Archive for the ‘things for comfort’ Category

So forever ago I bought a book that I tried to read. I could not seem to get into it until recently and then I could not put it down. This is a passage, this was my journey through this book, and this has brought me to a place where I can accept and find always within never.

“What about me? What do I feel? I may be chattering away about the events at———, but I’m not very brave. I’m afraid to go into myself and see what’s going on in there. And I’m ashamed….I was suffering but it didn’t hurt and, as a result, all my little plans were just the luxury of some problem-free teenager. Poor little rich girl rationalizing things, wanting to draw attention to herself.

But this time, for the very first time, it hurt, it really hurt. Like a fist in my stomach: I couldn’t breathe, my heart aching fit to burst, my tummy crushed. An unbearable physical pain. I wondered if I’d ever get over the pain of it. It hurt so  much I wanted to scream. But I didn’t scream. What I feel now is that the pain is still there but it isn’t keeping me from walking or talking, it’s a feeling of complete helpless absurdity. So that’s what it’s like?All of the sudden all possibilities just vanish? A life full of projects, discussions just started, desires not even fulfilled – it all vanishes in a second and there is nothing let, nothing left to do, and there’s no going back?

For the first time in my life I understood the meaning of the word never . And it’s really awful. You say the word a hundred times a day but you don’t really know what your saying until you’re faced with a real “never again”. Ultimately you always have the illusion that you’re in control of what’s happening; nothing seems definitive…But when someone that you love dies [and there are many forms of death]. . .well, I can tell you that you really feel what it means and it really hurts. It’s like fireworks suddenly burning out in the sky and everything going black. I feel alone, and sick, my heart aches and every moment seems to require a colossal effort. . . someone had begun to play the piano…we stopped short and took a deep breath and let the sun warm our faces while we listened to the music drifting down from above. “I think —- would have liked this moment”. . . I have finally concluded, maybe that’s what life is about: there’s a lot of despair, but also the odd moment of beauty, where time is no longer the same. It’s as if those strains of music created a sort of interlude in time, something suspended, and elsewhere that had come to us, an always within never. Yes, that’s it, an always within never“.

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,

That saved a wretch like me, I once was lost but now am found.

Was blind, but now, I see.

T’was Grace that taught, my heart to fear.

And Grace, my fears relieved.

How precious did that Grace appear,the hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares, we have already come.

T’was Grace that brought us safe thus far, and Grace will lead us home”

I did not grow up in a bad home. My parents loved and cared for us. They made sure that we had everything  we needed, and honestly more than that. But, they both worked, a lot. And they were young. They had a lot of fun; and I grew up smack in the middle of it all. Now, don’t get me wrong I had some amazing times; and how many children can say they have experienced a Poker Fairy?!  We went all over, we heard loads of music, met tons of people and had an enormous extended family.

And while this was all great, as I have gotten older, I realize that my family perhaps suffered in the area of communication. I do not think that I learned the skills to adequately convey what I needed, how I felt, and what I thought. We were not supposed to cry, and feelings, though not shunned, were personal. We had to deal with things and move on. As a result of this I am tough. I am tenacious and afraid of very little. I know that I can and that I will survive. However, as a result of this, I have only just now realized that I lack, or have lacked, in the area of communicating love.

Sure, I can buy or make a thoughtful, creative, and often aesthetic or tasty gift – and for those of you who have received them I am not denouncing what meaning they conveyed, they were created out of love, out of thought, and out of care. However, there is more to expressing love to someone than gifts.

I could never accept the words “your beautiful” or “I just like looking at you”, or ” I really enjoy talking to you”  - how do you respond to such things. Why would someone say that, isn’t it embarrassing?

Well, I know now, you say thank you, and you tell the other person moments, places, things about them, with them and of them that you enjoy. And you don’t just say it, you think about it, feel it and mean it. And you say it whenever you think about it, not just because someone else said it first.

You honor and respect personal space, time to be alone, time to be with your child, time to be without your child. This time that is devoted to the above, is time that is representative of love. And yes, a love of self is important. Without a love of self communicating how you feel about someone in an open and honest way, and through pure actions, is difficult. That communication becomes shrouded in self doubt and insecurity because you don’t know if it is what you are supposed to say or do, or if it is how you are supposed to. Well, if its honest, and its true, then it will be okay, because if the person in turn loves you than it wont matter how you fumble your words, or if you love their large ears or small eyes. Those are no longer imperfections, rather they are trademarks, tell tale feature that you cherish like a teddy bear.

I have had a hard time communicating how I feel, how I think, what I am sure of, afraid of and what I love about those around me. I think that it is a combination of not developing skills earlier on, and of lacking – time, desire and ability – to self analyze. To actually sit back, look at who I am, how I got here, where I want to be, who I want to be with, why and how I know I want to be with them, what is it about everyday that I love? What is it about myself that I love? others?

Now that my world is relatively quite, I have redirected all of that talk of myself into myself.

A lot has changed already. Im sure there is more to come, and here, in my most vulnerable, I have found strength in me .

There are small joys in childhood that you carry, you bring them for the remainder of your journey, you revel in them when the chance presents itself, in fact, some may have children just to re-live these tremendously fulfilling, itsy-bitsy, and  inexpensive joys.

