tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66527707152155661672024-02-06T22:35:36.852-08:00So Many Things To Wonder...Just an ordinary girl, writing about her not-so-ordinary life.Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-61097999463122833412011-04-10T22:42:00.000-07:002011-04-10T22:42:22.818-07:00Rereads & HousecleaningAs an English teacher, I stressed the importance of rereading, rewriting, and rethinking ones writing. Its best to be in a good mood before you start. Tonight, I reread quite a few of my blogs and was left with the taste of sawdust in my mouth. Better to leave it for tomorrow. I find that as I contemplate taking this writing thing more seriously, I am looking with a more critical eye at my writing. I think I need to trim the fat, clean up my lines, get more clear and concise in my language. Lots of work to do. Must get into shape. <br />
So here goes. I will try to discipline myself again to writing....on a weekly basis. I'll work my way up to daily. Can't run a marathon right off the shot. <br />
I'll start with brisk walking and build from there. Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-5952469296344667212010-11-16T23:58:00.000-08:002010-11-17T00:01:21.773-08:00Magical Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQqRVx6DU7a6DNPwuSdkiG7ywHXMHltWGEzn6Uib0D1q5VdQXn0upNnuakjiy0Yx3Pdfuflrk7c9Vo-6bp3IouUf73FwBGOtwdI26n2OIZsMnGjGS3qpW9vbhCWktlIY_XFaY6qxcP5E9/s1600/home-pic-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQqRVx6DU7a6DNPwuSdkiG7ywHXMHltWGEzn6Uib0D1q5VdQXn0upNnuakjiy0Yx3Pdfuflrk7c9Vo-6bp3IouUf73FwBGOtwdI26n2OIZsMnGjGS3qpW9vbhCWktlIY_XFaY6qxcP5E9/s320/home-pic-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I sat in the room filled with people, all with their own story, all hoping to make it a good one. Each of us had come to get inspiration, direction, a new focus. I left with $10 burning a proverbial hole in my pocket.<br />
<br />
One of the speakers at the Storyline conference shared how he decided to create opportunities for his church members to live a better story. Normally, churches ask for money. The plate goes around and you put your offering in. That's how it roles. This guy Mack, decided to break $26,000 dollars into small denominations ($5, $10, $20) and hand it out to anyone who would take one. The catch was: this money is God's money; they were to pray and use it to tell a better story as good as they could come up with; and lastly, none of that money was to come back to the church.<br />
<br />
They did the same thing at this conference I went to, and I, being a sucker for a challenge, took one of the envelopes.<br />
<br />
I am also a procrastinator. <br />
<br />
About two months ago, right after the Storyline conference, with that $10 burning a hole in my pocket (and heart), I was invited along to a fund raising dinner for an organization called AOET. I was keeping my eyes open for a good way to tell a better story with $10. I found it that night while listening to the heart behind AOET. (check out the impetus behind this org at http://www.aoet.org/?page_id=3). A young, high school aged girl spoke about how she decided to try to raise enough money to build a house in a new village ($26,000). I have never tried to raise money for anything, so how a then 15 year old just got it into her head to set that goal for herself and do it was inspiring to me.<br />
<br />
As I sat there listening, I thought about Facebook; I know it's a shocker to most of you- I am not totally addicted to Facebook...yet. Earlier that evening I had noticed that I had 540 friends. Five HUNDRED and forty. Suddenly the thought occurred to me, "How hard would it be to raise $26,000...540....26,000...540." Then I started doing the math, that took more than a few minutes, I can tell you, and you know what I figured out? Fifty bucks. Fifty bucks each is all it would take to raise the money to build a house. What do you say? Want to build a house with me?Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-63255681121682879542010-10-24T22:29:00.000-07:002010-10-24T23:28:50.043-07:00Today at The Bridge...This is dedicated to all the hands. You know who you are.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Hands</span> <br />
<br />
There is a reticence in me; I hold back.<br />
I was not born this way,<br />
The wild fearless part of me was taught<br />
Fear<br />
Despair<br />
Being Careful.<br />
<br />
I saw the abyss, the dark yawning void.<br />
It reached out and welcomed me.<br />
Its caressing echo beckoned me.<br />
At the moment I was acquiescing to the pull,<br />
Hands grasped me<br />
By the arm, by the hair<br />
by the heart, dead thing that it was, and pulled me back.<br />
They held on for my life.<br />
<br />
The nothing:<br />
It lamented the loss of me<br />
I lamented the loss of nothingness.<br />
<br />
On that edge, I felt the weight, the pain, the terror of everything that had driven me to<br />
This end.<br />
I despaired of ever being free.<br />
I wanted to jump.<br />
<br />
But Hands...<br />
Hands all around me,<br />
They held.<br />
They were strong when I was not.<br />
They held me when I couldn't.<br />
They were hope when I had none.<br />
<br />
I lay there drowning, in pain,<br />
pain, <br />
despair <br />
pain<br />
...and slowly, slowly<br />
Something began to rise, grow,<br />
pierce its tender shoot out of my fallow heart.<br />
<br />
Green,<br />
It was Hope<br />
And it became stronger.<br />
None of the previous cheap, false hope, this was not plastic,<br />
But a living thing.<br />
<br />
Green,<br />
It broke through the hardened surface and, like green things do,<br />
Restored by destroying.<br />
<br />
And now, I hope.Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-75348839920814968922010-06-26T09:42:00.000-07:002010-06-26T09:42:24.427-07:00And The Sun Poured In Like Butterscotch....This is the first morning in a long time (a whole four months) that I haven't had to wake up to go somewhere. What a luxury. I made an egg white and leftover ratatouille breakfast and sat down with a cup of coffee and Anne Lamott's new book <i>Imperfect Birds</i> to enjoy said breakfast. As I sat eating and humming <i>Chelsea Morning </i>by Joni Mitchell I realized: I am at peace.<br />
<br />
