Alfonse did very very well yesterday. This is us out celebrating at Joes Crab Shack last evening. So proud of him. Onward and upward! Details later….busy day. 🙂
I know I’ve not written much about Alfonse lately. I’ve been worried about him. He’s been quite depressed for a couple of months now. Finally we had a heart to heart talk in Sedona weekend before last–tears for both of us–addressing this.
I spoke very directly with him about the depression as I see it. He was sitting for hours on end in the same recliner or laying on his bed, not watching TV or listening to music. Just laying there, awake, staring in to space. That’s just part of it.
Thankfully the psychotic symptoms are still gone (thank you Clozaril) but this depression is debilitating in it’s own way.
I convinced him that he really needed to get out of that dysfunctional ACT Team and we needed to do whatever it takes to get him under the full care of Dr. Yasinski. The one medical professional who I believe has the skills to pull him out of this.
We talked about how he’s worth it, the fee, everything. He was worried that our Dad would be mad we had to pay for him. Sigh…
So he’s going in today to advocate for himself with the
lame, ridiculously inadequate ACT Team, accompanied by his excellent advocate Manny Walker and he’s going to tell them he’s leaving. Manny said he needs to say that first. He needs to tell them he’s going with his own private Dr. and then Manny can help him navigate the rest of the appointment.
Alfonse is now on his third case manager in this program in, what, 3 months? He’s on his second Psychiatrist. They “lost” his records, his entire medical history. They “lost” his signed waivers for release of information (Manny is so good, he requested copies and gave them to me).
By now we’d been promised assistance with finding a volunteer job, getting out in the community with social activities, help with house chores if he needed it (he does) but we’ve gotten a big fat zero in those categories. Big promises, little delivery. He’s gotten way worse while in this program and they haven’t noticed.
The one and only service in three months that John has gotten from this ridiculous shell of a program is “med monitoring”. Meaning one of their staff people randomly comes to his home daily, at a time between 8 and 10 am to watch him put his pills in his mouth. John wakes up around 6am so he has to wait for this to take his meds and he only feels good during his day after he takes these meds. This is like torture for him. Oh and did I mention he doesn’t even need med monitoring? He’s completely compliant. They don’t care. This is the one thing they offer. And advertise themselves as an “Intensive Program”.
Oh and this “med monitoring” visit is supposed to evaluate him too. So in these 5 minute visits they apparently haven’t noticed his house keeping skills, grooming, affect and energy have gone way downhill. Or they don’t care. Dr. Yasinski sure did on his last visit. I just can’t wait to get him on board. We are so overdue. Everything in it’s own time I guess.
What they do “intensively” is rake in the monies they get from having my brother in their program and offer the minimum of services they can get away with. It’s so disappointing. We are so fortunate we can afford actual care for Alfonse. Just so fortunate.
But we’re done with them. Back to the open/closed doors thing. We are slamming this one shut. Today is his last day. He starts with Dr. Yasinski next Tuesday. Manny will be with him today and this is his territory. He will help John find out what services he can still receive at that facility while disengaging from the (lackof)ACT Team. He gets weekly blood draws there, his meds filled and takes daily classes. Manny will make sure they can’t punish him for taking this step and make the whole facility unavailable to him. Manny knows the law.
You can see how little I trust them. I was thinking of going but I’m not for several reasons. Not the least of which I really might lose it if I went there. Seriously.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves” comes to mind.
this illustrates both my finger shake then my strut out the door 😉
I’m afraid they will try to manipulate him to stay and he is malleable. I spoke with Manny about this last night and he said “that’s what I’m there for”. I made it very clear we’ve made this decision and there’s no going back. He has his first appt. for Dr. Yasinski to take over next Tuesday and that’s not changing. It’s way past overdue.
Please think a thought of strength for my dear brother today at 1pm Mountain time. I think it will be very healthy for him to stand up for himself and set this boundary then ask for what he does need.
I’ll be very proud of him and am taking him out to celebrate this move tonite.
I feel very optimistic about his future and to quote the text I got from Dr. Y this week :
“Looking forward to taking over John’s care and giving you some peace of mind that he is well looked after :)”
Yes, with the smile. 🙂
So onward and upward we go! I told John I’m going to expect that he is MUCH better by Christmas and he said “me too”. It’s good to have a goal.
Please send him any love and positive energy you can muster. I think he will do great.
Sometimes I think we’re all, at all times, operating on some level that was implanted in our entire psyche around the age of Junior High. Or at least vulnerable to it given the right constellation of circumstances.
How many times do you hear this phrase describing full blown adult women: “that’s all just so Junior High!”. Or say it yourself?
It’s true isn’t it? It’s funny how we regress to certain formative phases of our life under particular types of stress.
I’ve decided that phrase almost always comes up around issues of belonging. Which is such a paramount need to us social creatures. And one that is almost as important as breathing but one we so often minimize or even fully discount. It’s a need that in some cases we use, such as in Junior High as a point of ridicule or worse yet, a place of harm. Isn’t that what bullying is all about? At it’s core?
I love David Whyte’s poetry as many of my friends do as well. I go to him often in times of need. He wrote an entire book about belonging and speaks about it in that fundamental way (the poem at this link is worth a read). He’s probably the first person that got me thinking about this at the critical level I do sometimes.
I’ve been recently challenged in this area. Some big things, some nuanced but I feel them. I think people, like me, have more finely tuned radar to these issues having suffered a lifetime of abandonment. I’m guessing the very early childhood abandonment trauma, such as losing your mother at age 5, leaves distinct scars on this very connective tissue.
I’m sure I’m not the only person who frequently goes inside with the question “Is this just me or is this really happening?”.
