How grateful am I for myself? The meaning of this question, to me, asks ‘how grateful are you for life”? I don’t take this question as an opportunity to brag on the gifts I have offered the world. Rather I look at it as a gratitude opportunity for being here and alive.
There is so much in life that can not be diminished by anyone else’s choices. Amongst those gifts is health, nature, the enjoyment of food, books, television programs, animals and the opportunity to meet new people. With health comes the ability to give, to volunteer, to offer a helping hand.
Without myself I would not have these opportunities. As long as there is life, health and breath, there is hope and a myriad of people, places and things to enjoy. No other’s broken choices can rob me of my education, my mind in use of learning and growing.
In spite of the many losses I have experienced in this life—I have been given the gift of life with which to experience.
It is my choice as to what and whom I focus on. I choose the positive, the hopeful, the land of possibility thinking and doing.
Dreams have been my lifeline and my savior. If it were not for something to look forward to or for which to aspire, life would be pretty flat and dismal indeed. Sure I preach gratitude for nature and people and dogs and food and shelter and beautiful places, but at the end of the day where would all these things rank if it were not for the motivation to appreciate them.
I dream of a day that this horrible wretched betrayal of my marriage does not occupy so much disc space in my mind and in my life. I could say it was a colossal waste of time, but I’ve come far enough in my healing journey to recognize the growth benefit and potential in this worst season of my life.
If it were not for the revelation of my UH’s betrayals, I might never have put into perspective his lack of followthrough and reliability–his lack of romance and emotional support. I might well have continued to classify it as somehow a natural deterioration of marriage over time, or worse yet felt somehow responsible. Although I have my failings in our years together, they in no way merit or justify being abandoned emotionally and made the collateral damage of so much irresponsibility.
This revelation has allowed me to put into perspective just how very warped and broken my UH has been for years—since before we were even a couple. He has had it within him to lie and hide all his adult life with tentacles and roots stretching back into his childhood. It has been an acceptable form of handling scary or challenging people and events without care of the cost to those others or to himself. He has remained a broken child the whole of his life–which is incredibly sad when I see the choices it has allowed him to make.
He has hurt me and my family beyond repair, but graver yet is the harm, the diminishment of his own life. He could have been and done so much greater not only with and for his family, but in his career as well. It is tragic what a childhood neglected and abandoned can shape.
It continues to be a story of fear and avoidance. He shuns diving into the pool of adult life and taking responsibility for his past and present –therefore hope of forming a better future.
How has this effected my dreams, you might ask? I invested the majority of my life into the formation and support of my family, because he is the father of my children, because legalities and time have intertwined our assets beyond separate recognition, because it has always been my dream to retire with my spouse, thus enabling me to travel in comfort and safety, as a woman in the world where travel alone can be dicey, because I dreamed of passing on a legacy of true and faithful love to my kids and grandkids—I am irreparably tied to this unfaithful immature and broken individual. At sixty five, I have lived the majority of my life, and lived it in happy service of the dream of spouse and family. I did a darned amazing job, I had much joy in the doing, but reality is, I can not ever regain the years lost living inside a lie of a marriage. There has been and is much to grieve.
There is nothing I can do about anyone else’s choices to lie and manipulate me and mine. It is done and can never be undone.
My options are to live the rest of my years in regret and bitterness, or to put on my big girl panties (as I have done ALL my life, because I am a responsible person) and move forward from here. What dreams might form as I have more time and energy to form them, I don’t know. They will have to , by definition, be different than those I have held close to my heart all these years. Perhaps they will have deep roots in my past interests and passions. Surely they include writing, as is evident here in this blog. For certain, the enjoyment of nature and animals, music and my granddaughter’s growing up. The rest of it is still obscured in the haze of the heavy burden of betrayal trauma and recovery.
I have come so very far to be able to etch this framework of possibilities. I can now think more clearly and for more protracted periods of time about what it might mean and look like to be me into my golden years. I will continue to practice meditation and to listen for that wee small voice to direct my path. Some people call that voice God, some call it their inner higher self–whatever it is, there is wisdom and power to be discerned. I am struggling to hear it, but I will not give up.
I don’t know why I am still here on this planet in this time and place. That is a mystery as it is for so many of us, especially those who have had what they thought was to be their life’s path and joy ripped from them. I’m not the first nor the last to have to change course without my consent. My story is neither the worst nor the best among us.
But it is what it is. I move on, searching, seeking meaning and an opportunity to be of service. I am so grateful for the imagination and intelligence to continue the search.
