Instead, I came home and called my own mother, and at the end of that conversation, I was still frustrated, seething and feeling more than a little hopeless about the situation, yet more …. thoughtful at least.  It occurred to me to think about all the little things these kids I work with face every day… the long linty of things “wrong” or “depressing” or “challenging” about the world they live in and the struggles we all seem to be facing these days – the understaffed, over-croweded classes, the lack of supportive services (ie: guidance / trauma counselors), school age bullies, burned-out, exhausted (and therefore cranky) teachers, no recess or PE or music or art… parents that can’t keep their bile and bitterness about their failed marriages out of their children’s hearts and heads, parents that are absent, or jobless, or homeless, or hungry… it’s almost enough to make one want to curl up and sob like one of my 10 year olds did the other day, from the demons in his head that just won’t leave him alone, despite the medications.  It’s enough to wonder, truly wonder, just what do I have left to give to these kids, that I don’t need for myself, just to get through the day?

And then I thought to myself, how easy it is for me to judge these parents.  How easy it is to see all that they are doing wrong.  But perhaps that’s all I want to see, to justify some kind of failing in myself and to gloss over whatever mistakes I’ve made in this particular case (and in others).  And while I can’t say I’m any less angry at them now, even with the hours in between, perhaps I should be asking myself, with honesty, who AM I to judge?  I was lucky.  More than lucky, to have the parents I did… to have the teachers and the friends and the support that I did.  To learn from an early age that passion and strength and love are all good.  And powerful.  And enough to sustain me through it all.

And perhaps I have no right to judge.  And perhaps I have no claim to make here, but looking back on the things that were done right for me, I seem to remember those words and actions that had the biggest impact were often simple, often repeated, and often said or done with a great deal of sincerity.  I don’t know yet, what it feels like to be a parent, but I’m hoping when I do, I won’t forget these thoughts…. and perhaps tonight, if given the chance, I’d look past my anger and frustration at today and all the little (or big) abuses I’ve witnessed recently… if only just to tell someone of the things that mattered most to me…

A note to my future self -

Tell your child you love them, every day, even when you’re so frustrated with them that you close your door at night and ball your eyes out.  (They’re just as frustrated, and just as sorry as you are.)

Tell them they are beautiful, handsome, intelligent and kind.  Tell them often enough, and they might just believe you… and it’s amazing what beautiful, handsome, intelligent and kind people can accomplish in this world.

Tell your child that yes, they DO have to eat breakfast in the morning, and do homework after dinner…  That learning algebra and grammar WILL likely come in handy, someday, but watching that extra hour of television, most likely won’t.

Show them that believing in something worthwhile is sometimes more important than landing the best paying job, receiving the biggest prize or beating out the competitors.  Sometimes the greatest accomplishment can be found by doing something just right, even if you’re the only one who’ll ever see it.

Teach them to respect their friends, their teachers, and most especially, themselves.  The adults they’ll become will live fuller, richer lives knowing how to function in the various partnerships that will define them: lover, spouse, parent, sibling, friend, coworker…

Let them stand up for themselves.  Also, let them risk the fall – heck, let them occasionally get those bumps and bruises… you’ll always be close enough when it really matters (and hopefully just far enough away when you need to be too!).

Teach them to read.

Teach them to tie their shoes.

Teach them to draw, to sing, to play ball, fly a kite, cook a secret family recipe and do their laundry.

Show them that there’s nothing in the world they can do that will ever drive you away… and hopefully, they’ll give up trying once they realize that.

But most of all, be there.  Be there for the soccer games and piano recitals, the graduations and school dances…. but more importantly, be there for the evening bedtime story.  For the Sunday morning breakfasts, and that spontaneous hike in the park.   Be there waiting at the bus-stop after school, or in the window to wave goodbye.  Those memories are going to end up meaning more in the long run anyway… to both of you.