That’s where good friends come in. And good therapists. In recent situations I’ve gotten both poles of that feedback from people I trust. How lucky am I to have people to run this kind of reality check by?
The thing about these deep, life giving functions, like breathing for example; when you feel they are being taken away, it feels just pretty damn exaggerated. Sitting back, gathering some oxygen again I find will help breathe in perspective with it.
All of that long prelude is to springboard in to exploring something that has been coming up for me time and again here at the end of this dramatic and sometimes just flat out arduous 53rd year (my birthday is Nov. 6 by the way but friends are inviting me to celebrate early as I’ll be out of town on my actual BD).
I want to learn this loud and clear before I transition to 54 as I want to end this last year on a note of a big success. I haven’t gone on this rollercoaster just for the sheer terror of it. I want to step confidently off the ride saying “bring it, I know how to handle this now!”. And I do, I just need to flush it out a little more with consciousness.
I want to dive a little deeper in to the concept of open doors today. Another phrase that’s come up is “follow the energy”.
This year has presented a kaleidoscope in my social world of people entering and leaving, sometimes so quickly I see the ghost of their image still standing there. For a long time. Still trying to interact with it not realizing it’s more a chalk outline than a person I’m trying to talk to.
New friendships have formed and zipped along or pivoted so quickly my head wasn’t spinning but more like this small almost imperceptible disoriented mini shake. I don’t think anyone other than me would have even noticed it.
Just this weekend a 25 year deep friendship shook so abruptly and in such a disorienting way that I just grabbed on to True North with both paws and clung for dear life, stable, weathering the storm.
One of the most special things I do in my life is attend Saggio’s Sound Meditations. Barbara and Richard Saggio live in this cool funky dome house out in the desert and have converted their entire upstairs loft space in to a sound space. They literally have hundreds of world instruments, including the entire chakra set of crystal singing bowls (and then some). They host these 90 min. sound meditations up there throughout the year and I go frequently. Last night I brought my friend Mari and Alfonse.
I was wide awake until 3 am reeling in conversation with Mari and, later, ideas with myself. I finally exhausted myself with aha moments and crashed in to wild and colorful dreaming. Back awake at 10:30, I knew what I wanted to write about today.
And it’s about doors closing/doors opening.
This is so important driving me to devote my time to it because I do think it’s one of the major lessons this year served up and will pivot me in to a whole new way of walking through the rest of my life so I want to get it.
I’ll start with this.
Now I know every single one of you reading out there, knows exactly what that means and has done it. Maybe not as chronically or skillfully as me but you’ve done this. We all have.
I realize, when something or someone makes that turn away from me, I’m so focused on the abandonment or potential abandonment of the whole deal that I don’t even take a moment to think about this being an ok thing or even a good thing, that I start to panic. And freeze. Then cling. Then chase. All while trying to figure it out, what I’ve done wrong, how I can fix it. I will often progress right toward banging on a closed door let me in let me in again I’ll be better I’ll even be a different person just come back!
Whew, it’s hard to write that sentence because it’s just embarrassing. But it’s descriptive of something that goes on inside me, something that most people would never know. You know, because I’m such a strong person.
I’ve been voicing a lot of my vulnerabilities out loud lately, being more honest, and let me tell you: it feels damn good.
A married man flat out propositioned me recently and I responded “one reason I would never consider that is that I have a fragile self esteem and I do everything I can to protect it now”. Wow, how liberating! To say that out loud to an attractive man interested in me “I have a fragile self esteem”. No self consciousness, no apologies, just a fact.
I have fragile lungs too. No difference. We all have our frailties. It’s a good thing to know what they are.
Here this man thought he was flattering me with this proposal and in another time I might have been flattered. But, as I also said, “that would be like drinking poison for me”. I’m either going to be the Number One with a man or I’m perfectly fine waiting. No more crumbs. I’m one pointed on banquets now.
And you know what? Voicing that out loud succeeded in bumping up my self esteem a few stories. Not notches; stories. Interesting how that works isn’t it?
I’ve had some female friendships in some curious gyrations in the last few weeks. I’ve found myself trying to figure out the dynamic, why I get left out of things, in some cases almost weirdly set up then let down, some Junior High “she’s MY friend now” posturing going on. It hurts at times, of course it does! But it’s the wheel of life turning, pulling some people from an inner circle to a more remote one to………..drumroll…….MAKE SPACE.
That’s what I think I’m trying to articulate here. It’s about retreating in to a more curious, less grasping, less defining posture when these natural life rhythms impose themselves in to my life cycle.
This or something better is a good mantra. Something or someone is always waiting.
I’ve been wanting to write this story for some time and I think now is the time.
Several months ago, just days after Alfonse was discharged from one of his many hospitalizations this year, I was invited to a party. He knows the host so I invited him to come with me, knowing this would be a big risk for him as he was like a person with a broken leg, barely healed with the cast just removed being asked to go take a walk.
He said he’d love to go so we trekked out there. I won’t go in to the gory details because this is a friendship that is still trying to find it’s way and I don’t want to nail any “last nails” in to a coffin or anything but I do want to tell the truth of this story best as I can because it really is worth telling.
This friend of mine and I were once very very close. Best friends close. Then she met a man, fell in love, got married and pretty much our entire dynamic changed. Which happens. This one, for some reason, has had a harder time finding new footing than any other friendship going through this transition for me. I have guesses as to why this is but it’s just in some kind of metamorphosis and the jury’s out on how it will or if it will land still intact in any form.
What happened this night, the night of this party though solidified, some perceptions and created a miracle between Alfonse and I so it was 100% worth the trauma for just that. My dear brother, moving closer toward my heart and me toward his.