How far I've come; how much my life has changed in the last two years. How much am I blessed. How many people I have to thank for their love and support. I can only wish the kind of people I have will be available to you should you ever need it. <br />
<br />
Life will never be perfect, and there will be struggle till the day we die. You know what I'm talking about. But when you know you are loved, when you are well loved and you can take that in, the struggle becomes less the point.<br />
<br />
Guess I'm just feeling grateful...and hopeful. Its a good place to be. Much love.Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-83258750902590321392010-06-12T19:28:00.000-07:002010-06-12T19:33:32.252-07:00I Can't Fight This Feeling AnymoreMaybe its the influence of Glee, but everything seems to be coming out with a theme song from some 80's power ballad lately. I swear after watching the finale (3 times in 2 days) I could NOT get "Faithfully" by Journey out of my head...or, for that matter, Finn. <br />
<br />
Are you ready for embarrassing admission number two? I cannot stop watching...well lets say it rhymes with Shmilight. I don't know why either. The acting is so-so, the love story they portray is unhealthy at best, unrealistic for sure, and quite possibly the most immature rendering of two people's feelings for each other I have ever witnessed. OK, I'll give you (if you'll give me) that the scenery is beautiful. So besides the cinematography, which is the only thing I'll admit (out loud) I like about this movie, what is it about this movie that has me watching it over and over again? <br />
<br />
I am puzzling through this right now hoping that a blog post will help me figure it out. I'm not one of those gawker/stalker older women who is all into Edward Cullen. Frankly the pale faces on every single one of the vampires, I find, are ugly. I don't want some guy to be all broody all the time because of his tortured soul ( I lie, I totally go for the broody musician types). Neither do I want to be emotionally bounced around (he likes me, he doesn't like me).<br />
<br />
I guess what it comes down to is that I want to be important to someone. And I want to be important enough that he'll go out of his way to get to know me. More than that, I want to be the principle character, the main player in my own life. For so many years I have fit myself into whatever story is playing out, too afraid of failing at it to chance taking a larger role. Sure I've added pizzazz to any ol' story line you put me in, but I was mostly a character actor, good for a laugh or a moment.<br />
<br />
No longer.<br />
<br />
I want my own life. I want a story that won't be worth telling unless I'm in it. And I want to share that story with someone special. Let it be henceforth known, I am ready.Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-15087804731697672922010-05-09T07:12:00.000-07:002010-05-09T08:13:53.034-07:00SeaworthyHanging my head in shame, I come back to my blog. I had such high hopes for myself and my resolve to write at least once a week. To be fair to myself, I do have a job. In fact I have two jobs, three if you count the once-a-week 3 hour gig I have on the side. All of these jobs have variable schedules, and on top of that I am searching for a summer job, and a job when I get to Portland in the Fall. I am just a little busy. <br />And that's a good thing.<br />I have re-discovered my love for teaching. It was there all along, but paired with my past experiences and therefore tinged with the scent of failure. Teaching was my last hold out; the last big boogety boogety in my closet of fear. Years ago, someone said to me, "Its like when a parent loses a child and they shut the door to that child's bedroom and seal it up like a tomb. There are rooms in your heart where a death has occurred and you've shut the door and said, 'I'll never go there again.'" I didn't understand these words at the time, but the truth in them has been revealed to me recently. <br />Part of my process of healing has been to revisit those places I have feared the most, the places I have experienced failure. The old me was so terrified of failure, that when I felt it coming on, I would, like a sinking ship trying to stop the inevitable, shut down the water safe doors. There was a problem with my response though. Every time I shut down the door and ran from the impending danger, I left behind something important. I left parts of myself to drown in the rising tide of fear. <br />But I was a little premature and panicky. There was no water that threatened to swamp the boat. Behind those too quickly deployed doors was the evidence of minor mistakes...nothing fatal. Maybe there was a pinprick sized leak in the hull. Nothing a little tar couldn't fix, nothing uncommon to the seafarer. Unfortunately my fear had clouded my judgment, and now there was a huge bulkhead door in the way and no way for me to observe the minor nature of the problem. As to opening the door to assess the situation, I was SURE that a wall of deathly water would rush over me, ending any hope of survival. Even approaching the door meant being submerged up to my neck in terror.<br />Those doors and those rooms only have the power over you that you give them. Each time I square off in front of another door I sealed long ago, the fear wanes a little more. I am learning that the fear that grips my heart is a liar. I open the door and discover no deathly threat. Each room rediscovered garners me the treasures I abandoned in panic; treasures I have carried as lost cargo for all these years, thinking myself a flooded ghost ship. Each room opened reacquaints me to myself. <br />I am becoming seaworthy.Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-69622729591824289932010-02-28T21:23:00.000-08:002010-02-28T22:19:15.402-08:00Last Day of FebruaryIts the last day of February (the month of LUUV...and incidentally the shortest month of the year. Coincidence? I think NOT!) and I am at a church (shall remain nameless) in Baldwinsville, in a store front, with my sister. Nice people. There is an old dude with a teal do-rag rocking out on an electric acoustic guitar set to stun. He's got some serious distortion going on. There are more people on stage than in the audience; total :18. Strangely, I'm not uncomfortable. I'm more detached than anything.<br /><br />Innocuous<br /><br />This expression of church/faith strikes me as largely innocuous. Not too effective, but certainly harmless. And I am maintaining a distance. I am a safe distance-aholic.