I drove north to see my daughter (who was too ill to have any fun, so I left her in peace) and to take that visit to the social service agency I like so much.
We met for an hour. The director gave me a tour and introduced me to a lot of people for whom I will have absolutely no memory of their names. I will be starting there whenever I move. My plan is to have my deepest connection with their food program and whatever else is attached to that. It will give me the time I need to find my fit and get to know how much I can be helpful, without being a pest.
As time goes on, I will be doing the same work I have now here in this town. There exists the possibility that a grant proposal in progress will be used to start employment services up there. That means a desk in a corner somewhere, a cheap computer, printer and paper. If that grant needs to be used for something else, they do have Wi-Fi, will need to scrounge up a printer and supplies somewhere, but I will need to provide my own laptop. Not a huge deal, just one more expense of moving.
When I was there, I drove around, looking for for-rent signs. I found a senior community that is above my budget limits, by two hundred bucks, but it includes heat, which costs me in excess of two hundred dollars during the worst of the winter months. It is not an equal trade-off, but they have really decent laundry facilities on each floor, heated parking and I can have a cat again, for an extra cost, of course.
I found an upper flat in a small house on the river and will take a look at that on Saturday. I invited my daughter along, if she is feeling up to leaving the house.
An interesting aspect of leaving this place is how the process is changing my tolerances for some of the stuff at one of my jobs. I doubt that I would have left this job on my own, but now it will be easy to leave the lack of structure and administrative support, things that I have been feeling will adversely affect the safety that we all expect and need there. I am not the only person who worries about this, but I am the only one who is willing to address it. The others feel the same concerns, and are more than happy and willing to let me be the team member who is working to fix it.
There was a small change a month or so ago, a document that all of the women need to sign if they wish to stay at our shelter, concerning personal responsibility. Unfortunately, it is merely a slip of paper without any safety value.
I keep providing art and learning activities for our children and find that their mothers are even more interested in what I plan. One of them told me on Sunday that what we were doing was the most relaxing and comforting thing she has done in years. I just love that.
In the couple of months left here, I will make available weekly empowerment stuff and the space and place for them to vent and sort out what they think they want and/or need.
Then, I will be gone off to find a new place of my own in the world I am crafting in this now-new life. This time around, two and a half years away from that other life, there is not fear and terror and hiding, only excitement for myself and my daughter and all of her great guys. It is a lovely and most appreciated blessing to be loved as much as we all love each other.
I will miss my friends, the people that I have in my life now. I will leave here knowing that I actually am capable of making friends. And, creating my own work. Doing what I love, all the things that bring pleasure and meaning and fun, fun and more fun.
I have stepped into my future this week, and it is only Tuesday. It is a nice place.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Sunday, October 12, 2014
tentative
That is how I am feeling lately. Stepping back here feels risky, and not in the sense of that old life danger, it is more about needing to make choices that are more than risk related, they are perilous.
I have been ill for a long time. I recover a bit, and crash in slow motion. Repeat. And, again. There is the possibility that it is connected to stalling and avoiding decisions, at least I hope so. Deteriorating health at my age is often a continuous process. I want to be healthy. I want to be alive and feel well enough to enjoy it.
So, anyway, I have been thinking about where I want to be, both in the whole personal, internal-process way, as well as geographically. After several months of being open to where to my life is supposed to be going, two Tuesdays ago I made the decision to move north to be closer to my daughter and her guys. Three Saturdays ago I was there, just for the day and was sharing some of the funnier and more tender experiences from my work and she said, as she has many times, that I can do my work anywhere, which is true.
The following two weeks were an opportunity to just settle back and see what was happening in my life, day to day stuff. After a shelter weekend with a couple of particularly challenging residents, and a long conversation with another advocate and one of the program administrators about what they had been experiencing that same weekend, it was interesting to learn that I was not the only person who was struggling with those residents. The place is so busy and our population is exceeding capacity, leaving scant time to share like that. Interesting, and more than a little amazing, to be honest.
The admin woman said something about revisiting those and other issues in six months, that things could be vastly different, with more support from upstairs and I was thinking that we had, with the addition of two other advocates, nearly the same conversation seven months ago. I said that and shared that I could not imagine that anything would have a chance of changing anytime soon, much less in six months.
So, given all of that, it certainly was not a decider, but it was that one more bit of information that supported what I had been thinking of doing. I sat down and wrote resignation letters to our director and my direct supervisor. The next day I gave a verbal resignation notice at the other job, and took care of that the following Monday at the third.
I was so sure that I would be broken-hearted and weepy in the following days as I continued to share the information with my clients, but that did not happen.
You know, that feeling you get of settlement, foundation and rightness that you have when you have made the right decision at the right time and for the right reasons? That is what it has been like for the past thirteen days. When I called my daughter to make arrangements for the weekend, a pajama party with the boys and a couple of days for the two grownups to have time together, I told her that I had another thing to tell her.
She gave me a funny and cautious yessssss? and I told her that I had decided to move. She asked if I was moving to her town and I could hear my son-in-law whoop hooray. By the time I arrived four days later, he had driven around town looking for places for me to rent or buy. He is such an optimist, thinking that I could buy more than a couple of weeks of groceries, but it is the icing on all of this, that they want me there so much. I am not telling the littles until I find a place to live, or they will talk of little else.
I have four months notice to every gig, mostly because it might take that long for replacements to be found for two of the jobs. Last evening, when I was taking care of my Wednesday friend, we were at the grocery store and I was hugged from behind by one of my library gig clients. And, I realized that these months are going to be important to me, more so than my jobs people, because I will need this time to say goodbye to more people than I ever thought possible.