I’ll just say it. My friend’s new husband can’t stand me. Of course I can’t speak for him, his perceptions or feelings. But he treats me like he can’t stand me. That night was the final straw of being open to him, for me.
This is a very new position for me to be in as I’m generally a well liked person and have been pretty popular most of my life. One thing I know, unequivocably about myself is in business and personal life, people warm up to me very quickly and easily. I have a very welcoming style of a personality. It’s not something I’ve cultivated, it’s just one of those things I came in with.
This man has never, not once been open to me. I’m confident in saying in the very few times I’ve been in his presence, he has never asked me one question about myself, including “how are you?”. Now this is a very disorienting position for me to find myself in. I am never, almost never, treated with disrespect in my life like that. Now if we go in to the territory of crappy guys I’ve dated that’s another conversation. But just in general social settings I’m almost never, my entire life, faced with that kind of dynamic.
I remember being at another gathering, one of the very few I’ve ever been to with this man, when I was literally a fifth wheel. The definition of a fifth wheel. Out on New Year’s Eve no less. Now this is a scene that would show up on a Sex and the City episode it’s kind of funny now, terribly humiliating at the time. The man I was then dating was to get off work “by 11 at the latest” and join me at a swanky NY Eve party with my friend, her then new boyfriend and another couple, friends of his. I sat, the fifth, awkwardly at a table all evening with very little interaction with anybody until Jeff, the guy I was dating showed up at 12:30. I broke things off with him about 3 days later but that’s beside the point.
I remember at one point in the evening when my friend, the only one I really knew at the table, went up to get a drink. I, totally tipsy by then I’m sure, slid over in to her seat to strike up a conversation with her new boyfriend.
Let me describe to you the body language that followed (paging Janine Driver!). Me sitting in her seat sideways facing him saying “Hey _____, I haven’t had any chance to get to know you yet, tell me something about yourself!”.
Him sitting facing the table, elbows up on the table, fingers laced, face forward, the only acknowledgment of my presence were his eyes looking in my direction and literally, literally down his nose at me. I’ve never, not once in my life had a memory of such a posture directed at me. Through a tight forced smile he said something like “well what do you want to know?” and after each question like “so where did you grow up?” or something I’d get the same one word response followed by an awkward laugh. It was the opposite of a conversation. It was more like questioning a hostile witness.
closest image I could find but his head wasn’t even turned toward me
My friend had not come back yet but I remembering cutting this off and slithering, humiliated back to my seat feeling like somehow I’d been inappropriate. Like maybe I shouldn’t have approached him, was asking the wrong questions, was being too familiar or something. If I wasn’t feeling like very small human already just because of the entire dynamics of the evening, I just should have slid right under the table at that moment. I felt utterly humiliated. And I didn’t know why. As usual, I blamed myself.
All I’ve heard about this man is how welcoming he is, how everyone loves him, how he gets along so well with everyone in her world. So, this could only be personal, be something wrong with me, right? I know every one of you has had that inner dialogue at some point in your life.
I don’t even like writing about that evening because believe me I can tell the whole thing like some funny “most horrible holiday” story but the truth is, it was devastating. I didn’t know the worm had already turned on that friendship, it was New Year’s and I was having just the most terrible time, covering it up as well I could with my usual “fun time girl” smile on my face.
I never told my friend about this.
Now backtrack and fast forward to the party this last Spring. The one I brought Alfonse to. I was impressed and surprised he readily filled his plate and went out to the patio all on his own. Which left me some space to socialize. Alfonse wasn’t the only one in the “just getting a cast off” moment in his life. I had been deeply embroiled for months in the Jodi Arias trial, had been spending most of my free time with people involved with it, eating/talking/dreaming that trial.
I hadn’t been in normal social settings for months. I really didn’t know what to talk about that trial had been so all consuming. Some of my friends and I have discussed this phenomenon recently. We were all infected similarly, clinging to each other for life.
I was relieved when a friend of my friend who I’ve met a few times approached me saying “hey I saw you on the news the other night, what’s going on with that trial?”. We sat down at the square table with our food, her asking me questions, me answering. She was very curious and I was relieved to find a comfort zone. My friend’s parents came and sat at the other end of the table, not really joining our conversation but just sitting together quietly at the same table.
This moment right here, the one I’m about to describe was the final straw for me on the man my friend married. Yes, the same one from the Fifth Wheel New Year’s Eve debacle.
He walked up to this small table with four people sitting at it. All of us had wine glasses in front of us, mine the only one that was empty.
He, the host, appropriately walked up saying “anyone need a refill here?”. And here’s where it all crashed and burned.
He gestured to her parents, acknowledged them “how are you doing? need a refill yet?” then turned his head to the right, toward the woman I was talking to “how about you _______? you ok on wine?”. Then he turned right around and walked away.
I was the only person at that table with an empty wine glass in front me.
As if I wasn’t even there.
I don’t think it was intentional. But I do think this man, for whatever reason, identifies me in his mind as someone who is invisible, to be ignored, unworthy of acknowledgment or worse yet worthy of disdain that this was his only option in the moment.
I stood up, walked around the table from the back, to the outside bar and refilled my glass. And returned like nothing had just happened.
Now why didn’t I speak up? I don’t know. It all happened so fast, I was sitting there fully anticipating “how about you Kathy, ready for a refill?” that when it didn’t happen and he turned so fast I was reliving that slithering back to my seat moment and I felt just on some level utterly humiliated. Wondering if the other three people at the table had noticed just how dissed I’d just been. Feeling that knee jerk reaction of “if I’m being treated this way, surely I must deserve it”.
I was already a fish out of water, bringing very vulnerable Alfonse to this kind of social situation, feeling unusually awkward myself.
