over before he or anyone knows it. Sometimes he just disappears. Sometimes I leave him.

No matter how he goes, the fantasy is pretty much the same - I grieve and grow wise through my grieving, maybe I even write a book about it, and I become a noble, wise, spunky single parent. I am Finn's friend, his mommy and his daddy. Somehow, inexplicably, I am 35 again. We explore the world, I make lots of money (somehow), I buy a little home for us (huh?), and eventually I meet my soulmate who becomes the best second dad for Finn that you could ever imagine - a sweet, calm, quiet, giving, smart, generous, patient, saintly kind-of-fellow, a guy who's a world away in temperament from my current bipolar bear.

and I drift off to sleep thinking - "Yeah. I will survive...hey, hey..." as Gloria Gaynor echoes in my head.

And now - NOW. Oh Good Lord, NOW - I am going to get to actually practice.

My husband is leaving.

Not for good, and not for bad. Actually - let me be clear with my language.

He is leaving FOR GOOD. He's leaving to go back to Seattle to work with old friends, and make a lot of money for us, his family, and regain a bit of his soul, hopefully. And then he is coming back here, to us, in San Diego. (note - I did not say "home." Since none of us are at all sure where that is.)

He is coming back. That's the plan. After a MONTH. FOUR WEEKS.

I work. I work full-time, at a job that will grow increasingly demanding over the next four weeks. There are many graces - we are an office of women, half of us mothers, and I am the boss of me. There is no one to hover or disapprove. I can bring Finn, I can leave early to get him from daycare, I can do many things -

and I have daycare, thankfully, at Finn's beloved preschool. I don't know if he'll love daycare as much as school, but it's in the same place - that has to count for something in his affections. I hope.

And I can ask for babysitting. I have one person I can ask. Maybe I'll find more.

It's just that I will be the ONE. I will be the ONE who drives him to school, goes to work, then picks him up from school; the ONE who takes him grocery shopping to the park and on errands and the ONE who makes his breakfast and dinner and the ONE who brushes his teeth and puts him to bed - I will be the ONE doing this, while at work I will be the ONE artistic directing the whole shebang.

I am terrified. I suspect that I will not be noble, or wise. I'm pretty certain that I will not wake up and find myself 35 again. I'm afraid of the new map of furrows that will arise on my already weary face. And I know, in my heart, that I may shriek more than I laugh.

Now, without being the ONE, I barely keep my head above water. I paddle along, breathing hard, until I fall into bed at night. How will I paddle for two?

My only consolation is that I will be alone, after Finn goes to sleep. I will not have my husband here to help (him helping me) - but I will also not have my husband here to help (me helping him). I'll be alone - and that may be a blessing. His troubles brew large, much of the time. He takes up a lot of psychic space, my bipolar bear.

So maybe the respite from his worries will compensate, a bit, for being Finn's ONE.

Or maybe I'll just die.

Mary Steenburgen would understand.

A Year? Unbelievable

I had such good intentions.

I was gonna write every day, or at least some days...

...describe my journey, join the blogosphere, have lotsa readers, touch lives, be known, be read, be wildly successful, whatever that looks like.

And I never came back here to write. Not until now, nearly ONE YEAR to the day of that first post.

I did write. Just not here - I wrote, as I have all my life, in scrawled journals. And in emails. But did not write all that much, I guess. I kinda shut down.

I shut down to survive.

It turns out Moving is Hard. Moving can Suck.

Moving means you might end up in an apartment with shared walls and an drunken neighbor who falls asleep with two TVs BLARING (one tuned to ESPN and the other channeling porn) while your new city bursts into flame and your new co-workers confess they work 50 to 60 hours a week (but didn't think to tell you that when you interviewed) and your not-new husband had a brand-new kind of breakdown. Moving means you have to find a lawyer to break a lease and then find a new home and learn how to set boundaries at work in a brand-new way and figure out exactly what the "for worse" part of the marriage vow means. Moving means you have to make new friends and Moving means you realize that is much different in the decade of 40 and the decade of parenting than it was in the decades of 20 & 30 and "I'm in theatre so let's be friends and do a Play!" Moving means your son might not have anyone at his 4th birthday party except his mom and dad, instead of the 30+ entourage of friends and family who attended his first 3 extravaganzas.

Moving brought me closer to despair than I've been in many, many years, and nearly a year later I am not entirely sure we're out of the woods.

So maybe I'll write some more on here soon. I'm not done Moving yet, that I know.