Farmer's Market: A Photographic Exploration

Reasons I love the farmer's market:

Local berries taste WAY better than the ones shipped across the country, AND purchasing them supports local farmers, AND it's a more ecologically sound purchase as the fuel required to ship the berries across country is ridiculous.

People at the farmer's market are HAPPY. There's a permeating feeling of community and overall pleasantness.

Mmmmm lettuce

What could be more visually pleasing than buckets and buckets of flowers?!

Pink lillies...pretty

It's so colorful!

It's something I share with my step-daughter. She loves accompanying me to the farmer's market. It's a little thing we do, just the two of us. She's the one who pointed out what a cool picture this would be.

This one's my favorite.

Being a Joiner

I used to write blog posts with much more regularity. I had multiple blog friends; people I met and connected with through sharing glimpses of my life via the written word. Many of those people are individuals that I no longer communicate with either because I or they have become too busy or focused on other things.

Tonight I was perusing the blogs in my husband's favorite's folders and went to this blog. I've been there before and it's enjoyable. He's come up with this concept of multiple people posting pictures within a theme and I think it's a really fun idea. The 'sky' theme jumped out at me primarily because of the picture posted above.

My first time flying was just a couple of years ago. I shared the experience with the man who is now my husband and his two children. The kids have been flying since infancy as they live on one coast and the majority of their extended family lives on the opposite coast. The fact that I was an adult who had never flown was an anomaly to them. They thought it was the funniest thing that I was going to take my first ever trip on an airplane with them. My future step-daughter was helpful as she showed me the pictures of how, should the oxygen masks fall, I should put on my own and then help her with hers. The three of them watched me during take-off as if they expected me to scream in a panic.

I survived take off in that little puddle jumper and still hate the feeling of taking off despite the fact that 2x4 and the kids insist take-off is the best part of flying. I disagree. I love flying over the country, parts of the world I have never seen before and getting the bird's eye view. One of the positive aspects of flying for the first time as an adult is that it I don't view it as simply the form of transportation one uses to get from point a to b, so much as an enchanting experience that I waited years to live.

The second time I flew was to my wedding in San Diego. I remembered to bring my camera and took the picture you see here. The photo, though the quality is poor, is a reminder to me that experiencing something common place later in life may just make that thing more magical. It's okay to delay in joinimg some clubs.

A Bug on a Rug

My cat was just entertaining himself by playing with some kind of flying ant that was crawling on my living room rug. I was keeping an eye on him as I logged into blogger in order to monitor the situation and kill said bug should Dexter decide the bug wouldn't be tasty or lose interest. He kept looking at me but I couldn't read his expression. Was he looking for approval? Encouragement? Kudos? Hard to say, whatever it was, he seemed to pick the bug up in his mouth a few times, bat it around a couple times, then all excitement ended and he walked to the other side of the room and is now bathing himself. I lost track of the bug and have decided, for the sake of my own sanity and limiting of creepy-outyness, that he ate the bug and it is no longer crawling on my floor or burrowing its way into anything I own in order to lay larvae that will soon become a swarm of flying ant-like creatures inside my home. Yeah, its being digested as I write this. Definitely.

I don't really get the whole eating a bug thing. Even for a cat. My cat has a very discerning pallet. He will only eat cat food. No tuna, no cheese, no milk, no fish...just cat food. But, he'll eat an insect. He turns his nose up at dairy but he sees a creepy crawly creature that very well may bite, sting, flit about in an alarming way, or all of the above,and he thinks, "Mmmm...that may be very enjoyable in my mouth".

As I've mentioned before, I'm not a cat person. I like dogs. Dogs make sense to me. Well, mostly. I don't really get the eating poop and your own vomit thing, or the drinking hot muddy puddle water instead of the fresh water in your clean bowl thing, but mostly I understand dogs. They're companionable. They answer commands, they can tell a good person from a bad pretty quickly, they eat the food you drop on the floor without missing a beat, they wag their tails when happy. And they have mastered the art of doe eyes in order to convey; "if you don't give me that thing that I want I might be so upset that I'll run out the door and get hit by a car and you'll be haunted by my memory for the rest of your life."

I've never had a dog that ate a bug. And even though they eat poop and puke, I have to give them a certain amount of respect for choosing to leave the creepy crawlies out of the realm of nutrition.