Shortly thereafter I joined Alfonse outside who was doing very well. Finally my friend came and sat with us, trying to catch up a bit. I’d say about 10 minutes in to this brief conversation, her husband walked up, busted right in to our conversation, spoke to her about some new idea he had for their backyard, never acknowledged Alfonse or I sitting there and turned abruptly again and walked away.
I was relieved when Alfonse turned to me at about 10:30 and said “I’m ready to go”. I was so proud of him for both taking such good care of himself at the party and knowing what his limits were. Plus I’d wanted to leave about an hour before that to be honest.
We gathered ourselves up and left.
Then I fell apart in the car.
We had a long drive and what started out as yelling things like “who in the Hell does HE think he is treating me like that?” turned quickly to sobs and “why does he treat me like that…why does this man hate me?”.
This is when the “this was totally worth it” moment happened.
Suddenly Alfonse said to me “Kathy, I’ve dealt with this my whole life, I know exactly how you feel”.
Then the floodgates really opened.
Because that’s the truth. He’s always, his entire life been socially awkward and navigated a life of bullying, sad to say sometimes within our own family. Sadder to say, even me as that snotty Junior High cheerleader with a socially awkward brother.
He went on to start counseling me about how to deal with a situation like this.
“Kathy you are a wonderful person. If he can’t see that, it’s his problem. It’s not your problem. You just hold your head up high and walk away. Don’t take it personally. You are a wonderful person. This is his problem”.
Now the tears were flowing the entire 30 min ride home for a new reason.
My brother was given an opportunity to be the one to see he’s not alone. He always views me as popular “my sister has a lot of friends, everybody likes her” he will describe me. Suddenly he saw the shoe on the other foot. With probably the last person he’d expect trying to jam her swollen toes in to it.
This can happen to anybody.
Alfonse took all the knowledge of being on the front lines of this humiliating behavior his entire life and put it to good use.
I remember driving through my foggy tears drawing him out more and more with his advice. I remember getting to drop him off, going in with him, sitting for about a half an hour still processing this. With him counseling me.
Can you see now why I say this whole experience start to finish was totally worth it? I don’t care what my friend’s husband thinks of me. He’s a stranger to me. It’s odd but it’s the truth. I don’t know what impact this has or will have on my friend and my relationship as time goes on or if it will survive.
I do know that I won’t put myself in his presence again unless there is no option, like a funeral or something.
I also know that once I do get in that kick ass , passionate, loving relationship I’m holding out for, we will not be double dating. I won’t “graduate” to some kind of “status” then and get to be in the “couples zone”. Not in that one anyway. I know that any man I love and who loves me, will not embrace that man. So, the kaleidoscope turns.
I’ve realized I’ve spent far too much time in my life knocking on or banging my head against closed doors when all I really needed to do was lift my head up, turn it a few degrees and look for the ones that are open.
And walk through them.
Simple as that. Instead of focusing on what’s not working, look for the opportunity and take it.
The other closed door may open again or dissolve. It’s not worth the head banging I know that.
And there is always another door that’s either been open the entire time staring at me like “um, yeah, I’m right over here dummy” or one that’s creaking open right at the moment the other one either slams shut or subtlely starts moving on it’s hinges toward the frame.
Whether it’s a friendship, dating relationship, family relationship, relationship with a teacher, your job, yourself, just stop cross examining and start moving toward the light. It’s all very simple. And a muscle I intend to develop.
What I’m going to experiment now for these last days of my 53rd year is to move with awareness away from the unwelcoming spaces and keep turning my head looking for light. For life.
And here’s the key. Move toward it, judging nothing.
I have friends, unattended, waiting in the wings. Interesting, cool people wanting to connect with me. And I’ve wasted far too much time trying to figure out why I’ve been excluded from things or not chosen or not invited or some such other not something. It’s a knee jerk reaction but my knees are tired from all the jerking.
I want to live and be free to expand in to an open space. No limitations. I want to feel the easy connection I felt last night with Marianne while driving out to Saggio marveling at the sunset, returning to my house, the three of us a Sunday night family, breaking bread and enjoying my crock pot Fall dinner. Cleaning the kitchen together, talking about real things–life, love, relationships, healing.
I want my neck and spine to be free to move and see 360 around me what doors are open waiting and which are opening.
I want to move gracefully from “ok the energy’s not there anymore, let’s see where it is” with an open posture of curiosity, longing, accepting, clear vision, seeking, being guided.
And the most important thing–moving. See the light and move toward it. See the opening and allow myself to be carried to it. And see who comes along.
Fluid, moving, embracing, taking even a tiny step.
Being carried in to my next relationships, in to my next adventures, finding my next teachers in all forms they show up.
Including and especially my dear dear sweet and devoted brother. And my father. The two most important people to me on this planet.
There’s no time to waste anymore. No time to stay in anything that’s not life affirming and soul expanding. No time to waste trying to figure out unsolvable riddles.
This will be my new House of Belonging. Lots of doors and windows opening and closing and me, in a constant state of movement.
The only way we can stay stuck is if our feet are stubbornly planted in the way we think things should be instead of how they are, in fact, are.
I’ve been gifted with this dramatic, traumatic, sparkling, amazing, filled to the brim with opportunity kick ass life.
And I vow I’m going to learn this as clearly as I can in the next 10 days before I step in to that 54th year and then I’m gonna fly.
And that’s how I see things today.
Everyone should be so lucky to have an Amy Silverman in their life.
Amy Silverman is the friend; while balancing a huge job as a managing editor at a major independent newspaper, two little girls one of whom has “special needs”, a husband, aging parents nearby, a home, recent kitchen remodel, many friends etc etc etc; who drops by my house with a pitcher of homemade matzo ball soup and a care package of cookies and presents just because she saw on Facebook that I was sick this week. While preparing for her birthday and throwing a Halloween party. Friendship.