Over the years this day has been full of family gatherings. When I was a child we’d go to my paternal grandmother’s Chicago apartment. Her brother and a sister attended, along with our family (mom, dad, brother and me). Both my parents are only children, so our family is pretty small. That said, my grandmother was one of eight. Needless to say I have many distant cousins twice and more removed in Illinois and other far flung locales.
The self appointed family curator of all things historical passed away this year. He, my father’s cousin, cobbled a thorough family tree that now hangs on my wall. Thanks Darrell.
I have no living family of origin here in California and never got close to any of those second cousins as my family moved to California when I was eight. The one second cousin I remain close to is a snowbird, she living the warm months in Ann Arbor, Michigan–winters in California. Our grandmothers were sister. My second cousin Lynn reached out to my parents when she was attending nursing school far from her home in Indiana, in–you guessed it–in California. She, eleven years my senior, was a marvelous big sister figure (I have no sisters) when I was a teen. She is one of the kindest people I have ever known. I adore her even though we only see each other once a year out in Palm Springs, wintertime.
My daughter is in the Marines stationed in North Carolina and presently deployed in Afghanistan. Her husband and my granddaughter are in North Carolina and celebrate holidays with his mom in New Jersey. Geography can be a challenge. That said, off season allows for a visit a couple times a year–no expensive holiday flying.
My post-eight year old years we had my maternal grandmother living with us until her dementia necessitated assisted living. Holidays always together. Paternal grandma visited and eventually she lived close by so we could be there for her. In the end we stick together. We are each other’s safety net. When the chips are down, we come through.
My son is disabled, yet can live frugally, on his own. He has a part time job now–we are so grateful for that. We are there for him.
My UH–in spite of his slow progress toward his brand of normal, would come through to the best of his ability should I become disabled. My daughter is reliable–more so than he. Long story short–I am grateful I still have a few family members alive that would be there for each other. I am proud to be the reliable member of my immediate family, though I would dearly love to have had a reliable spouse. I live in reality. It is the only way I know, the only way I am comfortable, the only way I can stick to my values and integrity.
God willing, I will keep my marbles and be able to be there for whomever may be in need. It is, after all, my ‘calling’. I draw solace and strength from giving. I am so grateful for all the opportunities to give.
I hope you take time to cherish whatever your family looks like–blood relative, family of friends, canines, colleagues. We need each other. We are built for connection. Thank heavens we have this precious day to remind us of with what we have been blessed.
Today’s gratitude assignment is a tough one for me in that it seems to take ‘humor’ (which was another day’s gratitude suggestion) a few steps further. Merriment smacks of partying, celebration, hoopla, reveling.
noun
cheerful or joyful gaiety; mirth; hilarity; laughter.
In this time after the trashing of my marriage by an ungrateful entitled spouse, I find little hilarity or partying. Truth be known, I have never been a partier. Even as a teen and university student, I found my joy in quieter either solitary, one on one, or small group pursuits. I remember my roommate as a freshman in the dorms actually gossiped about what a stick in the mud I was for not wanting partiers in our dorm room into the wee hours.
I plead guilty. I’m not a partier.
Does that mean I am dour, sullen? Not at all. I celebrate in quieter ways of intense focus and presence either in natural wonders or in fun banter with a friend. Yes—even after being betrayed in the most profound way, I can still find much for which to be joyful. A celebration of life’s many gifts that can not be squelched by any one person—even an unfaithful, angry, abusive spouse.
This has been an ugly crippling chapter in my life. I have never suffered worse pain, either emotional or physical. That is truth. One of the beauties of this world is that it goes on without concern or pause for the pain of men. Nature is filled with life and death, birth and death. Just as each human life has seasons of joy and grief, ups and downs.
The world is indifferent. It cares not. It just is. And it keeps on keeping on in all its glorious chaos and order.
Will there be times of celebration in my future? Only time will tell. It doesn’t matter what others do, I can choose to be present in the world and celebrate that which is beautiful and good.
Abraham Lincoln once said that people are just about as happy as they make up their minds to be. That being the case, the truth–I can choose to celebrate in my own brand of joy. A quiet joy of appreciation for this gift of life.
Give me quiet joy over raucous celebration any day. Joy in growth, in silence, in nature, in friendship, in kindness and compassion and giving.
As there are no real instruction in this challenge, I expect the authors of it want each of us to interpret as we may. I could take ‘earth’ as meaning our planetary home or I could take it as meaning dirt–the earth below my wiggling toes.