This past two and a half years have been just what they needed to be. To heal and find my way back, to craft the now new life. To make friends, something that was nearly impossible in that other life. To learn and develop skills. To take and achieve that certification last year. To do so many things in order to, well, do so many things.
I am strong and confident enough to move forward. Amazing and more than a little exciting. There is one catch, one thing that could hold me here, but I am not ready to write about that.
So, I am pretty sure that I will be all over the place during the next few months. Yep.
I have been ill for a long time. I recover a bit, and crash in slow motion. Repeat. And, again. There is the possibility that it is connected to stalling and avoiding decisions, at least I hope so. Deteriorating health at my age is often a continuous process. I want to be healthy. I want to be alive and feel well enough to enjoy it.
So, anyway, I have been thinking about where I want to be, both in the whole personal, internal-process way, as well as geographically. After several months of being open to where to my life is supposed to be going, two Tuesdays ago I made the decision to move north to be closer to my daughter and her guys. Three Saturdays ago I was there, just for the day and was sharing some of the funnier and more tender experiences from my work and she said, as she has many times, that I can do my work anywhere, which is true.
The following two weeks were an opportunity to just settle back and see what was happening in my life, day to day stuff. After a shelter weekend with a couple of particularly challenging residents, and a long conversation with another advocate and one of the program administrators about what they had been experiencing that same weekend, it was interesting to learn that I was not the only person who was struggling with those residents. The place is so busy and our population is exceeding capacity, leaving scant time to share like that. Interesting, and more than a little amazing, to be honest.
The admin woman said something about revisiting those and other issues in six months, that things could be vastly different, with more support from upstairs and I was thinking that we had, with the addition of two other advocates, nearly the same conversation seven months ago. I said that and shared that I could not imagine that anything would have a chance of changing anytime soon, much less in six months.
So, given all of that, it certainly was not a decider, but it was that one more bit of information that supported what I had been thinking of doing. I sat down and wrote resignation letters to our director and my direct supervisor. The next day I gave a verbal resignation notice at the other job, and took care of that the following Monday at the third.
I was so sure that I would be broken-hearted and weepy in the following days as I continued to share the information with my clients, but that did not happen.
You know, that feeling you get of settlement, foundation and rightness that you have when you have made the right decision at the right time and for the right reasons? That is what it has been like for the past thirteen days. When I called my daughter to make arrangements for the weekend, a pajama party with the boys and a couple of days for the two grownups to have time together, I told her that I had another thing to tell her.
She gave me a funny and cautious yessssss? and I told her that I had decided to move. She asked if I was moving to her town and I could hear my son-in-law whoop hooray. By the time I arrived four days later, he had driven around town looking for places for me to rent or buy. He is such an optimist, thinking that I could buy more than a couple of weeks of groceries, but it is the icing on all of this, that they want me there so much. I am not telling the littles until I find a place to live, or they will talk of little else.
I have four months notice to every gig, mostly because it might take that long for replacements to be found for two of the jobs. Last evening, when I was taking care of my Wednesday friend, we were at the grocery store and I was hugged from behind by one of my library gig clients. And, I realized that these months are going to be important to me, more so than my jobs people, because I will need this time to say goodbye to more people than I ever thought possible.
This past two and a half years have been just what they needed to be. To heal and find my way back, to craft the now new life. To make friends, something that was nearly impossible in that other life. To learn and develop skills. To take and achieve that certification last year. To do so many things in order to, well, do so many things.
I am strong and confident enough to move forward. Amazing and more than a little exciting. There is one catch, one thing that could hold me here, but I am not ready to write about that.
So, I am pretty sure that I will be all over the place during the next few months. Yep.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Days 26 & 27
Friday
BREAKFAST
nuts
LUNCH
Happy Meal - 4 nuggets, 12 fries, horseradish goo, diet white soda
Grandson A ate the apples. We all played with the wee Barbie doll.
I told the boys my story about breaking into my house; they had to see some of the bruises. Little boys are more fun than anything, especially when it concerns daring-do. I got to the point where I had fallen through the window, on my head and had my legs stuck on the sill and B looked at me, pointed to his head and said, "Helmet." My Buddha Boy is a lad of few words, but all of them hysterical.
DINNER
A small, frozen pizza, insanely thin crust and not much on top, but it was delicious. I ate half at the table and the rest over the remainder of the evening. Total yum. Totally not anything I should be eating, unless you count the ounce or two of pepperoni and what I think was bits of sausage. It was so delicious that I almost bought one on my way back into town this afternoon, when I stopped for groceries.
I drove up to my daughter's home in the morning, played with everyone and sent mom and dad off to look at a potential house (turned out to be an over-priced really weirdly constructed house, cottage and a garage so big that it has its own tax bill. After that interesting visit, they went to dinner and a movie. They watched Guardians of the Galaxy, I think that is what it is titled. It made them smile, but they thought it not nearly funny or interesting enough and that it might not be appropriate for some of the little kids in the theater, one of whom is a classmate of my oldest grandson.
By the time they get home from these dates I am ready for bed, but they want to talk, so we do that and I am always so glad that I gave up a bit of sleep; it is nice to have adult...mostly...conversations with them.