I know that is kind of the longest runon sentence known to man but it just had to be done that way. Sorry Amy, I know that needs editing and has terrible punctuation but you get the emotion, I know you do. 😉
I’ve known Amy for so many years I knew her when she wasn’t sure she’d have kids. The girls are now 10 and 12.
The first time I met her I made a bald faced fool out of myself walking up to her an event, drunk on my ass, introducing myself “Oh my God, you’re Amy Silverman? I’ve been reading you for years. You are amazing. I love your writing. I’m so honored to meet you” like a creepy stalker. I slur gushed “oh I’m sure you get this all the time”.
She turned to Ray, her husband with this face I know so well now, this kind of dimpled grin/shrug/head shake move and he turned to me and said “no, not really”. I made an utter fool of myself and I’m so glad I did. She loves me for it now. 😉
I knew her professionally but in a kind of distant way until the evening I saw her at the Ira Glass This American Life tour in Scottsdale and realized hey we have something very unique in common.
Who knew that years later, she’d end up reading a story on that very same show. And that I’d be there with her, listening on her kitchen radio drinking champagne, staring at each other with tears streaming down our faces, being held up vertical by her old mauve speckled kitchen counters. Tears for so many reasons. For the miracle of Sophie, for the fact she landed in this dream come true, that she got to talk to our idol Ira Glass, for the moment of sharing it together. Friendship.
I have many friends. More than most people probably. I make friends easily and have all kinds of levels of friendships going on in my life that float in and out at different levels at different times.
But Amy’s the one who takes care of me consistently. She does so selflessly, unexpectedly, notices what’s happening in my life and quietly responds. Grace. Elegance. Friendship.
She’s the one who saw me in a state of depression and said “I think you need to see Sophie” and brought her over. Sophie who’s kind of like a walking, talking. giggling, wiggling antidepressant. Holding a paint brush that she just might “soft” you with if you’re lucky.
((Read more about Amy and Sophie here on her brilliant blog Girl in a Party Hat)
Amy turned my life around one day with the words “I don’t think you should go”.
I listen to her. I trust her. I lean on her. I laugh with her. I share with her my deepest confidences and heartbreaks. I appreciate her more than I’m sure I ever say. And more than she could ever fully receive.
Because I also know her.
And she knows me.
I’m so grateful this and every day for Amy Silverman.
Happy Birthday Amy.
I love you forever. I only hope I fill a special space in your life in even a fraction of the way you do mine.
celebrating our birthdays together this week with an evening of storytelling at Lit Lounge and dinner out at our favorite restaurant FnB–perfect
While cleaning my kitchen just now, I got to thinking about the word “sorry” and it’s mis and over use in our language.
I’m gonna keep this short and simple.
I’ve decided that I’m only going to include the word “sorry” in my vocabulary when I’m sincerely regretting my actions and sincerely wanting to make amends. It’s a liberating , life affirming word in that context! Any other use of this word is disrespectful. To the word, to myself, to the other person I’m communicating it to.
Furthermore, I’d like to ban the use of the word “sorry” preceding the word “but” in common conversation.
Unless that word combination is preceded by this phrase, for which I will make an exception:
“I’m going to patronize you right now by saying…”.
Then I’m ok with the “sorry, but…” thing.
I will also make an exception for Stephen Colbert because it’s the right thing to do.
A sincere apology goes a long way. A fake one also goes a long way….to Nausea Town.
Here’s to authenticity! Here’s to not bastardizing a very powerful and humble word.
I’m sorry, Sorry, for ever mistreating you. I’ll be more careful in the future.
Just doing a quick flyby to post this passage that I’ve read hundreds of times from a beautiful book called Finding True Love by Daphne Rose Kingma.
Working on a new post but will do it over the weekend. I’ve been down with bronchitis all week but feeling much better.
From Finding True Love by Daphne Rose Kingma
Surrender is a beautiful movement in which you gracefully, willingly, languidly fall, only to find midway that you’ve been gathered in to some unimaginable embrace. Surrender is letting go, whether or not you believe the embrace will occur. It’s trust to the hundredth power–not sticking to your idea of the outcome, but letting go in the faith that even the absence of an outcome will be the perfect solution.
Surrender is diaphanous and fluid. It’s the giving up of rigidity of every kind; rigidities of the mind that design outcomes to occur in very specific ways; rigidities of the heart that refuse the heart to be soft and open; rigidities of the body that refuse to receive the touch that could heal, the passion that could transform; rigidities of the soul that congeal and congest the spirit, causing it to imagine it has a life apart from the body and mind.
Surrender is meltdown of every rigidity we’ve ever been committed to, the conscious and unconscious dismantling of how we thought things should be to make way for the way things will, in fact, occur. It’s a kind of being surprised by joy, of happily swimming in to the greater consciousness that’s always operating on our own behalf. Just as a child, learning to swim, discovers, amazed that the water does hold him up, so surrender buoys us up, supports us for the fulfillment of our destinies.
Surrender requires purity of intention. In the absolute freedom it grants in response to our letting go, it requires an absolute commitment of holding on to nothing. Whatever you thought you had–the idea, the expectation, the plan, the hope of how things should be–you must let go of it fully. Surrender is stepping away from the certainty of your categories into the no-man’s land of all possibilities.
And it is in surrendering, in letting go into the void–into the mysterious, unnamed, mystical, formless future, into the arms that are invisible –that we become finally ready to receive it all. Surrender is the giving of your all to the All; the waiting with an absolute absence of expectation for the totally perfect thing to occur.
Ok…drumroll…here it is folks!