Tonight it was the banana split. Now, personally, I am not a fan of bananas mixed into anything, but at a loss for what to have for dinner tonight, I opted for the banana split. Because lets face it, sometimes you need to have dessert first, or just dessert, and tonight was one of those nights.

When I was a younger girl, my eldest cousin and myself would typically stay a weekend with my grandfather, and I remember eating more Dairy Queen banana splits and sundaes than at any other time in my life. Thanks Grandfather George. And to my Grandma Mary, and those FANTASTIC – still my favorite, no bake chocolate drop cookies that she freely let us eat for breakfast. And to my mother who reassured me, while I was briefly home for a holiday, that on occasion, it is okay to eat pumpkin pie for breakfast lunch and dinner.

So this one my love, dear Edan, is for you. My son and I enjoyed the Banana split tonight for dinner. As he can be picky I did not push many toppings, we went with bananas, Neapolitan ice cream, peanut butter and sprinkles. Simple by banana split standards, but thats part of the beauty of the split, it grows and changes with you, much like family.

If your not willing to pillow fight, pick up bugs, race to see who can drink an icee drink faster, eat dessert for dinner, play in a mud puddle in your clothes, run in the snow barefoot, and occasionally shoot a water gun in the house, then well, I am sorry for you. I was to a certain degree a bit like that, a bit to rigid about the maintenance of order and the systems of how things work. Having so much time with my son, and developing an increased interest in how children see and process the world, I have learned a great deal about what it means to be a mother, a friend, a spouse, and an individual.

You love your children all the more for being the key to ice cream floats and bubbles, and mud. No one needs an excuse, sometimes we just need to be reminded. And so, if you are still unwilling, still afraid something may get broken, or take time to clean up well, the time it takes to clean up is miniscule compared to the time you will have to cherish that memory – the smile, the giggle, the hug, the moments.

Memories are made when you have banana splits for dinner.

There are moments when less is more. Sometimes it’s not about what you are saying to someone, but how. This can be hard though. If you are not paying attention in a conversation you may miss something. You may miss body language. You may miss the direct looks at you the head angles, the smirks. But still yet, there is sometimes, something even more.

Eyes can read into you, can speak to you. They can comfort and harm you in an instant. Many people will not make direct eye contact. And often, those that do will break away, or blink steadily. Then there are conversations where things are being said without any words, the words are there, but so much more is as well. The silence of eyes is earth shattering. Often the determination of whether or not those eyes are comforting or painful will reside in the tone of the situation.

But to look, to really look into some one and give them something, or to try and take something away is intense. It makes the words said, no matter how few or how many, almost unimportant. You feel that the world could go silent and the two of you would be sharing that moment still, just as significantly, perhaps even more so.

The ability to translate that moment can escapes us. Both parties may be well aware of this ballet, and be so in tuned that the melody radiates from their eyes. The symphony though is heard as a jumble. The eyes may be looking past you for something more. And if it is there they will find it.

How after all do we make eyes lie? Can we, can we mask our true feelings in them? If we stop to look, can we not see so much more in someone by locking pupils, not just hands.

Through this invisible life line we speak, like through cans, hoping that the message will come clear. However, when it does not, we seem afraid to ask, to wonder “what exactly are you trying to find out, to convey, to have me know, to have for yourself”.

Eyes are the windows to the soul they say. If this is true, then you can easily read my soul. Eyes don’t lie.

The photography of one’s self, done by one’s self is, well not so easy. Actually, let me rephrase, for those that are capable and confident with their camera’s this task can be done quite successfully. My photos thus far are demonstration of the fact that I have little working knowledge of the technical aspects of photography. None the less the desire to confront my physical self will not be over come by the technology. Therefore, as we proceed I am getting moderate instruction in the use of my camera. It is important to note though that all the pictures are mine, taken by me, alone. And the demonstrate the first technical and informed usage of my camera as well as the addition of finding how to set the timer on my camera, so let the discovery continue.

life seems to be full of hard lessons, im slowly becoming certain that the only real lessons in life are the hard ones. By no means is this the first hard lesson i have had, but a friend said the following to me tonight, and as usual, it is one of those things that you already know, but you get blindsided, you turn so far in, that you forget to look out to see if what you are finding inside even makes sense.

“YOUR NOT GOING TO BE HAPPY IF YOU FOCUS ON WHAT YOU WANT AND NOT WHAT YOU HAVE IN FRONT OF YOU”

thanks JM I needed that one, I do have a fantastic son, and friends and others around me,and I never want to forget that again because it has done me in once already.

“…in front of me…” right now other than lyrics:

at my computer table littered with art and notes and books and cords there is the mound of silly bands my son has collected, and they sit nestled up to my glass of chinese fortunes (believe me you never know when you may need one), i tunes, via my headphones, currently playing damien rice and the piece of watermelon i decided to eat, on one of my favorite plates that i happened to just now drop on the floor and split in two (for those of you that know me, this seems rather symbolic of life right now, but im not going to read to much into the state of a broken plate that i tried to cut watermelon on while it rested on the edge of a table, it was my fault, of course that is another problematic statement, thus the dialogue on watermelon will end) and finally a section from the last page of the book I am presently reading.

"It would never have crossed her mind spontaneously that somebody might actually need silence. That silence helps you to go 'inward', that anyone who is interested in something more than just life outside actually needs silence..."

and thus i sit amongst these things that remind me both of what i want and what i have, they are equally inspiring and depressing. and thus here i sit. . .