Earlier in the day I fetched the request for my participation in that big funding organization's 2014 fund-raising web site project, hoping that it would open a dialogue between the two of us. I was recruited for this thing because the director of the shelter where I lived when I was homeless, and where I now work, used an essay I wrote to support their most recent grant proposal(s). I was feeling as though I could do this sort of thing now, even though one of my ex-brothers-in-law works as an administrator in this organization.
Then, I read the thing the director wrote and it is based so loosely on my experience that if she had not given me a copy of the e-mail from the organization I might not have recognized myself. Well, so much for supporting a conversation between us. Although, it did help me to understand how traumatized she still is about this whole mess. I had to assure her that her father did not attack me with a knife, one of the disguising scenarios written by our director. But, her discomfort supported my belief that it is proper to not share any of this with her, because what her father did to me was much worse than a simple knife attack. I can hardly believe that I am actually writing and kind of thinking that an attack with a big knife would have been preferable to what really happened.
Life sure is interesting, especially this healing crap. I always thought, held the hope that if she wanted to ask me about all of those years that I would find a way to answer her without demonizing her father, or even making him look bad. Yeah, I know how lame that sounds. But, you know, I thought there would come a time when if she asked, it would be because she was ready to hear the less onerous parts. I was wrong, perhaps for just now, but I suspect that this could be a forever kind of never-happening conversation.
I wanted to scoop her up and hold her and tell her that everything was fine. Could not. She knows enough about her father that she could not effectively discount anything in that narrative for the organization.
I wish that I had never been asked, that I never knew what our director had done with my experience. I understand her desire to keep us (me and our women) safe, and there must be some benefit to create this kind of amalgam of the experiences of many women into one story, but it seems disingenuous to me, a level of dishonesty that I find disturbing.
Now, given my ex-BIL's connection, I would not want to use my real story and my real name (not used in the story submitted). It would have the extreme potential of being shared with others in a way that is not supportive of any of us. The truth, and I have said this over and over again to those who believe that telling everything would be an essential part of my healing. However, I will never tell those things to anyone. Never. Ever.
The options for this story being used in the funding project are any singular use or combination of the following:
My real name
A current photograph of me
A statement that I would feel comfortable making, to go along with that story.
I am not comfortable doing any of them, much less in combination.
I am trying to think of why my standards for truth are so high now. In that other life, lies are what allowed me to survive. Never tell. Never share. Support the lies that he told about me. Never talk or act back, which is a huge lie, an enormous dishonesty in itself.
I am not sure that I can make a comment about where I am now, keeping that pseudonym and my privacy, not being photographed, all that jazz.
And, where do I fit in an organization that uses those methods for promotion or for grant proposals or even that damn art exhibit? I wanted to help, just not sure how I will manage to do that. I have to decide by next weekend. Fuck.
Saturday
BREAKFAST
Egg casserole (no carbs)
fruit salad
tiny pieces of each of the strudel and coffee cake that two of my friends made
about, maybe, 4 strips of very crunchy bacon
coffee
coffee
coffee
The breakfast was in my honor, because I am rarely able to meet my friends anymore, due to my weekend job, the one that has an actual paycheck.
I was on time, leaving my daughter's before any of the boys were up, forgetting my fiber crafts bag, for which I had to return after the breakfast thing. I stayed behind to help put away all of the outdoor furniture; met the new next-door neighbors, dad, oldest daughter (absolutely wonderful) and the dog. Then M and I sat and talked for an hour, something we rarely have a chance to do.
She may be my best friend.
LUNCH
a green bell pepper, munched on the way home from the market
DINNER
bag of salad with thousand island dressing, because I think I left my vinaigrette at work.
small steak
The meat was on sale and I decided whilst wresting with my self at the meat counter that I would have one of those little steaks every week. As long as they are on sale. It was a little tough,which is probably why they held the sale. I am guessing that they are sort of at the whim of whatever quality meat is available from wherever they source the meat. So, no problem. It tasted nice and is all protein, little fat, and a nice treat, one that I intend to have more than a couple of times a year.
I will be making a potato-less version of my favorite potato/kale/hot sausage soup on Monday. The kale was glorious, also on sale, and I bough two huge bunches. I will be subbing cauliflower and firm tofu for the potatoes.
They had lots of stuff on sale and I save a whopping 25% of my total bill on just the sale stuff. I do not use coupons because none of the foods I buy ever have any. Between the big pot of soup and the left-over ham, I should be good to go for at least two weeks, including work lunches.
Church tomorrow, followed by work.
BREAKFAST
nuts
LUNCH
Happy Meal - 4 nuggets, 12 fries, horseradish goo, diet white soda
Grandson A ate the apples. We all played with the wee Barbie doll.
I told the boys my story about breaking into my house; they had to see some of the bruises. Little boys are more fun than anything, especially when it concerns daring-do. I got to the point where I had fallen through the window, on my head and had my legs stuck on the sill and B looked at me, pointed to his head and said, "Helmet." My Buddha Boy is a lad of few words, but all of them hysterical.
DINNER
A small, frozen pizza, insanely thin crust and not much on top, but it was delicious. I ate half at the table and the rest over the remainder of the evening. Total yum. Totally not anything I should be eating, unless you count the ounce or two of pepperoni and what I think was bits of sausage. It was so delicious that I almost bought one on my way back into town this afternoon, when I stopped for groceries.
I drove up to my daughter's home in the morning, played with everyone and sent mom and dad off to look at a potential house (turned out to be an over-priced really weirdly constructed house, cottage and a garage so big that it has its own tax bill. After that interesting visit, they went to dinner and a movie. They watched Guardians of the Galaxy, I think that is what it is titled. It made them smile, but they thought it not nearly funny or interesting enough and that it might not be appropriate for some of the little kids in the theater, one of whom is a classmate of my oldest grandson.