Mute Monday: Things/Places I Want to Exerience in My Life

Incan Ruins

Chianti Vineyards

Nepal

Mardi Gras

A Sunflower Field

A Poppy field

C is for Cookie

To know me is to understand that I have an almost insatiable sweet tooth. As my husband has stated, "Slim never met a piece of chocolate she didn't like" and "I can't believe Slim doesn't weigh 300 pounds". It's understandable that he would state these sentiments aloud because the temptation to eat large amounts of sugary foods is indeed my biggest weakness. You can keep your salty chips, or your dollops of sour cream, your tabs of butter, I'm not really tempted by those things, but set a cinnamon role in front of me and the vacuum action begins, will power doesn't even enter the equation.

My husband is not immune to the desire for sugary substances, he just has a little more will power than me on most occasions. On his last grocery shopping trip he picked up a half gallon of chocolate ice cream and pre-made peanut butter cookie dough. This wouldn't be the first time he has made himself cookies in order to dip them into ice cream for an after dinner dessert. And he knows that these types of treats are likely to disappear a lot faster if I am privy to their existence. When I got home from work the other night, 2x4 was still awake, which was a special treat because he's usually asleep by the time I get home. The apartment smelled really good so I asked him what he had made for dinner, assuming that was the source of the aroma.

"Burger" He replied

"That's all?" I asked "Because it smells really good in here, and burgers don't do that."

"Yup" He answered with a sort of grin on his face. I thought about it for a minute.

"You made the cookies!"

"They're mine! Don't eat them!" He asserted. I kissed him goodnight, told him I was going to make myself dinner, and left the bedroom.

"Don't eat the cookies!" He shouted as I closed the bedroom door.

I proceeded to make myself some pasta, sit down and watch an episode of Lost on abc.com and for dessert had one cookie. ONE. This in and of itself is a showing of will power in its grandest proportions because who, really, can eat one cookie?

It was about an hour an a half later that I crawled into bed beside a slumbering 2x4. He has always had the enviable ability to conk out seconds after his head comes into contact with the pillow. So, by the time I came to bed he had undoubtedly been sleeping for a while. I cuddled up next to him, listened to his slow breathing and whispered that I loved him.

Then, a groggy, sleepy voice asked, "How many cookies did you eat?"

That Last Post Was a SERIOUS Downer...

...so I'm going to tell a couple of my infamous foot in mouth stories in order to bring back positive vibes.

Story 1:
My mom and I were shopping in the mall and had to stop for a bathroom break. We went into one of the department store restrooms that only had three stalls, all of which were empty, and the foul stench of someone having recently emptied their colon. I went on a miniature rant to my mom about the importance of the courtesy flush. I asked her, "Why do people not get the concept of a courtesy flush? Seriously, everybody poops, I get that, but we don't all want to smell it! So, flush a couple times, it's not a complicated concept!"

Mom looked at me with this weird amused smile. But the amusement seemed to transcend what I had said somehow. It was as though she had some knowledge which I was lacking. And she was particularly quiet, which is not typical of my mother in any way. So, mom went into the stall on one end and I went into the stall on the other end, leaving the third, middle stall unoccupied.

Except there were feet there.

In the empty stall.

Crap.

I just embarrassed someone and totally didn't mean to. I thought she was GONE. I swear that stall was EMPTY.

I exited the stall at the same time as my mother. We washed our hands quietly as my mother was silently hysterically laughing at the bug eyed look on my face. We left the bathroom and I shouted, "I didn't know she was still IN THERE!"

"I know" said my mother, who, as it turns out, knows when to keep her mouth shut. Unlike her daughter.

Story 2:
My mother has just finished redecorating her living room and dining room. New paint, new furniture, it looks really nice. I saw the new dining room set the other day and it's a HUGE improvement over the circa 1970s hand-me-down hideous set that she's been living with for the last 20 years. I complimented her on how beautiful the room looks but couldn't just give her a blanket compliment, nooooo. Had to go the extra mile to insult someone unintentionally town.

"Wow, it looks great mom. This dining set is really nice, it changes the whole space. All you have to do is replace those blinds and it will be all set."

Mom's response: "Those blinds are new"

Luckily my mother has a good sense of humor and found my faux pas amusing.

Self Awareness*

I'm a primarily outgoing person. I'm talkative and personable, and I try to be nice whenever possible to everyone from the check out guy at the grocery store to the bank manager (except for when they piss me off, then look out). But lately I've become aware of a certain level of emotional disconnect that I experience in my interactions with the world at large. It's difficult to put into words. It's like I'm emotionally detached from most of the people I come into contact with. This includes friends, relatives, and strangers. I'm present in interactions with these people intellectually but very rarely am I present emotionally. It's like the thinking part of my brain is present but the feeling part is floating over a field somewhere nearby, uninterested and preoccupied, unwilling to be engaged.