<br /><br />While the worship was gargle, rinse, repeating, I sat down to write, trying to engage God in some meaningful way...for me. I wrote this poem of sorts (as poemy as I get).<br /><br />Is it broken?<br />Or am I?<br />I keep searching, but with less vehemence<br />The fight has gone out of me....or has it?<br />I seek a touchstone to<br />Re-awake<br />That which has gone dormant<br />Does it exist?<br />Or is that fever a sign of sickness,<br />And all I know of passion just<br />Illusion.<br /><br />I know there is mystery in the unknown vastness of God<br />All the doors I have been shown to get out into that vastness<br />Have proved doors to:<br /><br />Closets<br />Cells<br />Rooms with yellow wall paper<br />Classrooms with teachers who have never experienced the vastness trying to tell me about it.<br /><br />I want the real deal.<br /><br />I'm reticent.<br />I can't believe what I used to, because<br />The people who ushered me into the cell tried to tell me<br />The cell was the whole world.<br /><br />I know that's a lie.<br /><br />And I don't have to pretend it isn't anymore.<br />I know the difference between God and prison cell.<br /><br /><br /><br />I choose to BELIEVE<br /><br />Even though all that has been presented to me as THE ANSWER<br />Has been proven<br /><br />FALSE...<br /><br />You are not false.<br />You exist.<br />And you are good.<br /><br />I stumble through the hall of doors,<br />Looking for the way out.<br />I don't trust any of my old guides...<br />I can't.<br /><br />I'm so critical of the counterfeit, I worry I'll miss the truth.<br /><br />But I know<br /><br /> Know<br /><br /> <span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;">KNOW</span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">the difference</span></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /><br /> </span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Between</span> <br /><br /> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"> TRUTH</span> and <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Counterfeit</span><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span></span><br /></span></span></span><br />I trust my heart.<br />I trust that within me, that knows.<br /><br />I will not settle for lies.<br /><br />I haven't seen it yet<br />But I'll know it when I do.<br /><br />I trust that I will not wander forever<br />In this dim wasteland of doors.<br /><br />The right exit will show itself,<br />And I'll walk through with no hesitation.<br /><br />Over the lintel it will say:<br /><br />All who wander are not lost.Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-41761234331870593922010-02-12T04:54:00.000-08:002010-02-12T06:17:55.389-08:00ValuesI was listening to a podcast the other day while cleaning a house. Its my one respite every week; I get three hours alltogether alone to clean and put a house in order and listen to podcasts uninterrupted...NERD! I know, I am a nerd, not ashamed to own it. So, Planet Money was talking about the sharp rise in strategic defaults on home loans. <br /><br />Adam Davidson was talking to a lawyer named Jane that works for an insurance company. Her job is to advise homeowners who are having financial difficulties. She talked about how the calls have changed in the last two years. At the beginning of this crisis, she was getting a lot of heart-wrenching teary calls; people who were desperate to keep their homes and make their payments. Foreclosures started with people who had gotten themselves into homes they couldn't afford. They could make the first payments...barely, but as soon as the loans ramped up to the next payment ( what a-holes devised these?) they were underwater. Jane's job was to gently advise them that it would be better for them to let the bank take the house and start over. This was not welcome news. We see home ownership as almost an inalienable right in America.<br />This is evidenced by the surplus of home improvement and house flipping shows (where have they all gone?). Most adults who have a job, kids, a spouse would feel like a failure if they aren't living in a dwelling they own. Add that to the traditional shame that comes from defaulting/declaring bankruptcy in our culture, and its hard to decide to default. <br />Side note, why is there such a strong sense of disgrace for someone who has money problems, and yet we've allowed domestic abuse to go largely unchecked in our culture? It all has its roots in the same soil. What do we value?<br />Back to loan defaulting. Jane says that in the past year the calls have changed. She now hears from people who have good credit who can make their loan payments, but have realized that it makes more money sense to get out from under a $400,000 dollar loan on a house worth $200,000. They are buying new houses and letting the old house go back to the bank. Who is left to shame then? Everyone else on their block has already lost their homes and left. When asked why they would do this, the homeowners say, "its a business decision." Sound callus? It is. Since when do people see their home in these terms? Where is this coming from? I think its the last trickle down of an attitude that has pervaded our American culture for over 50 years. We didn't pay attention to the canary in the well, and now miners left and right are dropping around us.<br /><br />Here's my theory: We value money and the acquisition of money above all else. Our glorification of all things corporate shows where we place value. In fact corporate culture has infiltrated every aspect of our lives. We have corporatized all aspects of life in an attempt to squeeze more "profit" out of it. Even farming, the last hold-out, has been taken over by corporations (to disastrous effect) aided and abetted by our government. We disdain small things. We pity people who can't get on board for "progress."