By the time they get home from these dates I am ready for bed, but they want to talk, so we do that and I am always so glad that I gave up a bit of sleep; it is nice to have adult...mostly...conversations with them.
Earlier in the day I fetched the request for my participation in that big funding organization's 2014 fund-raising web site project, hoping that it would open a dialogue between the two of us. I was recruited for this thing because the director of the shelter where I lived when I was homeless, and where I now work, used an essay I wrote to support their most recent grant proposal(s). I was feeling as though I could do this sort of thing now, even though one of my ex-brothers-in-law works as an administrator in this organization.
Then, I read the thing the director wrote and it is based so loosely on my experience that if she had not given me a copy of the e-mail from the organization I might not have recognized myself. Well, so much for supporting a conversation between us. Although, it did help me to understand how traumatized she still is about this whole mess. I had to assure her that her father did not attack me with a knife, one of the disguising scenarios written by our director. But, her discomfort supported my belief that it is proper to not share any of this with her, because what her father did to me was much worse than a simple knife attack. I can hardly believe that I am actually writing and kind of thinking that an attack with a big knife would have been preferable to what really happened.
Life sure is interesting, especially this healing crap. I always thought, held the hope that if she wanted to ask me about all of those years that I would find a way to answer her without demonizing her father, or even making him look bad. Yeah, I know how lame that sounds. But, you know, I thought there would come a time when if she asked, it would be because she was ready to hear the less onerous parts. I was wrong, perhaps for just now, but I suspect that this could be a forever kind of never-happening conversation.
I wanted to scoop her up and hold her and tell her that everything was fine. Could not. She knows enough about her father that she could not effectively discount anything in that narrative for the organization.
I wish that I had never been asked, that I never knew what our director had done with my experience. I understand her desire to keep us (me and our women) safe, and there must be some benefit to create this kind of amalgam of the experiences of many women into one story, but it seems disingenuous to me, a level of dishonesty that I find disturbing.
Now, given my ex-BIL's connection, I would not want to use my real story and my real name (not used in the story submitted). It would have the extreme potential of being shared with others in a way that is not supportive of any of us. The truth, and I have said this over and over again to those who believe that telling everything would be an essential part of my healing. However, I will never tell those things to anyone. Never. Ever.
The options for this story being used in the funding project are any singular use or combination of the following:
My real name
A current photograph of me
A statement that I would feel comfortable making, to go along with that story.
I am not comfortable doing any of them, much less in combination.
I am trying to think of why my standards for truth are so high now. In that other life, lies are what allowed me to survive. Never tell. Never share. Support the lies that he told about me. Never talk or act back, which is a huge lie, an enormous dishonesty in itself.
I am not sure that I can make a comment about where I am now, keeping that pseudonym and my privacy, not being photographed, all that jazz.
And, where do I fit in an organization that uses those methods for promotion or for grant proposals or even that damn art exhibit? I wanted to help, just not sure how I will manage to do that. I have to decide by next weekend. Fuck.
Saturday
BREAKFAST
Egg casserole (no carbs)
fruit salad
tiny pieces of each of the strudel and coffee cake that two of my friends made
about, maybe, 4 strips of very crunchy bacon
coffee
coffee
coffee
The breakfast was in my honor, because I am rarely able to meet my friends anymore, due to my weekend job, the one that has an actual paycheck.
I was on time, leaving my daughter's before any of the boys were up, forgetting my fiber crafts bag, for which I had to return after the breakfast thing. I stayed behind to help put away all of the outdoor furniture; met the new next-door neighbors, dad, oldest daughter (absolutely wonderful) and the dog. Then M and I sat and talked for an hour, something we rarely have a chance to do.
She may be my best friend.
LUNCH
a green bell pepper, munched on the way home from the market
DINNER
bag of salad with thousand island dressing, because I think I left my vinaigrette at work.
small steak
The meat was on sale and I decided whilst wresting with my self at the meat counter that I would have one of those little steaks every week. As long as they are on sale. It was a little tough,which is probably why they held the sale. I am guessing that they are sort of at the whim of whatever quality meat is available from wherever they source the meat. So, no problem. It tasted nice and is all protein, little fat, and a nice treat, one that I intend to have more than a couple of times a year.
I will be making a potato-less version of my favorite potato/kale/hot sausage soup on Monday. The kale was glorious, also on sale, and I bough two huge bunches. I will be subbing cauliflower and firm tofu for the potatoes.
They had lots of stuff on sale and I save a whopping 25% of my total bill on just the sale stuff. I do not use coupons because none of the foods I buy ever have any. Between the big pot of soup and the left-over ham, I should be good to go for at least two weeks, including work lunches.
Church tomorrow, followed by work.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Day 25, and big 'ole Hadean epoch
We know what those are. It is the beginning of (have to look it up) a time in history "...marked by notable events or particular characteristics." Thank you Google. That is it. I just could not put it into my own words. History is not just the world-thing, we have our own epochs, with significant things that happen to us. Maybe beginning a family, or moving on our own to a new city or country. Starting a career or being a grandparent. Maybe even when someone dies. Like when we lose something and have to find a way to move on.
My most recent one, epoch-wise, began on that day I left. Maybe it started before that, I just do not know. Maybe at the beginning of the hundred days project. Maybe it was something just before that, something that put me on the path to all of the changes. You know, that liminal moment when you cross the threshold into whatever is on the other side. I almost always see them after they happen. Sometimes it is held in moments, other times I have to look back into my past to search for them.