I think this is a fairly recent phenomenon. Well, my realization is recent, I'm not sure if the phenomenon is. I'm not good at frank discussion of emotions. I guess that's one of the biggest immediate attractions I experienced to my husband. He's really good at emotional discussion, and made me comfortable opening up to him, really sharing my feelings and being present and honest with both him and myself about what I'm feeling/experiencing/desiring.

I had a miniature epiphany tonight as to the roots of this emotional detachment. I guess, had I really thought about it, I would have come up with the answer fairly easily. It's kind of a no-brainer. My dad was never one to discuss emotion. As a matter of fact, he's the guy whose backside you're most likely to see should the subject of his own emotion come up while I'm in the room. Sure, he'll say the words, "I love you very much" but that's as far as it goes. I can't ever recall "I feel" statements being emitted from his mouth. Besides loving me, I don't know what else the man feels.

But my dad is only a minor player in this epiphany. Tonight, after I angrily told my mother never to defend my step-father to me, EVER; several pieces of the "why I am a train wreck" puzzle fell into place.

Here's the deal; My step-father (a term that is purely technical because the man is not in any way someone I think of as a father) was an abusive Nazi. Not 'Nazi' in the literal sense but in the metaphorical. His 'running' of the household primarily consisted of fear tactics. I spent the better part of my childhood walking on eggshells for fear of angering him and suffering his wrath. He was generally drunk within half an hour of arriving home from work and my mother generally joined him in his drunken exploits. She also clearly feared him and literally jumped out of his way as he passed through a room. He was a tyrant. We couldn't walk too heavily. We couldn't talk on the phone for more than 10 minutes at a time or we'd lose phone privileges for a week. We needed to run and get into bed when we heard him coming to bed or we'd get into trouble for staying up too late (regardless of the time). When my sister and I were little, we had to be upstairs in our rooms whenever he was home. Whenever I had to venture downstairs to use the only bathroom, I was accused of being 'nosy' despite the fact that I had held it for as long as I could, knowing I would be accused of such. We were never permitted to join in when his kids came to visit. Instead we were banished to our rooms and if they were so inclined, his kids could come upstairs to our bedrooms to say hello, but that was the extend of our communing.

The abuse is not a matter I will articulate upon with regards to specifics. It's not a pleasant topic. You don't want the details and I don't want to share them. Suffice it to say that it was very damaging for me. The thing is, I was cursed at an early age with intelligence. I'm not bragging. What I mean is that I knew, even as I suffered his abuses, that were I to tell anyone about it, life as I knew it would cease to exist. My home would have been ripped apart and my mother (a legally blind woman with no higher education) would be left to fend for herself with no means to do so. I guess that's when the emotional disconnect began. The rest, as they say, is history.

So, this evening, when I referred to my mother's husband as an 'asshole' while speaking with her, and she chose to defend her husband, I realized that my anger towards him has dissipated. I have in fact, forgiven him. He has not had an easy life. He is paying for his sins. In fact, I think he's paying for the sins of others as well.

My mother, on the other hand, has not been granted my forgiveness. I am realizing that I still have anger towards her; the woman who made me her sacrificial lamb, who didn't protect me, and who, to this day, defends that man. It is she who I must find the strength to forgive. It is she who is going to force me to finally admit that maybe, just maybe, I need to see a therapist. Christ. What a thought.

* I should mention that I've had a glass of wine (or 3) prior to and/or while writing this post. Therefore, my spelling and gramar may be suspect. However, thanks to the wine, I don't care.

The Smoking Nazi Polyester Princess

I'm a little on edge lately. What with the husband's ex being heinous, the working 60+ hours a week, financial strains, planning the shower for my sister's impending wedding, the job search, dealing with troubled youth who just happen to ooze disrespect and animosity, and my customer's dog taking a big smelly dump in the kitchen while I was cleaning this morning; my stress and anxiety levels are high.

So...today when 2x4 and I were arriving from separate locations in order to have a meeting with a financial advisor and I parked in the HUGE and EMPTY Wendy's parking lot nearby, I became somewhat enraged when the polyester garbed smoking Wendy's employee told me that I could not park there or she would have me towed. I yelled at her a little bit. Nowhere NEAR as much as she deserved and moved my car to the next door lot. The ugly minimum wage making biotch apparently needed to have some authority over someone today and pick the woman in the 11 year old rusty cheap model Toyota.

