Norm

I've been doing a lot of thinking, and very little writing. While sorting through Norm's things, the kids found papers he'd written. Some were from high school and some were things he had written in rehab. One of them was a short biography. He wrote about his early childhood, he wrote about drinking, and he wrote about me. In his words, I found that he understood, maybe even forgave me for the divorce.

 I haven't written about Norm since before we were divorced. The things I wrote prior to that were not very complimentary, but writing it all down helped me to get through those difficult times. I used to read those journals every so often, to remind myself that I had made the right choices in my life. I felt a lot of guilt over getting divorced. It wasn't that I stopped loving Norm, it was that the man I loved seemed to have vanished. It occurs to me now, how hard it must have been for Norm, to hold on to himself, as alcoholism consumed him. To be honest, I think I buried the good memories,  deep in my heart. It was easier to forget about the boy I had known, the young man I had married - so I focused only on the negative. I wish I could have found a healthier balance of memories - a more fair way of looking at our past. I always told the kids that their dad was a good person who deserved love and respect. I explained that alcoholism was a disease. The words were true and I meant them, but I don't think I lived them in my communications with Norm. I wasn't cruel, in fact I tried to be kind, but I had put on a thick armor and kept enough distance that we became strangers. I regret that. When Norm died last month I felt that I didn't have a right to grieve, after all, I had divorced him. But I was grieving, I am grieving.

 Norm wrote that in 10th grade he went to a wrestling match and waved at a girl, not knowing she would someday become his wife. She waved back. That girl was me. As I remember it, I was in 10th grade, he was in 11th. I was sitting in the bleachers with my friend Greta. Her boyfriend had just moved from Wilbur to Soap Lake, and he was sitting on the Soap Lake Eagle's bench right next to a cute boy with glasses. After they waved at us we went  and squatted down behind their bench so we could talk to them. I was shy, so I probably just listened. We waited for them to come out of the locker room and then we ran as fast as we could down the hill so we could be walking nonchalantly down main street when their bus drove by.

This all happened in December of 1974, before cell phones and Facebook. We wrote letters. I remember getting up early so I could walk to the post office before school. We saw each other occasionally, but eventually we drifted apart. After my graduation in 1978 Norm came back into my life and quickly asked me to marry him - the following summer I did. Then we just got on with the business of life - having children, getting by. Norm always worked hard for his family, but alcohol started to interfere with our life together - it became dysfunctional. I used to think that I was the one doing all of the trying. I went to counseling, I went to Al-Anon. I bought him books to read and I nagged him to stop. I realize now that he probably was trying - he just couldn't do it. After 16 years, our marriage ended. I know Norm's life wasn't very happy for a long time, if ever, after that. I wish he could have found happiness. I wish he could have gotten well, and stayed well. It was hard to let go, but I had made up my mind and that was the end of it for me. Sometimes it seems unbelievable that we lost each other so completely.

No matter how impossible it might have seemed sometimes, I believe there could have been a way for things to be better. I lost Norm a long time ago, but only now do I feel the loss of the sweet and caring young man I married. As I went through pictures to make a memorial video I found him again. I'm sorry it took his death for me to open my heart to him. It is said that people should forgive and forget, but I think I needed to forgive and remember.

Uncle "Bug"

This morning I am struck with equal amounts of happy and sad. I am preparing to head to Seattle for the birth of my first grandchild. Elvis Rose will be making her appearance any time now, and I can't wait to meet her!

This morning I got the news that my Uncle Bud has passed away. When I was a little girl I called him Uncle Bug - and I remember being surprised to learn years later that his given name was Ralph. Uncle Bud was a gentleman. When I think of him I think of perfect balance. He was just the right amount of serious, just the right amount of fun. Uncle Bud liked to tease - and all of his nieces and nephews loved it! But he was also the kind of uncle who inspired good behavior. I never wanted to disappoint him.

I have always been proud that Uncle Bud and Aunt Elene are my godparents. They have always set a good example of faithfulness, and of all of us they were the most devoted church-goers.
When I was confirmed, they were there. I'm not sure if it was during a practice or during the actual confirmation, but I remember that when Uncle Bud put his hands on my head he gave me noogies! That was my Uncle Bud, blessing me with all seriousness, but adding his little touch of fun.

The last time I saw him was May 22, 2010 - the day I was married. Darrell and I chose to say our vows in the same little church where Aunt Elene and Uncle Bud said theirs over sixty years ago.
Over the past couple of years, as I knew Uncle Bud's health was failing, I often felt sad that I hadn't spent more time visiting with him at my wedding. I know he probably never felt slighted in the least - but it was important to me and I wish there had been more time. Recently, I realized that instead of feeling sad I should be focused on how lucky I am that he was there on my special day. It's a good thing that my last moments with him were spent talking about marriage and commitment; he was surely one of the best examples of those two things. He left me with the gift of knowing that my marriage began in a place that meant so much to him.