The only reason I am thinking of this today is that Yahoo! had an article about a visual aid that, I think, Nature published, shows what a revolving earth more than four billion might have looked like. I know nothing about science or astronomy or physics, but I love them so much. Even if I never learn anything substantive about any of that, I am informed over and over again. I really am not articulate enough to express how much science means to me. I think sometimes that it must be because it is what it is. It changes when those who do science learn new things, make new discoveries, but in that moment it is truth in a way not nothing else approaches.
So, I saw that image today and it quietly left me breathless, thinking about that distant past and my own and all of our pasts.
This week and last week I have done things I could never imagined myself capable. I feel confident in, well, it is kind of weird. I do not feel powerful or that I am inspiring myself to do more adventurous things, but whilst I am not capable of doing anything, I do have the ability to do more than I thought I could. I was full of adrenaline when the breaking-in happened, and I held on to that feeling for a couple of days, but now, I have that same quiet and breathless feeling that I got when seeing that gif this afternoon.
It is nice and I would like to be supportive of those feelings in what I choose or decline to do. You know, that is the particular path I feel that I am on now. I feel persuaded to consciousness about whatever I am doing, even the time I will be spending with my friend that I help. And, there is this kind of responsibility to no only pay attention, but to avoid missing whatever might be important in even the little things we will do together today.
BREAKFAST
nuts - these are so filling and taste good, and as long as i do not eat too many, healthy
LUNCH
apple
pineapple slices and the juice
DINNER
is yet to come, but I am planning on a nice piece of fish, roasted vegetables and salad, as well as planning to eat all of it. I will not be bringing leftovers home. I might even have a wee glass of wine.
Edited to add:
DINNER
3 bowls of soup
2 plates of salad
3 bread sticks
2 diet colas
Olive Garden
I rarely get to choose where my friend and I will go for a meal. Truth is that I rarely choose anything we do. She tries to bribe me, keep me beholden to her, by buying my meal. However, I pay my way. So, there.
If she had other resources, I would abandon her to them in a heartbeat. I like her very much, but she does not treat people nicely. The people I mean are wait staff, clerks, sales people, cashiers. When that happens, as it did twice today, I say something.
If you choose to let your entree go cold because you want to fill up on soup and salad and breadsticks so that you are, in effect, getting two meals for the price of one, and you are rude to the waitress because you complain about the pasta being hard, it is because you let it set there and I will, when you look at me to solicit me to agree with you, what you will hear is that your food probably would be more pliable if it were still warm. I do it with a smile, you know, just trying to be helpful and all that, but satire aside, I do it in support of the poor working girl you are bullying.
And, yet, she still had the nerve to ask for the meal to be packed up, extra sauce added and for a box of bread sticks to be added. It does not help anything that she under tips. I just settle there and make sure that I pay for my own meal and tip at least 75% of my total bill. That along with an apology is the least I can do.
I do not even want to write about what she did to the cashier at the grocery store. Sigh. I always feel guilty about how relieved I am when she leaves town to visit her children. My guess is that she behaves the same way when she is with them.
I used to just leave a big tip and let it go at that, but I seem unable to stop myself from trying to make amends to the people she treats rudely.
And, yet, my own behavior is just as lacking. I was reminded of a responsibility that I have neglected for many weeks. Truth is that I totally forgot about it, and being out of town, I cannot rectify my crappy behavior until Monday at the earliest.
It is so much easier to see the flaws in another person than it is to recognize the exact same crap in ourselves. This is probably where the notion of not throwing the first stone originated.
I throw stones. And, I act like I know it all, I act like a pompous know-it-all. You know, if that sort of thing does not shame me, nothing will. I do feel ashamed. I do know that I need to keep my mouth out of her business, hell, anyone's business.
There is this kind of belief that I am holding that because I did not have a voice for most of my life, that I have some responsibility to use it now. I can do that, but not at the expense of another person, not at the cost of shaming them. Good manners is the practice of not doing anything or saying anything about the poor manners of someone else. Good manners is keeping your mouth shut. Good manners is not correcting anyone else.
This afternoon and early evening I did not have good manners.
My most recent one, epoch-wise, began on that day I left. Maybe it started before that, I just do not know. Maybe at the beginning of the hundred days project. Maybe it was something just before that, something that put me on the path to all of the changes. You know, that liminal moment when you cross the threshold into whatever is on the other side. I almost always see them after they happen. Sometimes it is held in moments, other times I have to look back into my past to search for them.
The only reason I am thinking of this today is that Yahoo! had an article about a visual aid that, I think, Nature published, shows what a revolving earth more than four billion might have looked like. I know nothing about science or astronomy or physics, but I love them so much. Even if I never learn anything substantive about any of that, I am informed over and over again. I really am not articulate enough to express how much science means to me. I think sometimes that it must be because it is what it is. It changes when those who do science learn new things, make new discoveries, but in that moment it is truth in a way not nothing else approaches.
So, I saw that image today and it quietly left me breathless, thinking about that distant past and my own and all of our pasts.
This week and last week I have done things I could never imagined myself capable. I feel confident in, well, it is kind of weird. I do not feel powerful or that I am inspiring myself to do more adventurous things, but whilst I am not capable of doing anything, I do have the ability to do more than I thought I could. I was full of adrenaline when the breaking-in happened, and I held on to that feeling for a couple of days, but now, I have that same quiet and breathless feeling that I got when seeing that gif this afternoon.