Seriously, it took me a good 2 hours to calm down and I'm still plotting my revenge which will likely involve multiple opened ketchup packets being smeared in hard to reach places throughout the restaurant while I'm parked in their lot.

I'm okay with being petty and small on this occasion. I'm tired of taking the high road. The high road blows. All the hip and happy people are on the low road. I'm taking that route this time.

Job Application Process

Me: "Hello, I emailed a resume to you folks a week ago and would just like to be sure that you received it."

Human Resources Drone: "I'm sure we did, there's just a really long process it has to go through before you hear back (insert long explanation of the avenues resumes take here) and then if you're qualified the supervisor will call you."

Me: "Ummmmmm, okayyyyy" Gee, I wonder if they received my resume.

Step-Parenting 201: Being the Bigger Person

We've all heard the stories. They all start the same, "I didn't know it was possible to love another human being this much until I held my son/daughter in my arms for the first time". It's that unconditional parent/child love. The stuff Lifetime movies thrive on. It's the reason kids continue to love abusive parents and parents love their kid even when he becomes a serial killer. It's scientifically unexplainable but the biological parent/child bond is a well known phenomenon.

Step-parenting is NOT the same. Step-parenting is (in my opinion) more thankless than parenting your biological spawn because that carte blanche forgiveness and love are not guaranteed. This is complicated shit people. And not for the weak of heart. And no matter what you think ahead of time, you have absolutely no idea what you are getting yourself into. No idea.

There are, of course, different levels of step-parental involvement. I know step-parents who have as little to do with their spouse's children as possible with no intention of changing that dynamic. My husband and I, however, take a much different tact. We are a parenting team. The results of parenting choices effect us both and we therefore make the majority of those decisions together. The kids know this and it almost nullifies the going to the other parent to get a different answer problem. And it makes the kids realize, quickly, that walking all over step-mom is not a sanctioned activity and will not be tolerated. This is really the only option for me. My husband is an involved father and laissez-faire step-parenting would not have suited my personality nor our lifestyle.

But I tell you what, I sure as hell didn't foresee my husband having the flu and my having to bring the kids to their soccer games, which take place an hour away from our home, ALONE. I've been involved with the kid's school and social lives long enough to know that the parents in and around their community primarily fall into two categories; The ones I don't know, and the ones I don't like. The kids attend school in a small "tight knit" (read: Stepford) type community that I'm pretty sure views me as a hussy idiot. I'm really okay with that. I'll serve as my husband's trophy wife in their eyes, I find it amusing...when my husband is there.

So, today, while my husband lay around with a fever and body aches, I spent 6 hours either driving, watching soccer games, or killing time in between games. My husband and his ex are on the verge of 'Parenting War 3' and I was flying solo into this mission. And I sooooo didn't want to do it. I told the kids just that as they were taking their time getting ready. I said, "Look, I don't even want to go so it doesn't matter to me if you never get ready, we can just stay home".

But I went. Without my husband. And I was polite to his ex and dismissive of all the other losers that have been looking down their noses at me for years. I wasn't obligated to do this in any way. I did what was right. I took on this parenting role with an open heart and I love those kids. For this reason I spent my Saturday playing soccer mom. I figure the fact that the kids didn't thank me just means they do indeed see me as a parent, and you don't generally thank your parent for everyday stuff like rides to soccer.

I just finished my therapeutic bowl of peanut butter cup ice cream while chanting the mantra, "I am the bigger person" over and over again.

I'm witty!

I enjoy writing. I find that whenever I read a good novel and find aspects of myself in the characters it gets my brain going. It makes me think that if I create characters with just some of the quirks I have and some of the experiences I've had, I could write a very entertaining novel. The problem: writing takes time. And I like to sound eloquent and educated. That's not as easy for me as I make it seem. Therefore, between working 60 hours a week and sleeping periodically, writing takes back burner to the rest of life (as do all of my artistic endeavors).

I've been given a friendly kick in the pants by fellow blogger SBS. She has rated my blog as Excellent entertainment. I found this particularly odd because these days I do about one post every six months. So I went back and read some of my old stuff.

And it made me laugh. I'm funny! Well, not all the time. Sometimes I'm negative and whiny. But my funny posts are witty. So, I'm going to start using that little notebook in my purse again. I'll start writing blog ideas so that they're accessible on the occasions when I fit in writing time.

And maybe I'll start working on that semi-autobiographical novel I started a while back.

Maybe.