Earth the planet-
Perfectly imperfect, as are all its lifeforms. The enormity of the variety present, even in my own backyard, is astounding. Nature and its developmental advance has filled its creature’s senses to overflowing. We humans have the ability to know that we know–we can choose to focus in the present, or we can filter out that which we do not want, and think independently. Good and bad. Sometimes I wish I was like one of God’s other creatures–always present in the here and now–no fretting over past and future.
But then I would miss out on all the lovely memories and the ability to draw them into mind. How wonderful to be able to remember the glorious sunset over the cliff of Santorini Greece, the bashful, guilty smile of my toddler granddaughter as she swipes a magnet off the fridge, the smell of fresh cut grass in my front yard as my father set down straight lines with his mower…
Ah…Earth. My one and only home. I shall never tire of it because it is ever changing, ever resplendent with life and wonder.
The earth beneath my feet–
… Changes with the setting. It might be warm sand on a spring walk along the edge of the waves. Soft loam in a grove of redwoods on the Northern California misty forested glen. Squishy mud along a Washington State hiking trail, my friend’s Shepard pulling me along on a companionable walk. Rough and rocky climbing terrain in the desert near Palm Springs where I explore old native oasis lands.
Once again, I am humbled by the ability to recall these places, to have been blessed to visit them.
Earth, the home planet—earth the ground beneath us–I am grateful.
I am sweet tooth girl. It is my love, my savior and my downfall. It keeps that extra ten pounds around my waist, but it also keeps a smile on my face. At the end of a tough day, there is nothing like a sweet treat to make it all worthwhile.
I’ve often wished I was one of those people who eat to live. Those who seem to be indifferent to the most decadent of temptations. How do they do it? It baffles me. I am definitely one of those people linked to the distant past when our early predecessors had little access to fat and sweet tastes. When they did, their tastebuds learned to eat and eat and eat to get those infrequent calories.
Darn them.
Not that I blame caveman. He had no say in the matter. But in today’s easy and inexpensive junk food world, we have a heck of a challenge in keeping trim. Those fat and sugar calories are all too prevalent.
Allow me to share my all time fav…
Caramel
of all varieties.
One in particular– I’ll show you later…
OOie gooey sweet love
Whether welling from the center of a Ghirardelli Chocolate Caramel Square or French salted caramel drizzled over ice cream, caramel is one of life’s true golden delights.
What else does caramel remind you of?
Caramel sun lingering on the horizon before diving into a cerulean sea
Image courtesy freedigitalphotos.net
Warm caramel-coloured eyes of a lover
Caramel apple in autumn, taste buds exploding as you take that first juicy bite
Caramel Golden sleeping on the couch
Caramel swirl through the chewy chocolate of a brownie
Caramel skin warmed by a day in the sun
Image courtesy freedigitalphotos.net
Carmel suede boots clicking on the pavement beneath your feet
Silken caramel hair catching the sun like spun sugar
Caramel cola as you lounge poolside. Soft fizz. Beads of condensation clinging to the glass
Toasted Caramel top of custard flan. Creme Brulee.
Image courtesy freedigitalphotos.net
Caramel popcorn Cracker Jacks, prize inside the box
Chunky caramel beaded bracelet jangling at the wrist
Rich and sweet caramel breeze, bakery close by
********
It’s eight thirty in the morning and I am indulging in a coffee ice cream sundae with caramel (there’s that “C” word again) and chocolate sauce. I’d like to say this is a first, but truth be known I have opened the freezer and scooped a dish of my favorite flavour so many times in my mind that the images of that gooey sauce drizzling over soft mounds of cafe o’ perfect could fill Dodger Stadium.
YEp–my favorite snack.
Until today, I have never written a blog about Ice Cream. So, it seemed the exact right moment to give into my ice cream fantasy. Who says we have to wait to indulge until after noon anyways? Life is short, and all.
As I searched the net for ice cream images, the professionally photographed creamy confections got the best of me. One image of something that even faintly mimicked my love–coffee ice cream and chocolate with C–c—caramel sauce, sent me to trembling. I decided on my own snapshot…
So here I sit, sated, frozen esophagus struggling to recover wondering how anyone could choose a different indulgence than mine. No chunks, nuts, candy or frozen-stiff fruit shall desecrate Christine’s ice cream. This is a dessert that is meant to be none other than its smooth creamy self.
Sauce topping(s) do not ‘count’ as they are as smooth and gooey as the frozen treat they compliment.