So, as we welcome little Elvis Rose and say goodbye to my Uncle Bud the circle of life is once again apparent. Life really is a constant cycle of hellos and goodbyes, of happiness and sadness.
Thank you, Uncle Bud, for the wonderful example you set for all of us, for the love and joy you brought into our lives.

You will be missed, never forgotten.

Work History

As I prepare to start a new job, I have been thinking about my work history. I moved to Kennewick in 1979, one week after getting married that June. By October I had discovered the mall. Until I was about 15 years old I didn't even know what a mall was. When we visited cousins in Tacoma the older kids talked about going to the mall, and I thought it was a malt shop.
Well, I walked into Hickory Farms of Ohio at Columbia Center Mall, and I recognized the man behind the cheese counter. I had met him during a summer visit with my friends, Elece and Traci, in Deer Park, Washington when I was in high school. I knew him as Moose. We started visiting and he asked me if I was interested in working through the holidays. I was. I interviewed with the managers, Judy and Jean, and I started my first real job. I enjoyed the camaraderie with co-workers, interacting with customers and the hustle and bustle of the holiday shopping season. Over the following 6 years I worked at Hickory Farms whenever I was able. Moose moved on and he is now Pasco Police Captain, Jim Raymond. I'm not sure if he knows it, but his faith in me had a huge impact on my life.
The last time I was in Hickory Farms was in 1986, shortly after my dad passed away and just before the store closed for good at the mall. Now they only operate holiday kiosks.
Sometime after that (probably 1987), I made frequent trips to downtown Kennewick. I loved wandering in and out of the little shops. I became friendly with Joyce Mineart at The Enchanted Toy Shoppe. Our husbands worked together and I enjoyed visiting with her. After several visits to the store she asked me if I wanted a job. I did. I loved the toy shop. It was the best toy shop I have ever been in and the customers were always fun. Of course, the employee discount was also helpful when Christmas rolled around.
While I was working at the toy shop, I was offered another part-time job as a janitor at my church, which I took. I cleaned the pre-school and the church building every week. I don't remember how long I had the job, but eventually I decided it was too much for me.
In September of 1990 I decided I needed to do something more. I had turned 30 that summer and I felt like I was missing something. I opened the newspaper and saw an ad for an entry level, part-time courier position at the Tri-City Herald. It was the only job I applied for, and I got it.
I stayed at the Herald for over 20 years. When I was laid off I was devastated. It took me at least a year to even begin to feel better. Even though I was so sad, I didn't think finding a job would be difficult. I guess I'd been fairly lucky up to that point, with jobs finding me, rather than the other way around.
There are times when I've wished I had accepted offer to stay at the TCH as a part-timer, but I am also very happy with my college experience.
Last Friday I started my new job and I enjoyed the day. There are a lot of things I need to learn and improve on, but I guess that is normal when you start something new. The people are nice and the duties are interesting and diverse. It is going to be an adventure!
I wish it was more than one day per week!

Morning walk.

This morning I went for a walk - the same walk I used to take with my kids most evenings when I was around the age they are now. I remember we would look at the river and talk about a different life. You could say we had dreams.
Now I walk that same path while my kids are making their own way in life. I miss them. I'm lucky that we are so bonded, and I think those walks long ago have a lot to do with that. Some of our dreams have been realized, but not in the way you might think. We weren't wishing for tangible things. I think Anna and Noah would agree that we just wanted peace in our lives... and happiness.
I have made a conscious effort in my writing to be respectful of others, so it is rare I make mention of what prompted us to take so many walks. But this is my story, and I can't tell it without acknowledging that it was my husband's alcoholism that sent me and my kids on those walks along the levee, dreaming our dreams. It was our way of coping and it is what made us closer. Although that is a good outcome, I would still change the catalyst if I could. One thing I finally realized, with the help of my very wise children, was that I couldn't change their father. We went our separate ways.
I wish he could be healthy. I wish he could be happy. I wish my kids could have had the childhood they deserved, with happy parents. They have assured me that they have happy memories, but still, I wish.  And I wish that, as adults, they didn't have to deal with the fact that their dad can't be a support system for them.
My son is going to be a daddy in July. I know he is afraid that his daughter might never really know her grandpa. My daughter, like every girl, needs her dad. But he needs her more and I know the weight of that is something she thinks about constantly. No matter what - my kids love their dad. And you know, he deserves their love. Everyone deserves to be loved. I know he loves them too, but he is just not in a place where he can show them. Alcohol has taken it's toll and he is not doing well. I pray for him to get better, but I know that, as in the past, I still can't change things.
I'm so proud that my kids can see their dad's heart and appreciate his intelligence and his sense of humor. I'm glad they love him so much, but its also painful to know how much that love hurts sometimes. Alcoholism doesn't just destroy the alcoholic, it destroys families, it destroys the trust and emotional stability of children. I am lucky that my kids are so strong.
We're still working on our happy endings. We'll get there.