It is nice and I would like to be supportive of those feelings in what I choose or decline to do. You know, that is the particular path I feel that I am on now. I feel persuaded to consciousness about whatever I am doing, even the time I will be spending with my friend that I help. And, there is this kind of responsibility to no only pay attention, but to avoid missing whatever might be important in even the little things we will do together today.
BREAKFAST
nuts - these are so filling and taste good, and as long as i do not eat too many, healthy
LUNCH
apple
pineapple slices and the juice
DINNER
is yet to come, but I am planning on a nice piece of fish, roasted vegetables and salad, as well as planning to eat all of it. I will not be bringing leftovers home. I might even have a wee glass of wine.
Edited to add:
DINNER
3 bowls of soup
2 plates of salad
3 bread sticks
2 diet colas
Olive Garden
I rarely get to choose where my friend and I will go for a meal. Truth is that I rarely choose anything we do. She tries to bribe me, keep me beholden to her, by buying my meal. However, I pay my way. So, there.
If she had other resources, I would abandon her to them in a heartbeat. I like her very much, but she does not treat people nicely. The people I mean are wait staff, clerks, sales people, cashiers. When that happens, as it did twice today, I say something.
If you choose to let your entree go cold because you want to fill up on soup and salad and breadsticks so that you are, in effect, getting two meals for the price of one, and you are rude to the waitress because you complain about the pasta being hard, it is because you let it set there and I will, when you look at me to solicit me to agree with you, what you will hear is that your food probably would be more pliable if it were still warm. I do it with a smile, you know, just trying to be helpful and all that, but satire aside, I do it in support of the poor working girl you are bullying.
And, yet, she still had the nerve to ask for the meal to be packed up, extra sauce added and for a box of bread sticks to be added. It does not help anything that she under tips. I just settle there and make sure that I pay for my own meal and tip at least 75% of my total bill. That along with an apology is the least I can do.
I do not even want to write about what she did to the cashier at the grocery store. Sigh. I always feel guilty about how relieved I am when she leaves town to visit her children. My guess is that she behaves the same way when she is with them.
I used to just leave a big tip and let it go at that, but I seem unable to stop myself from trying to make amends to the people she treats rudely.
And, yet, my own behavior is just as lacking. I was reminded of a responsibility that I have neglected for many weeks. Truth is that I totally forgot about it, and being out of town, I cannot rectify my crappy behavior until Monday at the earliest.
It is so much easier to see the flaws in another person than it is to recognize the exact same crap in ourselves. This is probably where the notion of not throwing the first stone originated.
I throw stones. And, I act like I know it all, I act like a pompous know-it-all. You know, if that sort of thing does not shame me, nothing will. I do feel ashamed. I do know that I need to keep my mouth out of her business, hell, anyone's business.
There is this kind of belief that I am holding that because I did not have a voice for most of my life, that I have some responsibility to use it now. I can do that, but not at the expense of another person, not at the cost of shaming them. Good manners is the practice of not doing anything or saying anything about the poor manners of someone else. Good manners is keeping your mouth shut. Good manners is not correcting anyone else.
This afternoon and early evening I did not have good manners.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Day 24
I wonder if I will stick with this as long as the 100 day project from two years ago. That was part of the preparation for leaving that other life, although I had no idea that it was back then. At the time it was a way to concentrate on something for a hundred days. Whatever this is, I hope that there is something great at the end and that it does not take an additional year to show up.
BREAKFAST
I awoke hungry, until I was up and about. Then, my appetite went somewhere without me, so I had a cup or so of my nut mix.
LUNCH
1/4 pound of baked ham, fat removed
After I ate the nuts, I went to the refrigerator and the only things in there were/are a bunch of condiments, most of a carton of eggs, 3 apples and a ham. So, I baked the ham and had a few more nuts along with a square of chocolate.
The ham was pre-cooked, but I remember from ages ago, when I last bought a ham, that they taste better when they are baked. So, that is what I did, and it was ready by lunchtime.
DINNER
a bunch of small ham slices, heated in a frying pan with a can of sauerkraut on top
That was good, except for the part about forgetting that there was still half of it in the pan.
I will grocery shop when I take my friend out to do something with her accountant, have an early dinner and take her shopping.
I did not waste any meat this week, but a few vegetables went into the trash in the past few days. I am doing a respectable job of using the food I buy, and hope to keep getting better at that. It was easier when I was buying mostly fruit, during my fruit binge buying, as that never went to waste, but you cannot eat just fruit and salad, as I found out.
I have no idea what to buy and will wait to see what is on sale. The market she likes is too expensive for me, but I always buy stuff there because I am already there. The meat is very good. Very unlike the discount market meat and these recent trips to her favorite market have been a strain on my budget, with those higher prices, but the meat purchases have made it difficult to go back to the quality of meat I was buying. I feel guilty buying the better meat. I just do.
I meet with my spiritual adviser in the morning. It continues to amaze me that I have a spiritual adviser and that I am going to church once in a while, although the church part is not all that connected to the tender explorations I have with Sister.
I never know what we will talk about, not even when I meet her. It all just happens, mostly interesting and forward moving stuff, but there will come a time when I and the process will become redundant. I know that. My hope is that I actually have a spiritual practice that means something to me before that happens.
I am hoping to finish Sue Monk Kidd's, The Invention of Wings tonight before I fall asleep. At midnight, just a half-hour from now, it will be overdue at the library. I need to finish it for the next person waiting in the queue to read it and I need to find a used copy for myself, because I need to read it again, as soon as possible.