Here are some of my funny posts:
That is so not what I meant!
World Domination
Cake and Poo
Lunatic!
So I'm biased, but I thought this meme was amusing

Things that bug the crap out of me Part 1

1. Blueberry muffins that don't actually have blueberries in them. If they have blueberry flavored sugar chips call them "blueberry flavored sugar chip muffins".

2. People who ride my bumper in the slow lane. Seriously, there are two lanes you can use to pass me...they're called passing lanes. I'm going the speed limit and saving money on gas. Don't MAKE me go 30 miles an hour. Because I TOTALLY will.

3. The fact that my mother attends a Catholic church despite the fact that she believes in abortion, believes women should have equal rights, believes in birth control...the list goes ON...

4. Adolescents. I spend 40 hours a week with these know-it-all emotional basket cases. Can you say 'Drama Queen'? And I'm talking about the boys. Oh! and the language they speak? I had a girl ask me today, "Where you at?" I was standing in front of her. She got annoyed when I told her I didn't understand the question. (In all seriousness, I like working with adolescents in many ways. But there are days...)

5. People who don't like to read. How is that possible?

6. People who don't break for an animal crossing the road.

7. Getting a latte that tastes bad. It's so damn dissapointing. That's aside from that fact that I am now out 4 bucks.

8. Sweaty palms. They're gross. But I can't really help it, they sweat of their own volition. So, how about we just pat each other's backs? Or maybe wink on it?

9. Smelly bathrooms. I've said this before, I'll say it again. Courtesy flush.

10. Stupid bumper stickers. "My boss is a Jewish Carpenter"? Why so cryptic? Why not "Jesus is the boss of me"? "Know Jesus, Know peace, no Jesus, no peace" blech.

11. People who get offended when you don't believe what they believe.

12. People who act all moral and pay top dollar for prostitutes.

13. Prostitutes who become famous for screwing a governor.

14. Mondays

15. Hard boiled eggs. Mmmm...let's eat those nasty fart smelling things!

16. Nobody reads my blog anymore.

Ummm...Ok?

One of the girls in my group last night informed us all (randomly and totally off topic) that she used to hit babies so that they would bruise and pinch them so that they would cry.

My response: Bug eyed silence followed by the question: "Whose babies?"

You have GOT to see the humor in that. Whose babies? That's the best my therapeutic mind could come up with.

Brilliant. I've got this therapy thing DOWN!

Full Day-Bullets

I go through long periods of time wherein I have the urge to write but can't come up with interesting subject matter. Then days like today happen, when multiple topics and or incidents occur which are worthy of blog exploration. The problem is, if I don't write about them immediately, the mundaneness of every day life tasks will whisk me away and the topics will never be explored via the published blog post. For that reason, I will offer today's multitude of worthy moments and thoughts in a bullet format with the purpose of keeping the post at a readable length and covering all relevant topics.

-I was listening to NPR today and the discussion of the Military's "Don't ask don't tell" policy was discussed. This is not a subject which is on the forefront of my mind because, luckily, this prejudiced governmental policy has little to no effect on my every day life. I can't honestly believe that in this day in age, with civil rights struggles that have been battled by people for generations, when our children are encouraged to play shooting games wherein they commit murder and crimes, adults who have consensual sex with adults of the same sex cannot choose to defend their country. What's the fear? Seriously? That as the bombs fall they'll turn to a comrade and ask..."Hey wanna get lucky?" Ludicrous. It's such a backwoods policy that has no place in this day and age...it pisses me off.

-My supervisor and I met with two gentlemen today who are retired and want to volunteer some of their time to the kids in our facility. One of them was particularly quirky and didn't appear to have the self assurance that comes with 60 years of life experience, but both were pleasant. They want to join efforts and get a group of our kids together to take photographs relevant to them in some way and then write about them. I'm really excited, think this is a great idea, and hope that we can find some magical funding for cameras.

-My office doubles as an art room and a storage area in addition to housing my desk and computer. It is not a large space and occasionally I get the urge to reorganize. While reorganizing today I found a creation that had been made by a resident and brought it to him. I didn't choose my words carefully when I presented him with the piece, stating that I had been "cleaning out" my office. He looked at me with this horrified expression and said "Cleaning out your office?! You're leaving?" I was touched that he was so upset at the prospect of my leaving...it made me feel a little special.

-That awful woman with no respect for Islam gets to live. What's this damned world coming to when 7 year olds can name a Teddy Bear Mohammad? Next thing you know they'll name their pet lizard Jesus. Shoulda just be-headed her, would have made the world a better place. Craziness! Are people really this nuts?!