I Have the Power

I haven't finished reading “The Power of Now.” I want to, and someday I will. The book was a birthday gift from my daughter in 2011 – right after I lost my job. She wrote inside –

“Dear Mom,

With the dust jacket missing, this book looks kind of cool and classic, not trendy and hippie like some people think. Anyway, it’s kind of silly but sort of nice. I love you and happy birthday! You have the power.

Love, Anna”

I can’t help but think there is something in this book that I need to read. I have read the beginning chapter at least three times. I have thumbed through and read random passages, and I have started to read the last chapter. I have found it useful, as I lay in bed trying to turn off my own self-chatter. It has made me more aware of the fact that I never let my mind rest. It’s no wonder I can’t sleep and wake up exhausted every day. There is a reason that Anna gave the book to me. I haven’t asked her what it is, and I’m not even sure she knows. I am just sure that things happen for a reason – I will read this book.

I think the cover, without the dust jacket, is beautiful. It is patina in color, which is almost enough for me to just appreciate it as a decoration in my home.  I usually refer to the color as “bird egg blue” – which is my favorite. So, now it’s out there, I didn’t read the book. I suppose this qualifies for the ‘failure wall.’ I am going to call the book “The Power of Someday,” and let it give me hope. 

A poem

As I reflect upon…

Photos of my cats,

I realize – my seclusion is my own creation.

When did I become so excluded from my friends?

All work and no play,

Makes love an intrusion.

Being a stranger, even to myself

Is a lonely place to be.

I never knew I could become

Less me.

This One's For Dad.

Fun with the old player piano

Today I cleaned the player piano with Murphy’s oil soap. When I got done, I played three piano rolls, “Kansas City”, “Yellow Bird” and “Won’t You Come Home Bill Bailey”. Those were three of Dad’s favorites. My dad bought the player piano back in the early 1980s.

I was working at 'Hickory Farms' in the mall when my mom called me. She was laughing when she said, “Listen to your dad, he’s playing the piano.” I was confused as I listened to lively piano music coming through the phone. We had a piano for many years. Each of us girls took piano lessons and practiced our recital pieces over and over on it, but I had never heard my dad play it. After a minute Mom explained that Dad had bought an antique player piano and some rolls for it. I’ll never forget my first visit home after that, seeing Dad sitting at his piano, grinning from ear to ear as he played “Beer Barrel Polka” and all the others I mentioned.

We all had so much fun with the piano. Mom and Dad bought a lot of new rolls to play and we would often sing along. Dad died a few years after buying the piano, but playing his favorites has always been one way to bring him back, even for a few moments. It always makes me smile.

When Mom had to sell the big house we had grown up in, and move to a smaller one, she didn’t want to take the piano. She gave it to me. My house is even smaller than Mom’s, but I made room for Dad’s piano.

I hope to move to a bigger home someday. Right now it is just a dream, but every time I look at potential homes, I am looking for a special place where the piano will fit. There are things we keep – for me; the piano is one of those things.

When Ava Crowder says "Peanut Buster Parfait," Darrell listens.

I’ve been trying to diet. I was sabotaged by the power of suggestion, television, my husband and myself. Really, I can only blame myself.

The other night we were watching one of our favorite shows – Justified. In one scene, the Boyd Crowder character said he wanted to own a Dairy Queen franchise. His significant Ava mentioned the notorious Peanut Buster Parfait. My husband LOVES the Peanut Buster Parfait.

So, last night we decided to drive to Bed, Bath and Beyond to use our 20% off coupon to buy some coffee. On the way home Darrell asked if I wanted to go to Dairy Queen! I knew we were going no matter how I felt about it. The suggestion by Ava had taken hold of my husband and he couldn’t get past it.

I am in charge of what goes into my mouth, whether someone drives me to Dairy Queen or not. I could have ordered a glass of water.  In my own defense, I did order a mini strawberry and chocolate blizzard.  Normally I would have gone for something far gooier - maybe with chocolate and caramel syrup. For a mini - my blizzard seemed substantial - and not worth the calories.