After weeks of working on this fun project, it’s finally completed and proudly hanging on the wall so I have time to put together a little tutorial on how I made this special little huge gem for a fraction of the cost and in the colors I chose myself! I will list the tutorials I used and tweaked at the bottom so you can utilize them as well. This one gal inspired me in the different colors by actually sanding and staining all of her shims (!) which was a monumental task. As I was placing this in our Sedona home I wanted it to be more rustic so the rough edges were exactly the look I was going for. I also wanted to incorporate pops of color so had fun working with a palette.
My basic supplies were:
8-10 packages long shims from Home Depot (14 in I think)
8-10 packages shorter shims from Lowe’s (8 in?).
7 tubes of inexpensive acrylic paints from Michael’s.
14 in. mirror, also from Michael’s
Liquid Nails Extra strength adhesive
Liquid Nails Mirror adhesive
long metal hanger – Lowe’s
Of course I started with picking out my color palette. I used turquoise, an apple green, two beige/taupe colors, an espresso brown, white, metallic gold and a metallic gold glaze over just the raw wood.
I first painted all of those shims, both sides on the end that would be visible then just the one edge that would be seen. The rest of the shim is either glued to other shims or on the back side so why waste the paint? I color washed many of them meaning I diluted my paint with water in order to show some of the wood grain through the color. Some were more saturated so I had more variation out of one color which I liked. I had hundreds of painted shims all over my room. This is a fraction of them.
The layout I liked best was a 7:5 pattern. I then made little “fans” of the shims with 7 shims alternating colors and then an equal number with 5 shims. I glued them together with wood glue then taped them overnight to dry. I then ended up with tons of these little fans.
this is the 5 shim pattern
I laid them out on my dining room table in a circle, lining up with each other with a tape roll in the center using as a guide to make a perfect circle, alternating the 5 and 7 shim fans. I spent quite a bit of time tweaking them so the colors were evenly distributed.
I had some trouble finding a board for the back but finally landed on a large piece of square plywood from Lowe’s. They wouldn’t cut it in a circle for me so…I figured this was fine.
Once I achieved the pattern I wanted, I then turned all of my shims upside down on the table (you don’t have to glue the “fans” together as they all glue to the backing board).
I glued the bejeezus out of that board to make sure I didn’t miss any shims and then weighted it down with everything heavy I could find from my kitchenaid mixer to handweights to a cast iron skillet bottles of wine to a curious cat! 😉
I wedged some extra shims around on the bottom in places to make sure everything was tightly making contact with the backing board.
After that dried overnight I now had my basic shape for the sunburst, minus the mirror of course.
stuck a gold charger plate just to get an idea of dimension
I transported everything to Sedona and glued my mirror on there being meticulous with my measurements to make sure I got it very centered. I’d seen photos of some on pinterest that were not centered and it kind of ruined the look for me. Very important to use mirror adhesive as others can ruin the mirror backing!
I weighted the mirror down and left it to dry overnight.
I then both glued and screwed on the hanger to the plywood. I carefully looked at the sunburst from all directions to make sure I had the directionality I wanted so my hanger isn’t really lined up with the backing but that doesn’t matter. It’s sturdy and no one sees the back!
I then hung the “female” part of the hanger to the wall after measuring of course and voila…hung it up all by myself!
almost there! You can see how big it is here
Mine is huge…42 inches across but it totally fills and expands that big open stairwell which is full of light, picking up and reflecting all the hues in this brilliant piece of art if I do say so myself!
Enjoy…hope you have fun making your own as well!
Other tutorials I used:
Raw and rough with my raw and rough bronchitis voice, my first spoken word video, unedited.
can you spot the rainbow?
Ok, I’ve got the day off, the carpet cleaner is downstairs, I’m sequestered in my bedroom with my kale smoothie so it’s time to wrap this baby up.
I think maybe I’ve been stalling writing this last installment of my Seattle trip because I really don’t want to finish it. I’m still basking in the glow of all that unfolded and burst forth on that magical mystery tour so I want to keep my buzz alive. That’s always the challenge isn’t it? After peak experiences?
We left off with my last night in Edmonds, wandering the downtown streets, alone being chased by demons (in my head) and surviving the trip back to the Best Western. That’s right.
I was so wired on adrenaline and fueled with the thought I really could sleep in, enhanced by the free HBO in the hotel, I ended up staying up until about 2am before falling in to a deep stretched out sleep in that comfy King sized bed.
The next morning I had one thought on my mind. Well, two. Checking out of there by 11 and taking my car on the ferry across the Sound. I kept going back and forth on the ferry business. Why was it so important to take my car? I could just walk on and basically get the same experience but a little less complicated. But I just couldn’t shake the notion of driving that red Chevy Cruze on the ferry so I landed on “you’re going to drive your car on the ferry just because you want to do it”. Simple as that. That’s kind of how I rolled through the whole trip so why stop now?
I repacked my suitcase and carry on, loaded it up in the car and drove over to the ferry station which was basically a ghost town. The next ride out was about 45 minutes away.
I really couldn’t figure out the system over there with all of these lanes but blocked off with cones. No one was in the little station (lunch hour) so I roamed around, both the “drive your car on the ferry” area and the walk-on area.
It’s all so neat, clean, friendly there. Inside, where the pedestrians go, I saw a sign that said “Remember! This is your last chance for: newspapers, restrooms, water, snacks”. Something like that right at the entry to the long jetwayish thing that takes you down to the ferry dock.
I bookmarked that thinking “oh they must not have plumbing on the ferry, no restrooms or water”. More on that later.