Image courtesy freedigitalphotos.net
Anything that is hard, crunchy and, by definition, frozen—captive in the grip of its frozen host—does not belong. Not only do frozen nuts, candy and fruit lose their flavor (Didn’t your mother tell you to NEVER put a box of chocolates in the fridge? You can NOT taste cold candy.), it ruins the wonderful smooth texture of the ice cream. Creamy, creamy, creamy—smooth, smooth, smooth.
*sorry–got carried away*
Keep your butter brickle ripple nut fudge ‘flavoured’ (see definition of ‘oxymoron’) ice creams. Give me the purest forms of vanilla, chocolate, coffee. Keep your fruit glaces, gelatos and sorbets. Fruit was meant to be enjoyed room temperature inside its own skin in its off-the-tree/bush/vine form.
I digress.
When your ice cream reaches that perfect temperature–soft serve-like–wrapping around the spoon as you swirl it in the bowl then into your mouth, you will know what I mean.
I am so very grateful for having the ability to see the humor in most situations in life. Even in the depths of the valley of grief and or depression humor has saved my life more times than I can count.
But then there is written communication and the attempt at humor.
Have you found that some of your online communications are misunderstood? An attempt at humor can often be misinterpreted, as can a misplaced emoticon, even an untimely reply.
image courtesy freedigitalphotos.net
One wonders how the kids do all the texting they do without beginning a feud to put the Hatfields and McCoys to shame.
It is not just the abbreviated jargon that can confuse.
‘ I M 2- RU?’
Even we sentence-structured grown-ups can type a stinker once in awhile.
Man- ‘That dress you are wearing in the photo is breathtaking on you.’
Woman- ‘Thank you. You made my day. I can use all the breath I can get today because my allergies are acting up.’
M- That is a load of cr*p.
W- ??
M- You are weird.
The man in this case took the woman’s response to mean that she was teasing him for the use of the word ‘breathtaking’. An attempt at humor gone awry.
M- ‘I didn’t plan on you arriving at six. I suppose the theater tickets will still be good after dinner.’
W- ‘We don’t have to go at all then.’
This is a misunderstanding that could happen even over the phone or face to face. The man only meant to convey his surprise at her early arrival, having not planned on dinner until after the show. She mistook what he typed as second thoughts about meeting at all. Maybe even a way of kissing her off.
image courtesy freedigitalphotos.net
Words in black and white on a screen can take on whatever tone the reader ‘hears’ at the moment. That tone often has more to do with how their day has been going or past disappointments, than anything really typed.
It is certainly the case with an addict or a person who justifies such as infidelity. They need to warp what is said, heard, seen to the the edge off their choices. Blameshift.
And then there are the cases where sarcasm is used in a ‘nudge, nudge, wink, wink’ sort of way:
W- (sends insta-gram of her cocktail dress for the evening’s date) Does this make me presentable?
M- ‘you look absolutely hideous in that baby doll.’ *wink*
W- ‘Just f-off then.’
Here, even the starred *wink* did not help. The woman took offense. No tone of voice or body language to help the man’s case, perhaps he ought to have considered a better way to compliment her. Opposite meaning phraseology can certainly fall flat.
What can be misunderstood, will be misunderstood.
W- ‘Sorry to hear you won’t be able to fly in for Jeff’s birthday.’
M- ‘Maybe next year after I get that raise.’
W- Don’t you feel guilty about neglecting him? ha, ha
This one might have seemed cute to the woman, but no amount of smiley faces or ‘laughter’ is going to avoid making the man feel bad that he cannot afford the trip.
image courtesy freedigitalphotos.net
Some tips to think about:
-re read every email before hitting ‘send’ . This cannot only help you to identify something that may sound offensive, it will help you check for typos/spelling checker-isms as well.
-Only write something you would be willing to say to the recipient face to face. Hiding behind obtuse semantics is not a good idea.
– Don’t send emails, especially ones that are potentially emotionally charged, right after writing them. Walk away. Do something else, then return to reread what you wrote. A little perspective can be very helpful.
– Most importantly, never threaten of make violent suggestions via email or social media. These can be used against you not only in a court of law, but in the court of opinion concerning you!
image courtesy freedigitalphotos.net
And when you are attempting humor, face to face limits misunderstandings but does not preclude them.
Nevertheless it is the ability to look at circumstances and ourselves with humor that can make the difference between downtrodden and uplifted.
When my children were growing up, we fostered quite a menagerie. From dog, to cat, to fish, to bunny, to gopher, to guinea pig, to snake, to parakeet—we had ‘em all—and loved them all.