I have this fistful of books that I re-read nearly every year, and this book of Sue's has become one of them. I liked The Secret Life of Bees, very much, but this book, it is speaking to some vital part of me, not so much my heart, but some little place inside that does not have a name. I know it is there, that part. I can feel it respond when I am reading. That part inside me takes in the words as I read, fetching them from my eyes and brain and folding all of it into something that makes the kind of sense I need right now, sense for which I am in such need.
It supports my work and it just might be the next step in whatever I am supposed to do. I knew that I liked it from the beginning and I thought that I should read her other two books. Now they have to wait until I re-read this one.
This same thing happened to me when I first fell upon Alice Walker. And, Margaret Atwood. Harper Lee, George Orwell, Poe, Kurt Vonnegut. Those and the others who live on the shelf at the head of my bed, their dusty covers shedding the stuff that kept me alive in that other life and which feeds me now. I wish it would also help me be a better housekeeper, but I guess you cannot have everything.
BREAKFAST
I awoke hungry, until I was up and about. Then, my appetite went somewhere without me, so I had a cup or so of my nut mix.
LUNCH
1/4 pound of baked ham, fat removed
After I ate the nuts, I went to the refrigerator and the only things in there were/are a bunch of condiments, most of a carton of eggs, 3 apples and a ham. So, I baked the ham and had a few more nuts along with a square of chocolate.
The ham was pre-cooked, but I remember from ages ago, when I last bought a ham, that they taste better when they are baked. So, that is what I did, and it was ready by lunchtime.
DINNER
a bunch of small ham slices, heated in a frying pan with a can of sauerkraut on top
That was good, except for the part about forgetting that there was still half of it in the pan.
I will grocery shop when I take my friend out to do something with her accountant, have an early dinner and take her shopping.
I did not waste any meat this week, but a few vegetables went into the trash in the past few days. I am doing a respectable job of using the food I buy, and hope to keep getting better at that. It was easier when I was buying mostly fruit, during my fruit binge buying, as that never went to waste, but you cannot eat just fruit and salad, as I found out.
I have no idea what to buy and will wait to see what is on sale. The market she likes is too expensive for me, but I always buy stuff there because I am already there. The meat is very good. Very unlike the discount market meat and these recent trips to her favorite market have been a strain on my budget, with those higher prices, but the meat purchases have made it difficult to go back to the quality of meat I was buying. I feel guilty buying the better meat. I just do.
I meet with my spiritual adviser in the morning. It continues to amaze me that I have a spiritual adviser and that I am going to church once in a while, although the church part is not all that connected to the tender explorations I have with Sister.
I never know what we will talk about, not even when I meet her. It all just happens, mostly interesting and forward moving stuff, but there will come a time when I and the process will become redundant. I know that. My hope is that I actually have a spiritual practice that means something to me before that happens.
I am hoping to finish Sue Monk Kidd's, The Invention of Wings tonight before I fall asleep. At midnight, just a half-hour from now, it will be overdue at the library. I need to finish it for the next person waiting in the queue to read it and I need to find a used copy for myself, because I need to read it again, as soon as possible.
I have this fistful of books that I re-read nearly every year, and this book of Sue's has become one of them. I liked The Secret Life of Bees, very much, but this book, it is speaking to some vital part of me, not so much my heart, but some little place inside that does not have a name. I know it is there, that part. I can feel it respond when I am reading. That part inside me takes in the words as I read, fetching them from my eyes and brain and folding all of it into something that makes the kind of sense I need right now, sense for which I am in such need.
It supports my work and it just might be the next step in whatever I am supposed to do. I knew that I liked it from the beginning and I thought that I should read her other two books. Now they have to wait until I re-read this one.
This same thing happened to me when I first fell upon Alice Walker. And, Margaret Atwood. Harper Lee, George Orwell, Poe, Kurt Vonnegut. Those and the others who live on the shelf at the head of my bed, their dusty covers shedding the stuff that kept me alive in that other life and which feeds me now. I wish it would also help me be a better housekeeper, but I guess you cannot have everything.
now my ethics are p......
Just received a reply. Apparently I was not the teeniest bit successful is sharing how important it is for me to support our women. Although it could have been much worse. Her reply to me was:
I will consider you removed from this project.
Could be worse. Really. This should be breaking my heart a wee bit; instead I am not exactly giggling, but I am smiling. I believe that I might very well have written the same thing as she has.
I certainly do not want you to go against your beliefs.
Could be worse. Really. This should be breaking my heart a wee bit; instead I am not exactly giggling, but I am smiling. I believe that I might very well have written the same thing as she has.
ethics are a pain in my personal southern hemisphere
My southern hemisphere has been giving me pause for months now, of the lower-intestinal distress nature. But, that is another, even more disgusting story than I usually share.
So. I asked for clarification about the art project proposed for women who have experienced domestic abuse. This is only my opinion, but were I asked to participate under the process that has been set up, I would feel potentially exploited, absolutely traumatized and re-traumatized and I would probably say something along the thoughts of that I would think about it. Then, I would procrastinate, be passively non-committal and not do it. And, all during the process, and afterwards, I would feel badly about myself. For feeling icky about being part of it, for not being able to pull my big girl panties and just do it, and for feeling as though I was not the only person I let down by not doing it.
I received the answers I needed and replied with my withdrawal from the project. It will be awkward seeing that person at work. I can live with that. I did my best to be supportive of the desires to provided this.