Remember that January evening where we discovered Pok Pok and ate till we were so blissfully filled with good food and smiles and comfort?  And on the walk back to your apartment you draped your arm around my shoulders and made me feel like things were alright…

And remember last Friday where we made dinner together, and giggled at the silliness of our banter?  We woke to coffee and sunshine and brunch and the weekend ahead.

I do.  Yet, between all of that, we’ve fallen into so many habits, gotten lost in so many missed opportunities, stumbled on a path I’m not so sure either one of us particularly enjoys or knows very well… it is not enough, you see, to settle for the reluctance in you.  It is not enough to wait any longer, hoping that you’ll realize what I am, who I am, to see what all it is I am capable of showing you.  I feel too much inside to always be so cautious.  I am bright and loud and full of a great amount of love, so so so much more than what you seem willing to catch hold of.  But sometimes when I’m with you, I seem to have forgotten these things about me which I love so well.

More specifically, it’s not enough, you see, to hem and haw about coming to my concert on Sunday, only to show up as it was ending… at least you showed up, right?  Well, ya, but sorry…. if this was a test, your presence for the last 2 min earns you a D, instead of an F…. it particularly sucked when you made me feel guilty for telling you “it would be nice if you could make it,” because yes, I know you had plans with your friends – I was just hoping you could fit in both.

It’s not enough, you see, to watch TV episodes and movies all the time, in lieu of real conversation.  It’s not enough to refuse to call me your girlfriend after 6 months of dating… and then only reluctantly after 7.  It’s not enough to cancel a dinner, an expected phone call, a weekend date, with the excuse “I’m just not feeling up to it.”  I want you to want to be with me.  I want to feel like you’re happy when you’re with me.  I want to hold your hand in public, I want to fall asleep in your arms, I want to know your favorite color, your favorite band (radiohead), your favorite sweater.  I want you to know my favorite necklace, my brother’s name (I think you do), and how to make me smile…. I want to know how to make you smile too.

More than that, I want to talk to you.  I want you to ask me stupid things, and not care if I ramble a minute too long, or five, or happen to talk about the kids at work because they drive me nuts.  I want to feel …. really feel … like when you call me on the phone, it’s because you miss my voice, not because you feel obligated to do so.

And yet… more and more these days, I don’t want this.  Any of it.  It feels like I’ve been wanting it so long that I’m now in the realm of expecting an actual change in you, instead of a change in timing.  I don’t want to change you.  I just want this to be.  I thought there was something, way back when… I thought too many things were in alignment to not pan out… but something got lost in translation I guess.  And I know I’m not perfect.  I expect too much.  I demand accommodation for my emotionality, which I have no doubt is frustrating and bewildering… but I’m tired of apologizing.  And I’m sick – quite literally sick – of hiding myself away and living at half speed and half brightness, scared of chasing you away.

I’ve known, for a good long while now, that I am generally a lot happier with someone by my side.  I hate being lonely and alone.  But recently, I’ve realized, it’s pretty damn lonely this way too.

And I’m not sure I know what I’m getting out of all this anymore.  You make little movements in the direction of my ‘want’ or ‘need,’ and so I stay a little longer.  But where before I thought that in time, the potential I saw in you – in “us” – would come to light, now it seems that this is as good, as deep, as connected as we are capable of.  And it saddens me.  I don’t feel like I’m growing or learning anymore… or if I am, it’s only backwards.  And that should be enough to realize…

I am not supposed to “fix” you.  You are not broken.  Perhaps you are not whole, and until you are, you won’t ever be happy…. but that is not, and has never been, my job.  I wonder if my subconscious is on the same page ….  I wonder what is so broken in me that I am able to tell myself for over half a year that “this is as good as you can get.”

It’s not.

new year, where did a decade go??

work expanding, up to 50 kids and 4 other staff in the afternoon.

going on 6 months with the boy… better now than ever before.  today i was especially thankful for his support.

my childhood pet, Shasta, died today, unexpectedly.  mom, dad and brother got to say goodbye at the vet’s… feeling lonely and guilty that i didn’t do much while there over christmas.  came home and hugged my kitty till he’d had enough.

more exhausted than i’ve been in a good long while.  feeling reflective and sad.  tomorrow’s a new day… going to focus on that for awhile.

xoxo

Alright now, Guide, what am I supposed to learn from THIS?