<br /><br />What is the explanation when a company does something questionable or heartless? Its not personal, its business. The underlying implication is that if something must be done to make more money, morals should not enter into it; its business. There are two different accepted mores, one for business and one for personal dealings. Well I'm here to tell you that that is no longer true. There is now just one. Because we no longer place value in anything but money ( in fact we value almost everything with money, how much is it worth?) we are becoming untethered from any decision process that takes intangible value into account. <br /><br />Let me clarify that I don't think we ALL think this way, but we have come to accept it by default. We have allowed this line of thinking to pervade everything around us. I don't think if I asked most people what they believed in that they would say money. We don't profess it with our mouth, but we do confirm it with our actions, or lack of action. <br /><br />I find it a little amusing that Jane and Adam (remember the podcast? man I love a tangent) were so surprised to see people, everyday people like you and I making choices that would be deemed shameful and excusing themselves by saying "Its a business decision." Isn't that what companies, banks, corporate culture has been preaching for YEARS?!!?! They have repeated the same mantra while raping and pillaging the environment, the little guy, other businesses, heck anything that stood in the way of them and more money. Are we really surprised that "the little guy" is now playing by the same rules? <br /><br />We need a hard reset. <br /><br />Since when did our goal become, who can behave the worst and get away with it? <br /><br />If things continue the way they have been, the whole system is going to crash down around our ears. I'm not so sure that's a bad thing anymore. Corporate culture has been allowed to run largely unchecked for too long. There is no balance. We've allowed its poisonous thinking to inform our own behavior. Think about it, don't you apply different standards and rules for the workplace than you would with your wife? (I hope) Well, that distinction is quickly slipping. This valuing money above all else has one end result: dehumanization. <br /><br />Ok enough of my rant. I believe that we are called to more. I believe that we can choose to be different, stop feeding the machine that is grinding up people into soilent green. Its up to each of us to decide not to conform to this system. What does that look like? I'd welcome your thoughts and ideas.Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-34507134051471292642010-01-31T03:30:00.000-08:002010-01-31T04:43:39.501-08:00Birthdays, Blessings...and BeautyWhelp, its that time of year again. I am celebrating another year here on this earth. Thought this milestone would be a hard hitter for me. I am on the down hill slide toward another decade after all, but surprisingly it hasn't really hurt as much as I thought it would. Anticipated pain is worse than actual pain. Write that one down, it is almost ALWAYS true. I guess so much is going right for me that the number just doesn't feel so significant.<br /><br />Well, so hear we are again...on the cusp of February, smack dab in the middle of a cold snap. All these should be adding up to depression for me, but for the first time ever...just aren't. Isn't that fabulous? There are so many things in my life different for me this year. Let me count the blessings. I have lost 115 lbs total so far, and am within 75 lbs of my original goal, so generally I just feel fabulous, and full of energy. I was diagnosed with diabetes last April and have since gotten my sugar levels under control; this has changed my life drastically. I discovered the wonders of taking Vitamin D3 by the thousands of iu's and Vitamin B12; both of these have changed my winter lethargy and depression into dancing. Then there is the lightening of the emotional load I have carried for so long. Its a wonder I'm not floating 3 feet off the ground. I can honestly say, I am happy and ok, and that feels so good!<br /><br />Yet, every year a sinking feeling of disappointment and discontent creeps in as my birthday approaches. I generally blame it on one thing or the other that didn't go as I'd planned, but when I finally sat down to look directly at that dirty, wet, dog smelling up the room and dripping wet mud on everything, I couldn't remember its name. It is a familiar dog, but a phantom nonetheless...phantom pain. I can't really point to one specific thing as the culprit for causing my discontent and malaise, and when I try I end up talking myself in circles because I know what I am complaining about isn't the actual issue.<br /><br />Perhaps I am just reliving the script of so many birthdays past. My soul seeks its old bent more strongly at this time of year than others. I am more comfortable and prepared for the role of disappointed, neglected victim than what I really am. Or perhaps...there are longings and yearnings too deep to be named that I keep trying to slap shallow names on so that they can be dealt with more easily.<br /><br />I stand in an underground cathedral of a cave, at the edge of an underground lake. All around me is utterly dark and utterly quiet. As I stand there steeped in stillness an almost imperceptible shift from complete darkness to smudgy light happens, more of a hint of light than actual light, indistinct in its origin. Then, as the outline of my hands become apparent, the light centralizes to one glimmering spot far below the surface of the lake. That glow rises toward the surface and is traveling towards the shoreline for me; a date with destiny approaches. Part of me is frozen to the spot with wonder, part of me wants to run up and down the shoreline flapping my hands to scare away that light which evokes exquisite pain, hope, longing, and desire all at once. I have just made peace with the quiet and darkness of the cave, a refuge after the deluge of sludge I had been swept down the swift river with. The quiet has silenced the cacophony of voices that filled me with dread. This new presence in a place so peaceful, at first feels like it might be a return of the old chaos..but deep down, I know it isn't. I know that that light rising to the surface doesn't feel too horrible to behold; rather it feels too wonderful to behold. Can I stand it? Now the shimmering is becoming distinct and I can see that it is a fish the size of a koi, but with fins and streamers like a beta, as it moves through the water it fins scintillate light with every undulation, and its singing.