It was a drizzly, perfect day with bouts of sun peeking out from time to time but I was enjoying the cloudiness and the soft rain on my face. Someone told me real Washingtonians don’t really do umbrellas so I was joining in, glad that I had a hood on my cute new tie dyed turquoise yoga sweatshirt. 🙂
I just walked around, sat on a bench overlooking the sound then lo and behold there was the ferry arriving.
Now I’d read that cars line up 20 min. prior to departure but there wasn’t a car in sight. It was odd. So I watched the parade of what seemed like 100 cars and trucks exit the ferry. It was never ending! Then once it was finished I drove down to inquire. The only vehicle in the loading area was a handicapped van. A very nice, very cute young man came over to my car and I opened my window smiling and said “clearly I have no idea what I’m doing here”.
He cheerfully replied “that’s ok Hun, the cars line up on the street back there” and pointed way past where I’d been waiting in the parking lot. He gave me exact directions how to get over there peppering it with a few more “huns” and “dolls” which I absolutely love, and off I went. You pay the toll there and get in line. There were already probably 75 cars lined up and here I was, there so early like a dope waiting over in the totally wrong place. Now I was kind of in the back. Which was all ok because really, what hurry was I in? None.
I was just in this thing for the pure experience. Isn’t that fun to do sometimes? Just do something because it sounds cool with absolutely no need to do it?
I have to say I felt like a kid in line for a Disneyland ride waiting to board that ferry.
We were led on line by line in a very orderly fashion. I passed my little ferry boyfriend as I boarded, opened my window and shouted “hey, thanks for the help!” and he yipped back “no worries doll, have fun!”. I had a huge smile on my face.
What was funny though and makes me laugh right now, is that I had an almost identical reaction boarding the ferry as I did the Grande Dame. “OMG I have no water! I should have purchased water! And now of course I have to pee!”. Neurosis meets the physiologic effects of mild anxiety. 😉
I kind of followed the leader, parked my car, got out and followed the signs upstairs. Imagine my surprise when I saw signs for both “restrooms” and “cafeteria”. haha! Joke’s on me and my neurosis!
They even have a full freaking BAR on that huge ferry! It was like a cruise ship!
I wandered all over that Love Boat until I found the upstairs outside deck where I parked myself.
I have to say I was in absolute heaven on that ferry. I can’t explain it. I felt so much joy and a sense of belonging on that ferry. I loved having my car on there, I loved roaming around, people watching, scenery watching. I could go back and forth all day. I just loved it!
people even brought their dogs on
I was so happy!
While I was there I did have a small aha moment. I instantly started writing a story in my head about a relationship that runs it’s entire life cycle on a ferry, back and forth over a number of years. I thought to myself that I really needed to experience all the stages of driving on the ferry to know the details of it so I could write about it some day. Now shhhhh, let’s hope no one else steals my inspiration. 😉
A lady announced over the loud speaker around the 25 min. mark that we’d be docking soon and for drivers to return to their cars which I did. I don’t know why it’s so cool but it is. Just lining up there waiting to drive your car OFF A BOAT.
Once I landed over in Kingston I thought “ok, what now?”. I figured I had my car for a reason so I should drive it!
As I’d lingered kind of longer than I’d planned in my room that morning, my time was a little limited. I figured I had two hours to play over there before I needed to head back. My plane was leaving that night at 7:15 and I had to allow travel time.
I just started driving. What beautiful territory it is over there. I think quite of bit of it is Indian land. Some signs for casinos and long unpronouncable names. I loved it. It was drizzling, I had classical music on in the car and I was just aimlessly cruising in my Cruze.
After a bit I decided to turn around and head back to the charming little Port town of Kingston. I’d done some reading about “don’t miss” places so just wanted to check it out.
First I stopped for lunch at a restaurant I’d read about called the Oak Table. How cozy with it’s fireplace on that cool drizzly day! I had, what I would describe as, the perfect waitress. I enjoyed a little mimosa action, a delicious breakfast and the view of a large dog just lazy on a front porch, dry, on that rainy day. I was in total communion with that doggie, can you see him?
After breakfast, brunch really, I roamed over to downtown Kingston.
What a tiny beautiful homey little street that area is. I parked my car and wandered in the drizzle popping in and out of places to just see what they were including this amazing looking tiny crepe place that makes a gazillion flavors and styles of crepes.
I landed in this small bakery with a gorgeous front porch in an old restored home, got a coffee and a wheat free cookie and just sat enjoying the view. Including watching the ferry before mine load and take off. I think I’m a bit obsessed with ferries now.
They were playing jazz, it smelled of baking cookies, I had a good cup of coffee and I just couldn’t stop smiling I was in such a state of bliss over there!
I kept reflecting on just how perfect this trip had been, how I’d been absolutely bombarded with experiences including this one, how lucky I feel.
That I had set that intention to keep all my senses open and I accomplished it and I think because of that intention, I had so many more experiences than I would have otherwise. People like to interact with a person who is open and I was wide eyed and smiling the entire time, even when my stomach felt like a hot poker was piercing it.
When it was time, I zipped back to my car and got in line again for the ferry. I kept watching the culture of people who do this regularly. They park their cars and get out and mingle while they wait. It’s kind of a mini tailgate in a way. I continued writing my little story in my head, taking it all in.
This time, as I boarded, I was directed to the left instead of the right as I was on the way over. I pulled my car on, excited again for my ride, looked up and saw it.
Shining, glimmering, just for me I thought. I was sitting in a pot of gold right there in that Chevy bucket seat.
The ride back was cooler and drizzlier but that didn’t stop me from heading up to the upper deck again. I sat in the protected seats and took everything in. I even saw this one seagull who was just coasting with the breeze in his wings, tracking right along us.
I get it, I thought Mr. Seagull. I totally get it.