Whatever twists and turns are to come on Justified, I can’t envision Boyd and Ava as happy Dairy Queen owners.  I don’t know if my diet will be successful, but my Darrell will have his Peanut Buster Parfait!

A little sunshine

             I love those almost-spring, sunny days, the ones that give you a glimmer of hope after the long winter. Spring is not my favorite season, but I still love it. I love all the seasons – and I’m happy I live in a place where we can experience them all. The reason spring isn’t my favorite is because it always makes me just a little sad. I am reminded of the things I used to do, like playing softball and taking long, brisk walks. I can still walk, but honestly, not as easily as I used to. People with fibromyalgia often talk about their “pre-fibro life,” before they were always tired and always in pain. I try not to dwell on it, but spring reminds me.

            I love my childhood memories of springtime. Winters in Wilbur are a bit longer than in the Tri-Cities. The spring flowers don’t bloom as early, but they last longer. The poor lilacs in my Kennewick yard barely have time to be appreciated before they begin to turn brown and die. I miss the lilacs in Wilbur.

        When I was a kid, I loved when we could “spring forward” and start playing outside in the evenings before dinner. I can still smell my mom’s cooking, wafting through the open kitchen window as I made my way home from the schoolyard in time for dinner. I was lucky.

          As a young mom I loved being outside with my kids, waiting in the yard as they rode their bikes around the block. I miss those times with my kids. I miss having a ‘family.’ Now it is just my husband and I, the cat and the dog. I love them all, but I miss the activity of having kids around.

Sunshine is always good, whether it is reminding you of the past, or filling you up with the promise of new days. I’ll take it.

           

            

Money

The Green Stuff

$

               I’ve been thinking about money. I read an article yesterday about how the language we speak has a correlation to the way we save (or don’t save) money. Because the English language has clear differences in how people talk about the past, present and future; the future is so distant in our minds that we don’t save as much as we could. In some other languages, Chinese for example, time is not spoken of in the same manner. In Chinese, the future doesn’t seem far away and people are more likely to save money for those up and coming rainy days.

                  I don’t remember, but I’ve been told, that when I was very young our family was poor. My dad hunted and we ate a lot of venison. I don’t remember not having everything that I needed. We lived in a tiny house, but I was small, so it never seemed cramped to me. My mom sewed most of my dresses – and I loved them! My dad was a logger. As I got older his business got better. When I was 8 years old we moved to a big red house. I guess we had more money then, but I don’t remember it as being any different. I had always been happy.

                  I got married when I was a few days short of turning 19. My husband was a laborer. I had my first child when I was 20, and my second when I was 23. We were poor, but I was happy. My kids were happy. My marriage didn’t last, but it had nothing to do with money. My husband was an alcoholic. Yes, there were times when buying beer was an issue. I was not a drinker, so being forced to buy beer every time I went to the grocery store was embarrassing for me. I guess the fact that my husband put his alcohol consumption ahead of what we needed for our kids was a factor, but mostly it was the dysfunction in our daily lives that drove me to file for a divorce.

                  As a single mom, I was still poor; but I was happy. My kids were okay and we had a decent life. It was never easy, but we had what we needed and we found joy in little things – mostly each other. I worked hard and my kids grew up and left home. I was still living paycheck to paycheck. I wonder why, when I needed less, I felt that I needed more. It was probably because I was alone. I was not really happy.

                  Eventually I remarried the wonderful man that I had dated for almost 10 years. The first year of our marriage was sort of a breeze, financially. We had a double-income and, while we weren’t rich, we could do what we wanted and still have money left at the end of a paycheck. But as they say, all good things must come to an end. I lost my job shortly before my first wedding anniversary. It was okay for a while, because I had unemployment. My marriage was happy, but I was not. I didn’t know what to do without my job – I was lost. After 8 months of looking for a job, I decided to go to college. Last October my unemployment ran out. 

                  So, once again, as has been so often throughout my life, money is an issue. We live paycheck to paycheck and can’t do the little extra things we have come to enjoy. We are lucky though; we have enough to get by. My husband got a little overtime last week and brought home a bigger paycheck. I know he felt really good about it, because he has been upset about not having enough lately. It is hard for us – he feels like he can’t provide enough, and I feel like I’m not contributing. This morning I paid bills and the bigger check is not going to go as far as we’d like. I feel guilty for paying the bills, but that is what has to come first.