<br /><br />The fish is singing a song whose tendrils are wrapping themselves around my heart and squeezing. My heart at first feels the pain of constriction, but then begins to resonate. I am afraid of deep feelings; they usually mean devastation and pain, but I know I can and will trust this fish. The pain comes from longing, not fear and loss, yearning for what might be, what someday will be, for all I hope for. Searing as those tendrils are, they are defibrillating my heart, resusitating me. Then, over the building harmonies of the fish song comes an ancient sound, a beat that moves with steadiness into the song.<br /><br />Its my heartbeat.Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-92202730168108247372010-01-19T16:59:00.000-08:002010-01-20T18:38:54.626-08:00AwakeningYep, that's where I am. I was driving down the road this morning on my way to work listening to a summer mix my good friend Robbi made me. There is nothing like a summer mix to chase away the winter blues. Picture it: Me, bundled up to the eyes because the heat is broken in the car, driving down the snowy Upstate New York Roads, listening to the Beach Boys and laughing. Happy= me.<br />I find myself laughing out loud at the sheer joy of life. I am having such a good time. For the first time in a long time, fear is not my constant companion. I feel fearless, grounded, powerful, attractive. Everything is coming my way, and you know why? A lightbulb came on for me. I have given myself permission. I will not limit myself through fear anymore. Conversely, I will not motivate myself by fear either. Fear, your lease on my heart is up and you've been a destructive tenant. Time to go.<br />Meanwhile, let the good time roll! Laissez les bon temps roules! I am ready to have fun.Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-1581352120123619632010-01-18T19:44:00.000-08:002010-01-18T20:05:37.752-08:00PermissionI was having Thai with a dear friend the other night. We had walked and shared deeply and were continuing our talk. It was so good to really talk, to talk about things that mattered. By the end of the night, I started feeling a twist in my chest. I couldn't figure out where it was coming from and how to get rid of it. Usually, spending time with people energizes me, especially when sharing hearts is involved, but I left our talk feeling totally sapped. I woke up the next day tired, with no energy for anyone. <br />So, I set about pondering. I think some of the twisty feeling came from me trying to abdicate my power. This pattern that has been a part of my whole adult life. This needing permission; from men, from those I respected, from those I wanted to please, from those I wanted approve from. I have been abdicating the power of permission in my life to anyone who might take it, whether they asked for it or not. Here, please...validate me. Tell me I am a good girl, that I am right, that I am OK. <br />I have figured out that I can give myself permission. What joy is this?<br /><br />Any time I try to give the power of permission to another, it sets up a weird dynamic in me. I begin to feel dependent, insecure, needy of approval, and a little resentful. And here's the kicker...I do it to myself.<br />I will try to remember more quickly next time, but I give myself permission to make mistakes.<br /><br />Also, I recognize my tendency to have to label everything...EVERYTHING as either good or bad. It can't just be. I realize that my negativity is a protective mechanism, and immediately I am labeling it bad and feeling like I've got to get rid of it PRONTO.<br /><br /> I just forget.<br /><br />I forget that this process is so much more natural and gracious. Its going to take time to let go of that protection. I recognize it for what it is now...I will be grateful for what it did for me. When I finally do let it go, I will grieve the loss of it, and then? I will accept that it is no longer necessary to me.<br /><br />But that will take time.<br /><br />After all Rome wasn't built in a day.<br /><br /> Far from what I once was but not yet what I'm going to be. (unknown)Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-19157908603460093952010-01-17T07:46:00.000-08:002010-01-17T09:50:37.467-08:00Risk TakerI've spent a few years now in necessary insular protective mode, after a whole life of protecting myself to the point of isolation from many meaningful relationships out of fear. These last few years. I've spent time tearing down old things, sifting through the wreckage of my constructed self, destroyed by disaster. Now that the debris has settled and is mostly cleared, I am so grateful for that disaster. I am not living in a poorly constructed house anymore with leaks and lots of pests. I sleep under the stars for now, and have the free space to imagine what kind of dwelling I actually want. I have built lots of modern, spare, Frank Lloyd Wright inspired houses in my mind replete with lots of windows to let the outside in. I am imagining who I want to be, which is actually who I am meant to be. There is a sort of beauty in the process of dreaming, especially when there is the potential to inhabit those dreams. <br />Now comes the scary part. I have to actually gather the resources and start to build. Thankfully, my architect is far more talented than even Frank Lloyd Wright, far more inventive, playful, creative, and capable. And She makes beautiful, beautiful things. I am excited/scared of what this all means, and what it will require of me. I must not be afraid to use those stones unearthed in the back corner of the lot and cleared to make way for the heating system. They are beautiful, and will make a beautiful feature wall in the foyer. See how the veins run through them? Evidence of turmoil from eons ago, a reminder of what upheaval can yield. I don't want to forget that.<br />Mostly, I relish the light that will pour in from the windows. There will be more glass than wall, really. That's the way I want it. I want to live soaking in the magnitude of the beauty that surrounds me. I want to invite people into my space, then allow them into the house from which they can see to advantage those vistas I most cherish. Welcome, I will say. See the beauty? Yes, the structure is beautiful, but just look how it interacts with the beauty around it? Doesn't it put both the dwelling and the surroundings into better context? Don't they each enhance the beauty and depth of the other?<br /><br />But risk is involved. I am more willing to take that risk recently. I am giving myself permission to take chances, and be vulnerable. The part of me that has always dreamed of jumping out of a plane (with a parachute of course) has now been given voice. OK, fearless me. Its time to count to ten, check your chute and JUMP!Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-22431748719175804552009-12-08T04:35:00.000-08:002009-12-08T06:02:10.150-08:00Oh So Super Extreme.Here we are again, smack dab in the center of the holiday season. Now there's something you need to know about me, I LOVE Thanksgiving and only slightly less Christmas. I'm the dork who will spend more on wrapping the presents than I do on the presents, who will create a whole gingerbread village just for the fun of it, who will make more work for myself with a smile if it means having a more festive season. I can't help but compare this year to where I was last year at this time. Last year was...hell. The only way I got through the holidays was floating on clinking ice in a mixed drink, which makes me all the more thankful for where I find myself today. <br /><br />I've spent this last year lightening the load, both physically and emotionally, and find myself more healthy on both fronts for the effort. The shock of this whole process we call life and healing is: it takes MUCH longer than even your longest projected estimate. No problem, I'm just about the most impatient person in the tri-state area. I want to "get there" like, yesterday. Internally, I have been feeling stalled, not sure how to proceed how to get to the hard stuff. I am still going to counseling, and since most of the family crisis has subsided, trying to work on the lasting effects of the damage. This, I can tell you, is much harder. Less crying drama; a lot more practical living changes. I am really scared of taking back the reigns, of being responsible for myself, so I guess I'm choosing infantilization over that. There are legitimate reasons why I am having a hard time finding jobs and getting started, recession, job market, no car, no real jobs around here...then there's the fact that if none of that was going on, I would still be here, in this same exact spot. The hard truth is: I am choosing to be here in this place, and will be here until I can overcome the fears that seem so much bigger than the frustrations of living in self-imposed arrested development. Or maybe not. I live in fear of seeing the same patterns I am familiar with showing themselves again, and probably am creating them as I fear them. Sometimes the vicious cycle feels like a cyclone sucking you round and round. Am I going to be able to get out of this?<br /><br />Here's me hoping that this tension, this place of the not-quite is a really good sign that I am about to break through, that all of these last years have been the dress rehearsal for the real show. I have already been surprised by the shape of my life, and look forward to the unfolding. <br /><br />I'd like to give an update for those who are interested on how the confrontation with my dad's pastor ended up. The pastor called us back after a few months of doing nothing and asked to meet to apologize. I did get that at this point, he didn't quite get why he was apologizing but did it nonetheless, which I can respect for what it is. He tried. I also had a really good meeting with the assistant pastor, who was much more able to listen to me and hear me whether he agreed with me or not. The whole process brought me to this: I now can see what is my stuff and what is not, what I am responsible for, and what I am not responsible for. I have gotten to the point where I can recognize when a response is not about me. I can recognize when someone is bringing their own issues to the table and not feel so personally attacked. Its like, "oh, ok...this is not about me. This is your stuff." Simple as that. Its not all about me really :) So my brother and his family are going back to that church and my mom and dad are still there too. I don't go to that church and am ok with that...<br /><br />I must go to work now. I have a part-time job for the holidays and am loving being out active with a little cash in my pocket. Feeling blessed. Hope you are too.Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-75317185723810448432009-10-22T10:50:00.000-07:002009-10-22T14:52:41.542-07:00Pause for EffectOK people, its been a while since I've written. I've gotten so many beautiful, supportive, and affecting responses to what I have written, and for that I want to thank you. I guess I never realized how many people would not only read this, but relate to it and then respond. To tell the truth, I was a little overwhelmed. I hesitate to call it this for fear of being presumptive, but I had writer's block. When I thought I was writing for a little audience of one maybe two, I was writing for me, for expression, to get it out there. When it became clear just how far reaching this blog had become I was a bit paralyzed. What if I'm not good enough? What if I disappoint? What if what I write does not meet expectations?<br /><br />So to laugh in the face of all those fears, I thought I'd write them. Boom.<br /><br />Here are some of the thoughts that have been bubbling in my head for a week or so.<br /><br /><br />I was listening to a podcast of an Australian pastor who was speaking about acceptance. A friend had suggested him, so I listened. One of the illustrations he used was when the Pharisees dragged the adulterous naked woman before Jesus and demanded her stoning. The pastor Rob (from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Bayside</span> Church in Melbourne) elucidated the actual reference. In the original language it was written, Jesus didn't say, "He who is without sin, cast the first stone," a noble sentiment and a treatise on judgment. What Jesus actually said was, "He who is without THIS sin cast the first stone..." I was blown away. Jesus wasn't just saying, Judge not lest you be judged; he was pointing out our (as in all of our) tendency to judge most harshly those sins we fail at ourselves. He was pointing out the Pharisee's hypocrisy in trying to kill a woman (who was clearly guilty as charged) for her exposed sin, while they kept their own failings neatly hidden away.<br /><br />Powerful.