I disembarked on the other side and immediately started my trek back to the airport. I had about 3 1/2 hours but I didn’t know about traffic and wanted to be safe. Plus I had to fill up my tank. On this entire weekend I used just about 1/4 of a tank. Wild!
That all went smoothly, I got back to Seatac, hungry. I realized the one and only thing I’d wanted to do, but didn’t, was get some good clam chowder. There was a recommended place in Edmonds called Ivar’s but there just wasn’t time.
So imagine my delight when I stepped out of security, put my Uggs back on, looked up and there he was: Ivar! Greeting me at the airport!
I got my bowl of clam chowder, went to the huge floor to ceiling windows facing the runway, sat in this giant wooden rocking chair and ate my chowder watching the sunset. That’s pretty much the definition of happy as a clam!
Now since my First Class upgrade was unavailable this time, I looked sometime the prior evening about switching seats. I didn’t have a bad seat mind you but Alaska Air does something I think no airlines do anymore. They reserve those front, roomier seats for a fee or the special passengers who have some kind of status with them, until that 24 hour period when it’s a free for all. Anyone can move in to them, no fee.
When I saw 6C available, the aisle seat in the front row of coach, I snagged it.
I boarded the plane a little bit on the later side as I was milking my clam chowder 😉 so my row was filled.
A nice gentleman in the middle seat greeted me with a smile and said “what do they say? A rose between two thorns?” to which I quickly replied “I think it’s a possum between two blossoms”.
He really laughed out loud and that’s when it began.
We started chatting immediately. And we never stopped. The entire flight, we never took a pause in chatting.
Right out of the gate he asked if I was going home or leaving home, a typical airplane question. I replied that I was headed home but that Edmonds had really felt like home to me. That I was there for a writing conference and was plotting a way to get back there for a month to work on writing a book.
His jaw just dropped and he said “what did you say?”.
I repeated myself to the same shocked face.
He shared with me that he was up in Edmonds himself that weekend, having a fireplace installed in his new condo, that he’d purchased to go up there and write his book. And he lives in AZ too.
That flight went so fast as we jumped from topic to topic. He told me he describes Edmonds to his friends as “Cabot Cove” and I’m not kidding you, as I was walking around downtown that day I was picturing Angela Lansbury on her little bicycle riding around there in my mind. And I never even watched that show! And I’m pretty sure it’s set in the Northeast, not Northwest. But I had that exact same thought.
As J (as I’ll call him), described the things he loves to do–wander around downtown, get a coffee, his favorite movie theatre in the world is there downtown, the ferry, etc. my jaw kept dropping as he was basically describing all the things I did on my trip.
It really was like a kindred spirit connection and we talked the entire flight about writing (neither of us are writers mind you, we live in totally different worlds but have a longing to write a book and are actively pursuing it, in the same town of all things), about philosophy, about our families, I don’t even remember. That 3 hour flight went by in an instant.
Now don’t get all excited here. He’s a married man and that’s not the nature of things between us, you know. He also spoke very positively and respectfully of his wife. Which always impresses me when a married man is connecting with an unmarried woman and he brings his wife in to the conversation. That’s classy.
At one point he pulled out his card and said “now Kathy, I know your dreams now, I know that this place is calling you back and so I want to stay in touch and I’m going to be a person who holds you accountable to following this dream” or something to that effect.
This man is a very positive, uplifting person to be around. I’m telling you, the Universe sent me experience after experience right up to, literally, the moment I got off that plane.
I sent an email to J a few days later and he has an office and condo in Phoenix (he doesn’t live here full time) and was headed back to Edmonds a few days later, just over a week after our meeting, and invited me to dinner the night before his flight.
Last Monday night I went and met him again for dinner and it was the same thing. A long winding conversation covering so many things: travel, writing of course, basically living your dreams. The restaurant literally closed around us.
It’s always kinda tricky making this kind of connection when one is married and the other not and you’re both heterosexual, you know what I mean. So that discussion was also had and laid to rest.
We will be friends.
I had emailed him the two places in Edmonds I’d found to rent for a month and some of the plans I was thinking about. As he is planning on being there for several weeks this trip, he offered to cruise by them for me to just check out the neighborhoods. Nice!
We talked about being there at the same time, writing during the day, then meeting up with samples in the evening over the sunset happy hour and kind of holding each other accountable. In a way the blind leading the blind but also the dreamers lifting the dreamers.
Oh and he also has a friend there who’s in to writing as well. Who, actually also attended the writing conference himself.
It was just overall a very simpatico situation and one that landed, nearly literally in my lap.
At one point J asked me “now how did you exactly get that seat 6C? That’s always MY seat”. I wondered why a business man who travels back and forth often on the same airline to this area was in a middle seat. It was simply because when he checked in, hoping to get his automatic upgrade to First which also didn’t happen, his usual choice was already taken.
By me. 🙂
It was all just so, by design, for lack of a better word. Had that middle seat been the one available, to me, I’d just have stayed with my window seat 3 rows back. See what I mean? There was just some divine choreography going on here for sure and we both could see it.
So, now I have a new friend and writing buddy which was the cherry on top of the whole cake.
He sent me a pic of the Amtrak ride on his way up there this week. He was seeing cranes and seals! He knows the area very very well and had so many cool tips for me once I get back. What a connection to have!
So, that’s the, hate to say end, but pause to the story right now.
It truly was an experience of a lifetime. I embraced every single moment and the Universe just kept giving back.
When I shared it all with my shrink this week, she said “I feel like I should be charging you for that story“. That’s the thing about inspiring tales, they just are infectious. Which is why I took so long to tell this one in segments.
I made a deal with myself to be open and I was. It’s not always the easiest thing to do. And I was beyond amply rewarded.
And for that, I’m smiling proud right now.