-Made a new friend! Which is pretty exciting considering my best friend of 15 years recently dumped me. 2x4 wrote a great post about our first 'date'...stop by his blog if you have time. It's way more entertaining than mine. Oh, and he doesn't mention it, but, she's a hugger. That'll take some getting used to. She's hug happy...full of love and wants to spread her joy via the warm embrace. It's sweet and doesn't creep me out, it's just not something I'm used to.

There you have it...my bullets post. I'll keep trying to come up with more inspiring material. I guess I'm having a slow start getting back into blogging.

Coffee-My Pickmeup of Choice

I got up early this morning and dragged my exhausted butt to a customer's house to clean. I was so tired and out of it that I broke this thermometer-tube-liquid-with-floating bubbles thing while dusting the picture hanging on the wall above it. It broke on the carpet. And it smelled. And the liquid was not water but some greasy/oily substance which I will likely spend several days attempting to clean out of her really expensive carpet in her really expensive home. Then I spent the rest of my klutzy time there almost breaking everything I touched. Luckily she's a great lady and was totally cool about it, told me not to worry and was very understanding. Nonetheless...I was ready to go home and crawl back into bed, sleep through the day, and start with a do-over tomorrow.

But I couldn't...I have that pesky full time job to go to. So I stopped for coffee, bucked up, and started my do-ever at noon. I was in high spirits, had great groups, a long conversation with my sister (who has been playing a very noble game of phone tag for about 2 weeks now), and left oodles of comments on blogs tonight, perhaps making some new bloggy friends.

And tonight I'm in a great mood. The coffee shakes have passed but I seem to be suffering from a small case of insomnia. I drink coffee so infrequently that a 12oz coffee gives me the shakes and continues to keep me awake 10 hours after being consumed. And...well, it gets my intestines working over time if you know what I mean ;-) Oh, overshare? Sorry. My bad.

Oh, and sorry about the boring "This is how I spent my day" post. I don't generally do that because, frankly, who cares about my mundane day to day existance? But it's caffeine/insomnia induced so try not to hold it against me, k? And did you know..."i before e does except after c" does not apply in caffeine? I didn't. But thanks to blogger's helpful spell checker, I do now!

Damn Him!

Dumbledore is DEAD?!

And that bastard Snape whom he trusted even when everyone said he was a greasy haired piece of trash KILLED HIM?!

I'm so mad. I don't know if I'm angrier with Snape or J.K. Rowling for making me think that Snape might actually have been a good guy.

Grrrrrr.....

Forgiveness-An Intricate Chain

He came back from Vietnam a different man than the one who ventured into the war named for a country years before. Those that knew him prior recognized the difference. It wasn't the shrapnel still embedded in various points throughout his body, nor the various physical injuries that made the differences obvious. It was the fact that when his smile appeared (less frequently), the corners of his mouth didn't reach as high, and wasn't reflected in his eyes. There were other differences, subtle as the smile, and some as plain as the yelling at his wife, the cold demeanor that took over without warning.

There were therapeutic groups for people like him, people who had seen horrific scenes of friends and enemies suffering and dieing while they fought for survival, of carnage unspeakable, of the constant awareness that their life could end at any moment, their families receiving that horrible knock on the door. People who couldn't transition back into their previous lives without assistance and understanding from others who shared similar terrifying ordeals. However, years of being a United States Marine, years of enduring mental torture, years of shielding any vulnerability, staying hardened in order to keep alive, left him feeling as though those therapeutic groups were for the soft. He didn't want to be involved in anything that required him to soften, to admit that he wasn't strong enough to survive without help. He couldn't admit to himself that he needed these things, admitting a need for support to others was unthinkable. He truly believed he could heal unassisted, and had every intention of doing so.

His life began spiraling out of control when his wife disappeared while he was at work, taking their two children with her. She left with no warning and with no clue as to her whereabouts, seperating him from his children for weeks before making contact. That period of time was torturous for him, and caused him to withdraw deeper into the hardened shell that had become his shelter from the world. This incident was one more anguish he was forced to endure but would not permit to break him.