<br /><br />I was listening to a BBC podcast about <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Akhenaten</span>, an Egyptian pharaoh. I think he was Nefertiti's son, but not sure. He was the first pharaoh to replace the animistic references to gods in art and architecture and writing with humans. More specifically, he systematically replaced images of animal or natural representations of god with depictions of a family: father, mother and child. The historian speaking stated that this triad traditionally holds importance and power in many ancient cultures.<br /><br />Why am I going on and on about this? Well, it reminded me of a book I read last fall by Sue Monk Kidd called, Dance of the Dissident Daughter. In one part of the book she talked about how the Trinity, which modern Christianity understands as father, son, and holy spirit, originally was figured as father, mother and son! There is the triad again. There is some deep wisdom to be understood in this trinity.<br /><br />Why does this symbol keep coming up? What does it mean? Here's what I have so far. I think this triad, or trinity points to relationship. Coming from a fundamentalist christian background, I am no stranger to the phrase: Sanctity of Marriage. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Dobson</span> and all of his contemporaries go on and on about how marriage is the cornerstone of our society. There are seminars about marriage under fire, and many people I know and love go on and on about how marriage is being destroyed. Everyone has a different opinion about what's destroying marriage. I guess I'm more concerned about why its important. What deep truth does marriage embody and symbolize?<br /><br />The symbol of family is embedded in vast and disparate cultures. It is almost universal, which is another red flag that it is important. Whatever you imagine Family (or Triad) to look like, it is clear to me that the sacredness and importance of relationship is central in the symbol. God is all, and I do mean ALL, about relationship. I see the decay of family in our culture as a result of loss of relationship.<br /><br />I was talking to my niece the other day about her boyfriends in high school. Her experience has been largely transactional rather than relational. I will give you (fill in the blank), and in return you will give me (fill in the blank). We both get what we want right? Any of you who dated in High School can attest to how often that arrangement works out. Girls give of themselves physically to get love. Boy's hide their true vulnerability and try to get masculinity from getting sex. Neither comes out the other side happy.<br /><br />We do this to God too. I spent so many years of my life unwittingly expecting God to come through on some deal I had created. I will believe in you God, go to church, pray, read my bible, the whole deal; In exchange you'll give me the life I want. You'll arrange for my happiness. If I pray hard enough, hold out enough faith, you'll heal my friend. Here's the formula, follow it and you will get results every time. God will keep up his end of the bargain.<br /><br />Have you ever been disappointed when that formula didn't work out? I have. I could only draw two conclusions from that disappointment. Either God isn't who he said he is, or the formula doesn't work...or maybe there is a third option. I don't really understand who God is. Maybe what I have learned about God is false.<br /><br />I need to relearn who God is, and what it means to have a relationship.<br /><br />Those are two thoughts I've been stuck on for a while now. I am just going to throw them out there and see what sticks. At this blog, I invite you to the dialogue. I won't pretend that I have it all together (I'm something of a quick study at that). The thoughts I throw out there are just that, thoughts. I would love your responses. Thanks for reading!Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-79815110354935738952009-09-03T08:10:00.000-07:002009-09-09T18:47:50.059-07:00We Didn't Start The Fire....It's bonfire of the vanities around here. The fire started small, but the wind has picked up and now we have a full blown conflagration on our hands. (I have found succor in writing in metaphors lately). Fire is typically associated with destruction, but I think that is a human value judgement. We see any big change in nature as a natural disaster. I wonder if maybe we need to rethink our perspective; maybe it's time for a paradigm shift. Fire, as far as nature is concerned, is a good thing. Forest fires that happen frequently serve to clear out undergrowth, which dries out and can cause really large, dangerous fires if left to become tinder. <br /><br />But I just want a controlled burn. I want to get rid of the stuff I want gone, and not have it affect my precious possessions. Most of the time, that is why we avoid fire. We don't want to risk the loss of that which we deem essential, so we will let the choking undergrowth take over. The logs fall across the path, the vines and brambles quickly encroach. Pretty soon, what we have been trying to save is both unreachable and covered in vines that are tearing it apart. At that point, a fire is going to burn everything down. What will be left is clear ground, ashes, a scar. This is the point at which most of us despair.<br /><br />This summer I took a road trip with my sister Joni and my friends Andy and Bea. Andy and Bea, being from Scotland, wanted to visit as many national parks as we could get to on the way home. Me being as I am, was worried about money for gas, food, and lodgings, and about getting enough time with my sister Avril. Andy wanted to visit Yellowstone. I was not at all interested in Yellowstone because I remembered my visit there in 1999. About 75% of the park had burned in a forest fire. It looked like a war zone, burned sticks coming up from ashy ground. There were also many and large potholes and TRAFFIC. I had no desire to go back, but went anyway anticipating a blah experience and a long ugly drive. What a difference 10 years made. A growth of new green lodgepole pines covered all the wreckage. It was a different place than I had remembered. New, fresh life had sprung up to fill the void left by the fire. I was awed by the beauty. It was there that I had an epiphany: I need Beauty. I don't just like it, and enjoy it, it gives me something that is essential to my makeup. Wandering through the massive corridors of mountains, geysers, and sky I was able to put my life in perspective again. All of the problems that I think of as insurmountable, are nothing in the face of the mountains shearing down to a crystal clear stream. <br /><br />So, from this fire I am expecting the sprouts of new life to spring through the now enriched topsoil. The ashes from the old will allow the soil to support new, stronger life. I expect Beauty of the extravagant nature; beauty that outsizes even the behemoths that lurk in the dark places of life. Burn fire burn, because I have seen ten years down the road, and its going to be amazing.Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-36372329688593418802009-08-02T16:16:00.000-07:002009-08-02T18:23:31.515-07:00Post Trip, post dream.What a summer its been! First I took a 3 week road trip with my sister Joni and two friends from Scotland, then I came home to idyllic July weather (hot and humid) and swimming every day with the kids, in the process bleaching out my hair and tanning my skin. It feels like its been a "real" summer for the first time in a long time. No pesky thing called a job to get in my way, thanks Branagan.<br /><br />When you were young, did you ever get a whirlpool going in a round pool? We did all the time. My mom was usually the instigator. She would get everyone going with her "waterobics" voice pumping her open palmed hands into the air. As a kid I could get away with letting the current sweep me along; my little legs barely touched the bottom of the pool. But as an older member of the whirlpool, I was expected to keep the current going until we all collapsed and enjoyed the ride. I've been riding the current lately, taking time to watch my toes bob in front of me, noticing the conversations shooting over my head and watching out for the ladder as I come around again. Its been a time to rejuvenate, to look at the cyclical patterns so inherent in my life, and to see where the "current" has driven me into the proverbial ladder. I always thought of the ladder as something to be avoided, maybe it was a not-so-subtle hint to get out of the pool. Oh that metaphor could go so many ways. One thing you will learn aobut me is that I LOVE metaphor. I've heard it referred to as the language the heart understands. I could sit all day and play out a metaphor to all its possible conclusions. That is, I think why I love Joni Mitchell so much...QUEEN of the extended metaphor(I'll write a blog about her one day soon) ...but I digress.<br /> <br /><br />My mind has turned recently to contemplating dreams. Being home again, I am remembering recurring dreams I have had over the past few years, as most of them are set in Oswego. There is one house that reminded me today of a dream I had several times in the past. It was a cyclical house with lots of entrances and exits and I remember either trying to get out or to keep someone out and feeling like neither was going to happen. Then crossing the river today, a dream I had recently came flooding back to me. <br /><br />In the dream, I am swimming in the river, which I sense is none too clean, but I am with a tour of people I may have known from high school and the tour guide is, wait for it, Bob Newhart. He starts giving us a run down on the history of the canal system that runs through town. I keep looking around and seeing all these people with 80's hair and "nice" clothes (for 1985) bobbing through the refuse strewn water with me. The river holds no menace, as it has in past dreams, I am just feeling slightly icky and knowing I am going to regret this dip in the cess pool that is the backwater under the bridge. Kind of like when you've eaten at McDonalds; you know it was the wrong thing to do and it is going to wreak havoc with your system, but it's too late to do anything about it now. I keep thinking to myself, why am I here? What am I doing? <br /><br />I've been in the Oswego river in dreams before, but under much more dangerous circumstances. I am usually trying to cross it, either in the emergency bucket with a swirling maelstrom below me, or I am voluntarily jumping from the serene lock canal into the wild side of the river knowing that the jump means certain death and not being able to stop myself. River dreams have never been good ones. The latest is sort of an anomoly in this particular recurring dream. Anybody got any guesses as to meaning?Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6652770715215566167.post-9369253147532775302009-06-04T07:57:00.000-07:002009-06-04T18:19:36.325-07:00Apparently not...I guess I don't have so many things to wonder. I started this blog months ago and have not taken the time to sit down and write. I am a big believer in discipline as you can see.<br /><br />Actually my life became complicated for a while there. I finally woke up to the signs my body was trying to give me. On April 1st, we went to Rudy's for lunch for my mom's birthday. It was the first Rudy's visit of the year (yeah!). Rudy's is a local fish fry place on the lake, and an institution here. After we finish lunch (lots of fried food on buns dipped in gravy) I started to feel like I had swallowed a chestnut with the prickly coating on it. It became more and more uncomfortable to swallow past, and I was scared. I went to the emergency room 2 days later because it wasn't getting better. I should have realized a wake-up call when I saw it. What followed in quick succession were simply punctuation and underscores of the first wake-up call. I was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes, esophageal spasms and possibly sleep apnea. I needed to take care of myself PRONTO!<br /><br />I have spent the last two months paying attention to my body ( and doctor's) in ways I never have. I have always prided myself on how much pain I could endure and my high my tolerance for pain. I am now realizing how much of a gift pain is. It lets you know that something is wrong. And here's the thing: most pain can be relieved. Why would you choose to live with pain if you could eliminate it? Why did I take so much pride in being able to "tough it out?" I guess maintaining old habits is easier than forging new ones.<br /><br />Here's the kicker: The physical always mirrors the spiritual. I have been dealing with internal issues that I was "tough enough" to bear through...until I wasn't. I have been dealing with the fall out from my "Stuff", now I am dealing with the fall out from years of not taking care of my body. So yes, Diabetes is the best thing that happened to me.Mollyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14244508577354470358noreply@blogger.com1