Given what I knew last week, I had made this decision then, just wanting to wait and see what the registration materials were going to be like. Even though the person who designed the project has many good ideas, she had shared enough of it to help me understand that I could not be part of it. I felt that I owed both of us to have all of the facts in print before quitting. I was simply waiting for that confirmation before sending the quitting e-mail to her. I understand that everyone is very busy and that e-mailing is the default communication. I wish that I could have had this last conversation about the project in person. Just saying.
So, I was ready with my reply. There was one shock when I read her reply to my questions. It seems that the women who participate, nearly all of whom have no art or crafting experience, and for whom this is a new and interesting process, have two choices in participating.
The first is that if their art sells they can give the sale price to the shelter as a donation.
Their second choice is to not offer the art for sale.
Period.
There is no option for selling their work and keeping the money for themselves. These are women who have practically nothing, and they are asked to put themselves and their experiences out to be seen and judged by strangers without any benefit to themselves.
Disgusting. Foul. Despicable. Horrible.
Insane.
I am just guessing, but the original plan had the exhibit held in a bar/restaurant, with at least 70% of the space devoted to the bar. At night.
Many of our women are still cautious and afraid of being out after dark, even when escorted by someone they trust, and there was not any accommodation being offered for the artists to have safe transportation. Not to mention the alcohol. Most of our women are either in recovery, struggling to stay in recovery or longing for recovery from their substance issues.
It was only after a fairly emotional conversation (mostly on my part) that the venue was changed to a regular art gallery. But, it is still at night and those who attend to view the art are allowed to bring their own wine and beer. But, it was the best compromise I could negotiate.
But, even though my decision had already been made, the fact that this was clearly designed to be a fund raiser for the shelter defies everything that I think our shelter holds sacred.
If my withdrawal...allrighty, let us call it what it is...quitting the project causes problems for me, even it if makes things awkward, I might have to invite myself to quit working there. I do not want to do that. I have invested everything I have into that work, that job. I would be a little bit broken if I find that I must leave. I have already shared all of this with my immediate supervisor and she assures me that all I have to do is the right thing. So, I am. Or, I had already done that, but it was nice to hear here say that.
This stuff is hard. Back in that other life all of my decisions were trying to do the right things for the right reasons whilst trying to stay unhurt. That danger is gone and I am left to be a big girl in all of this, and having to be able to present myself. Understanding how I feel is one thing, defending it is something entirely different.
I hope I was able to do that today.
So. I asked for clarification about the art project proposed for women who have experienced domestic abuse. This is only my opinion, but were I asked to participate under the process that has been set up, I would feel potentially exploited, absolutely traumatized and re-traumatized and I would probably say something along the thoughts of that I would think about it. Then, I would procrastinate, be passively non-committal and not do it. And, all during the process, and afterwards, I would feel badly about myself. For feeling icky about being part of it, for not being able to pull my big girl panties and just do it, and for feeling as though I was not the only person I let down by not doing it.
I received the answers I needed and replied with my withdrawal from the project. It will be awkward seeing that person at work. I can live with that. I did my best to be supportive of the desires to provided this.
Given what I knew last week, I had made this decision then, just wanting to wait and see what the registration materials were going to be like. Even though the person who designed the project has many good ideas, she had shared enough of it to help me understand that I could not be part of it. I felt that I owed both of us to have all of the facts in print before quitting. I was simply waiting for that confirmation before sending the quitting e-mail to her. I understand that everyone is very busy and that e-mailing is the default communication. I wish that I could have had this last conversation about the project in person. Just saying.
So, I was ready with my reply. There was one shock when I read her reply to my questions. It seems that the women who participate, nearly all of whom have no art or crafting experience, and for whom this is a new and interesting process, have two choices in participating.
The first is that if their art sells they can give the sale price to the shelter as a donation.
Their second choice is to not offer the art for sale.
Period.
There is no option for selling their work and keeping the money for themselves. These are women who have practically nothing, and they are asked to put themselves and their experiences out to be seen and judged by strangers without any benefit to themselves.
Disgusting. Foul. Despicable. Horrible.
Insane.
I am just guessing, but the original plan had the exhibit held in a bar/restaurant, with at least 70% of the space devoted to the bar. At night.
Many of our women are still cautious and afraid of being out after dark, even when escorted by someone they trust, and there was not any accommodation being offered for the artists to have safe transportation. Not to mention the alcohol. Most of our women are either in recovery, struggling to stay in recovery or longing for recovery from their substance issues.
It was only after a fairly emotional conversation (mostly on my part) that the venue was changed to a regular art gallery. But, it is still at night and those who attend to view the art are allowed to bring their own wine and beer. But, it was the best compromise I could negotiate.
But, even though my decision had already been made, the fact that this was clearly designed to be a fund raiser for the shelter defies everything that I think our shelter holds sacred.
If my withdrawal...allrighty, let us call it what it is...quitting the project causes problems for me, even it if makes things awkward, I might have to invite myself to quit working there. I do not want to do that. I have invested everything I have into that work, that job. I would be a little bit broken if I find that I must leave. I have already shared all of this with my immediate supervisor and she assures me that all I have to do is the right thing. So, I am. Or, I had already done that, but it was nice to hear here say that.
This stuff is hard. Back in that other life all of my decisions were trying to do the right things for the right reasons whilst trying to stay unhurt. That danger is gone and I am left to be a big girl in all of this, and having to be able to present myself. Understanding how I feel is one thing, defending it is something entirely different.
I hope I was able to do that today.
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