Years later he made himself a fresh start. He met a woman who made him happy, who needed and appreciated the strength that emminated from him, the strength that had been years in the making. She accepted him into her home and was happy to have assistance with parenting her young daughter, perhaps too eager to give him control over their lives. Together they had another daughter and he was given another chance at family. It was accepted with little questioning that he chose not to honor or celebrate holidays and birthdays, seperating himself from the mirth others experienced on these occasions. His son and daughter still resided with their mother but he had visitation and tried hard to be an admirable father figure to them despite the limited time they spent together. It was difficult for his son, in whose eyes he hung the moon, to be seperate from his father. As his son grew, his patchwork of emotions towards each parent emerged as demons he would spend years trying to ward off with alcohol and illegal drugs containing escatlating strength and risk. The father/son relationship had ups and downs over the years as the two went back and forth between understanding and alienating each other.

His step-daughter suffered numerous abuses at his hands over the years as his wife turned a blind eye. He had little understanding of why his step-daughter became the outlet for his emotional turmoil. She, in turn, recognized how far reaching the repercusions would be should she expose the happenings within their walls, and chose not to share, fearing her whole world would crumble. She held onto that burden, to the guilt, kept it hidden, protecting her mother and mother's husband from being exposed.

He reached the breaking point after all of his children had grown and left home. After years of working long hours to provide for his family he found himself unable to leave his home, the thought of being around people or venturing out of the haven of his abode left him in a cold sweat, his heart racing; an experience labled by professionals as a "panic attack". His wife struggled to be supportive but it was difficult as his smiles and happiness appeared next to never, making living with him a near constant struggle. Ultimately he sought help from the Veteran's Association, his syndrome was labled PTSD and his family was finally granted an understanding of the odd behaviors he had displayed over the course of their lives. He finally began to see a therapist regularly and took medications aimed at regulating his mood and minimizing panic attacks. However, the years of repressed vulnerability and emotion would not disappear easily, having laid dormant for years, rearing their heads with fury.

Sadly, his step-daughter no longer spoke to him and he, in turn, chose to dismiss her in total. He suffered a great deal of guilt where she was concerned and being around her was a constant reminder of his crimes. It was much easier to view her as the heartless enemy than feel the tightness in his chest that the thought of her invoked in him.

It was tragic that he and his son were in a period of allienation from each other when his son, at 34 years of age, died of a drug overdose. After years in and out of rehab and jail, when everyone thought he had won the fight with his demons, having once again started a business for which he had a great deal of passion, the son succumbed to his demons.

Now, as the Christmas season approaches, as the theme of forgiveness is prevalent in the air, as the family continues to accept and heal after the death mere months before of the son, the step-daughter believes that the time to forgive has come. She has carried the burden and guilt of being the scapegoat of emotional turmoil for the majority of her life. Yet, she sees the human frailty behind the abuser, sees that he too is a victim, she sees that he has suffered for the sins of others, and that she is only one link in chain of hurt, anger, sadness and torture. She sees that in order for the man to forgive himself, he must first be forgiven, and perhaps that forgiveness will spread its way through the chain. That finally he may have some peace, because he is indeed only human, as has suffered enough for several lifetimes. He deserves forgiveness from others, but primarily he deserves forgiveness from himself.

I'm Learning How to Lie

Therapists, counselors, and those who work with children in some capacity in a residential setting have a really tricky line they must traverse between being caring/approachable and having bad boundaries wherein they share too much of their personal lives. Personal life sharing is totally inappropriate for a variety of reasons, though, the not sharing is easier said than done. In my art groups there's a lot of talking. The kids talk to each other about he said/she said stuff, things going on with their families, school dilemmas, and your average adolescent drama. Some of these kids are regulars in my group and have therefore become increasingly comfortable around me. With that comfort level comes normal human curiosity about the person with whom you are spending time. So, they've started asking questions. Some of the questions are innocuous and I can answer freely. For instance, Paula, who is fascinated that I'm a vegetarian asks me every time we're together, "What's for dinner tonight?" I of course tell her what I'm having (if that decision has been made) because clearly this is a fun and harmless little connection between us.

However, yesterday I was caught off guard when Julia asked "How long have you been married?" Ugh. I gave an honest response because some of the kids on campus know I got married this past summer. No sense in lying (arrgh! how do you spell that?!). The most professional thing would have been to divert the conversation somehow. But, I'm still figuring out how to say "none of your business" while continuing to be an approachable figure in their lives. "Sure, tell me your woes, share with me your inner demons, poor your heart out to me and let me help you better your life, but my life is off limits." Kind of a mixed message. So I was already stumbling back into a (metaphorical) upright position from the previous stumble when she rapid fired, "Where you ever married before?" Inside my head I'm thinking: "Good God why do you care and how the hell can I tell you that we shouldn't really talk about me because it's poor ethics, and where the heck did this brain freeze come from and why CAN'T I THINK?!" So, I responded, "Ummmmm....no".