If there is one thing in common between my son and daughter, it is the love of animals. (and they are as different personalities as you can imagine). I believe if you can turn your focus and heart into caring for an animal—a creature that relies upon you for its very existence, you are well on your way toward fostering a heart of compassion.
That said, animals certainly do more than take. They are the very definition of presence. Their lives are lived in the here and now. They have much to teach about mindfulness and love.
I am particularly grateful for the canines in my life. They rely on me, for sure, yet they give me so much acceptance and unadulterated joy in their presence. They don’t judge or hold grudges. They do not make up stories about me, let alone do anything to cause me harm. They are the embodiment of loving acceptance.
Each of our family pets has added to the well of joy in our home. Each in his own way has taught us about himself as well as about kind care.
I could never give back to them all they have given to me. They, in their brief lives, are companions beyond measure and examples of what it means to live well.
Home can mean so many different things. As variable as the person, home has a warm familiarity to it that beckons return. Whether it be the humblest of beginnings in a small apartment filled with family love, or the grandest mansion seaside; the memories of this special place fill our dreams, especially during holiday time of the year.
For some of us it is a place, a town, a city. To others it is wherever their beloved is. Those are the fortunate ones. Those who have invested in the growth and wellbeing of another and they in them have the brass ring of life.
If you are lucky enough to have both this holiday season, your well of which to be grateful runs deep.
Those of us who are suffering through a painful recovery from trauma and betrayal may feel a special kind of isolation and loneliness. We have had our world turned upside down and the meaning of beloved yanked from beneath us. Many of us might be feeling especially removed from what and where we have felt rooted, from home.
It is so hard not to lose ourselves when all we depended upon has been called into question. The greater the investment in home, the deeper and more prolonged the sense of loss. I assure you, YOU are not lost. You have roots and home inside you. Whether you call upon a power greater than yourself as ‘God’ or friendship or nature—you have a source upon which to rely, even when the one who promised to love and care for you is lost. You have you and all you love in and about this world.
No matter who or what or where those people places or things are that inspire and uphold you—that is your home. I wish you home and more to welcome you into whatever your definition of roots and home is for you.
This is such a broad topic today. If I look at it in the creative sense, inspiration is the very lifeblood of the writer. When we are without it we sometimes call it writer’s block, though this is about as legitimate as the stonewalling done by addicts to avoid interface with others.
As a writer, we have little ‘tricks’ to break the block. Those of us who are of a professional pursuation know it is vital to keep writing so the pace of our production will not be severely impeded. When a publisher is expecting a manuscript, being blocked is just not an excuse. The quality of the work we might produce may be questionable, but as it has been said, “you can not edit a blank page.”
Likewise, in any worthwhile human endeavor, one can not always wait for inspiration to move forward. Not if you are serious about the outcome.
Writer’s do things like go for a walk, visit a beautiful local, have a coffee in a shop and listen in or observe others, sort out descriptions of items in the environment. Really anything to get the words flowing will do.
When recovering from trauma the answers are not so very different. A change of scenery, fresh air, focus on the environment surrounds—all this can be helpful in bringing one’s feet back down to earth and therefor disallowing circling the drain of depression and grief. Inspiration has been the bedrock of my recovery to date. As I have mentioned many a time, I have no help from my UH and my friends live far away, so I have had to rely on me to light my path.
It actually has not been at all dissimilar to writer’s block. Emotional blocks or perseverations are just as harmful to forward progress. It is ultimately up to each of us to break through our own blocks. We are all capable of self care, kindness and gentle grace toward ourselves. The result is so much better than self condemnation and negativity.
Much like all of self care and healing, it is incumbent on the individual to open eyes and heart to all the wonders, positives, beauty and good there is in the here and now. And the search can be fun if you allow yourself to live. Breathe in the world. Go on a goodness and beauty scavenger hunt. There will be inspiration just around the corner.
I am so grateful for this past week’s inspiration of my 15 month old granddaughter. She who has not suffered the wages of damage the world can inflict. She the rightfully innocent and sweet. She the future living and breathing before me. From the wee small coos of her awakening to her offering to share her fingerfood, to the giggles of delight as I toss her about, to her swaying to the music of Bubble Guppies on TV—she inspires in me the truth of the world. We keep on renewing ourselves, and in our issue is born new possibilities, fresh outlooks and joy. My granddaughter’s clear gaze and wonder.
Christine Renewed 