                  I know things will get better eventually. I will be finished with college in less than a month and I hope to find a job right away. I’ve started looking, and it seems pretty bleak. I am not looking forward to the search, which I’m sure will bring many days of frustration and tears. This is going to be hard, but I can do it.

                  I can’t help wondering – should I learn to speak Chinese?

Just wondering.

The header on my blog says that I've always heard that people want to know, and be known. For me, I guess that it means that I want people to know what I'm about ~ to understand me. Why, I wonder? Does that mean that I find myself so interesting or special? For some reason I have been contemplating this all afternoon.

 The question surfaced as I was listening to music and paying attention to the lyrics. I always find myself wondering what the artist was going through when they wrote the song. I want to know the stories behind the lyrics. I think that if I were to write songs, they would be entirely literal, no questions or intrigue, possibly...uninteresting. I don't know.

I'm realizing that not all people want to be known so intimately; they are what we call 'private.' Well, actually, maybe they just have a smaller base of people they let get close to them.  I also realize that there aren't that many people who want to know me, or at least, all of the things that I want people to know. Why do I always have this urge to share? Do I share too much?

I'm kind of questioning the point of my blog. I thought I wrote because I wanted to leave something of myself behind for my kids, or for others who might want to remember me someday when I am gone. I also know that there are times when I only write for myself, and times when I write for school - because I have to. So, why is important to put it all out on the World Wide Web? Does it really matter?

 I am not writing this with any expectation of answers. I know the answers are only what I can decide for myself anyway. Whether I continue to post here is not going to make a difference in the world, but it could make a difference in my life.

To Anna and Noah

To Anna and Noah,

           

I will always think of you as my babies, but I will try not to treat you as such. When your hearts break, so will mine, because once, yours beat so faintly inside of me. When you cry, I will cry.  When you laugh, I will laugh. I will support your every endeavor, even if I am not sure of your choices. When you are happy, I will be happy. I will try not to worry in advance about the next time you will be sad!

Because I am your mother, and I will always think about you more than you think I should. I will agonize over your challenges, but trust you to work them out. I will offer my opinions, when they are not wanted or needed, as that will always be in my life’s job description. I appreciate you for not letting me know you are mad at me, even though I know you sometimes are. I accept that you might not take my advice, and I love you for listening. I know that I annoy you sometimes, but that you will always love me, and my quirky ways.

God gave you to me, but you are not ‘mine’ to keep. I have had to let you go, to let you grow, to watch you fail and to watch you succeed. I have had to do a lot of that watching, from what I think is far too great a distance. I will always be proud of you, but I will not take credit for myself.

I will miss when we aren’t together and love you no matter what.  Forgive me for those times when I am too pushy or opinionated, or when I want more of your time than you are able to give. Thank you for always making me feel special for just being your mom. You are such wonderful grown ups and I am so lucky to have you both in my life.

With all my love,

Mom

My boy hit with words.

Do you remember the wading pool?

We spent the morning waiting for the sun to warm it up.

…and you and I were never cool.

Remember how pissed off we were when Jonathon beat you up.

beat you up, violin case to the gut,

beat you up, beat you up,

his mom said, “Your boy hits with words.”

 This is one of the first songs my daughter wrote. Someone reviewed it and said it might have been the next great hit, if only it were more than a mere minute long.It may be a short song, but it is a big memory for all of us. It is called, “The Noah Song.”

            I was reminded of it in class a couple weeks ago when a classmate told a story about her young son being bullied. This song is about my son being bullied. Noah was a very small, skinny boy. To make matters worse, he was awkward and shy and played the cello. He used to ask me why I couldn’t have given him a cool name, like Steve. Kids always asked him where his ark was. Many times I told him about Noah and the ark, and that he should be proud of his name.

            Kids like Jonathon make life hard for boys like Noah. Jonathon was a big boy, and strong. He constantly picked on Noah. After he shoved his violin case in Noah’s gut I decided to try to talk to his mother. It did little good, as you can deduce by her response to me. She also spoke very little English, so I wasn’t able to make her understand with my words. I had to walk away knowing that I hadn’t accomplished anything to help my boy.

            Bullying is a problem. It leads to other things. I am lucky that it only lead my son into joining the military, instead of using drugs or alcohol. I guess you could say he used violence – but it was ordered. I wasn’t happy when Noah joined the Marines, but looking back now I can see that it was the best choice for him at the time. He’s okay now, and for that I am so very thankful.

            Being picked on by Jonathon had an impact on Noah, but as you can tell by the song, it also had an impact on Anna. She wrote the song about the incident at least 7 years after it had happened. Now it is something we will never forget, because it is attached to a catchy little tune. I think that is what is called taking lemons and making lemonade.