So, there you have it. I lied. Bald faced lie. Felt like crap. Kinda still do. Still don't know where I went wrong. I've had supervisors tell me to explain to clients who show an interest in parts of my life that should be off limits: "My role is one of a therapist and I am therefore here to help you work on getting better so we really shouldn't focus on me, let's focus on you" Or something to that effect. Except, these kids see me as 'arts lady' not 'therapist lady' they find me approachable because I'm not like any of the other staff, I stand alone in my own separate and distinct category. So...that spiel doesn't fly. Great. Still don't know what to do next time.

How is it Possible to be Exhausted and Unable to Sleep at the Same Time?

My day went like this: Got up and went to the gym. Why did I go to the gym? Because I spent a lot of years being the chubby friend, and all those Halloween inspired snacks are threatening to send me back into fatty town. When discussing what Star Wars character each of the people in the room would be, one of the kids I work with said that I would be C3PO because (and I quote) "You're mad tall and skinny" (Translation for those of you who don't speak inner city adolescent dialect; mad may be translated as extremely) I don't think I have been described as extremely skinny ever before in my entire life. It was hilarious to me. I was beaming.

Then I went and helped my aunt plant and move monstrously large trees. She has a small landscaping business and I help out when she needs the assistance as I could always use the extra money. We spent our time together yanking and pulling trees around that were too big for us to move. But...seeing as we are two pig headed women, neither of us was willing to admit aloud that some large muscles (ahem, like maybe those of an, ahem, man) would be helpful. So we tugged and pulled and I got a bloody nose from a wayward stick up the nostril (hilarity ensued because truly, who else does that sort of thing happen to?) Then it was time for me to head to my full time job.

So...next I traveled to my full time art therapy job and spent the day forcing art therapy down the throats of uninterested adolescents.

Now I'm home, I've had a beer, I've eaten dinner, my body and mind are exhausted...yet I can't sleep. What kind of utter nonsense is that?! And I'm doing it all over again tomorrow! I guess tomorrow will be a large coffee day. (Yes I take cream and sugar, what of it? I like it that way!)

Shut up about Dumbledore Already

I'm a reader, have been for as far back as I can remember. When I was just breaking into the teenage years, and had yet to know everything and hate everyone, my dad used to take me to this great locally owned bookstore (which to this day is one of my favorites) and would tell me to pick out one book. Well, anyone who is an avid reader realizes that narrowing the selection down to one book in a bookstore filled to the brim with shiny new books is virtually impossible. So...I rarely left that store with less than two books. Because, how do you say no to a kid that is begging for books? Poor dad and his wallet never stood a chance.

When I went back to school several years ago my days were so full of classes, commuting, textbook reading, paper writing, and work, that leisurely reading time became damn near non-existent. Since graduating I think I have spent equal amounts of time in the public library and sending out resumes. The library and all of its free loner books is my new favorite place. Some women shop for shoes, I linger at the library reading the back jacket of all the new releases.

When Harry Potter first came out I was one of the gazillions of people on the "Harry Potter Rocks" bandwagon. I love the stories and the amount of imagination that oozes from every page.
J.K. Rowling is a freaking genius in my humble yet very relevant opinion. I was furious when the books were turned into movies since the Harry Potter craze was an "Oh my God my illiterate child is reading this totally cool book series" craze. But, I digress, that's another post...ahem.

Anyway, I got through Book 5 before returning to school. Even as I was reading The Order of the Phoenix in '03 I realized that I needed to start back at Book 1 because I couldn't remember a lot of the back story. Then I went to school and Harry Potter became a distant memory. Now the last book in the series has been released and I have re-embarked on my Hogwarts journey. I'm back up to Book 5 and have been very careful to shield myself from climax ruining information. I shush people who talk about the books, don't read articles, and change the station when anything HP related is the topic of discussion.

Then Yahoo fudged it all up. They had some headline posted about the controversy over Dumbledore's homosexuality that simply could not be ignored.

DAMN IT! How does that fit into the story line? I couldn't care less about Dumbledore's sexuality but now I'm left wondering...was he in love with Tom Riddle before he went all Evil Empire on the wizarding world? Does the ministry have it out for him because they're bigots? I'm trying not to think about it but I can't make this tidbit of knowledge go back in the box. It's out.

So, my request is...give me 3 weeks. I should be done with the whole series by then. Until then Shut up about Dumbledore!