Am I supposed to learn patience, that if I bide my time and play my cards in the right way, things will work out favorably for me?

Am I supposed to learn strength? self-reliance?  That I truly, for once and all, don’t need any man to make my life a better one?

Or is it the opposite… should I strive to be more straightforward and honest with my emotions?  I fear, however, that their intensity remains unmatched.

How come every inch of my being tells me that he is capable of being a true partner in every way necessary… that above all the other factors, he has been the first in a long long while to *see* me.  Or at least, he has the ability, if only he would choose to invest in it.  Yet all the signals point towards either a fear or a reluctance… reticence… aloofness to commit.  And I find myself growing tired of waiting.  Tired of holding on.  Is it so much to ask for someone to want to know me as deeply and truly as I wish to know them?

I knew from early on that I was falling for this guy, and yet found myself incapable of true restraint.  How do I reconcile my heart and my gut with the reality that the strength of my conviction is unmatched and unmet.  He does not feel the same towards me, though I am not sure if it is yet a done deal, or more the matter of an unlocked possibility.

Sigh.

Friday AD and I went to a ceilidh in NE Portland… and despite my claims that I’m a terrible dancer (undisputed still), I had a total blast.  We arrived at 8:00 pm for the lesson, and stayed until the end of the dance at midnight.  I danced so hard I was red in the face and sore, and developing a headache, but figured all that would go away by morning.  The headache, however, did not.  I spent the day attempting to rid myself of that annoyance, eventually meeting with some success, enough to agree to an early pizza dinner with a hometown friend and first-year teacher.

As evening fell I pulled out some artwork I’ve been meaning to work on for some time, establishing a grid on the canvas and finally starting the preliminary sketch.  I dragged out bedtime past when perhaps I should have, but the late afternoon coffee was in me still and the odd weather wasn’t helping either.  In any case, I had a hard time finding sleep.

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As I lay there trying to calm myself enough to sleep, I found I was staring at the picture of a spirit-wolf I have hanging on the wall.  It’s by Brazilian-American artist, Susan Seddon-Boulet, and over the last few years, I’ve found I’ve grown quite attached to it.  When I was young, I used to imagine there were wolves under my bed.  Angry, vicious wolves… my youthful-mind’s version of “monsters” that would eat any limb or body part that I might carelessly dangle over the edge of the bed.  I used to wrap myself completely in blankets, leaving only the scarcest of breathing holes for my nose and mouth, tucking in every other edge of the cocoon.  And then there were the nightmares… many times the same one:

I was in a car with my grandparents – at least, I remember clearly my paternal grandmother, but I assume my grandfather was there as well.  We were driving down a road that I knew from my afternoon bus route, locally referred to as “Dead Man’s Curve.”  In reality, this tiny, winding country road was only a few hundred yards in length, though the bus was always forced to slow down to a mere crawl in order to negotiate the hairpin curves.  It helped fuel the already excitable imagination of the young that this particular section of the road went right by an old, pioneer-era graveyard, complete with tall, overhanging firs that shadowed the road and dripped long tendrils of moss across the grassy knolls and grave-sites.  In my dream, however, the few-hundred-yard stretch of road became miles.  And the wolves chased us as I cried fearfully in the backseat.

Perhaps the imagery arose from the movie, The Neverending Story, which I watched at a young age and was terrified by the scene where a giant black wolf – representing darkness and evil – lopes across the screen, devouring light and goodness as it goes, eventually overtaking the hero’s horse as it struggled for freedom from a pit of mud.  I know the images upset me, but I cannot remember if this might be the root of my long-time dream-connection to wolves, or not.  I know the dream of me in the car, and my grandmother driving, used to wake me sobbing and fearful, and I’d climb into the blankets at the foot of my parent’s bed for the comfort and protection their loving presence offered me.

Eventually, I stopped remembering my dreams.  At least with any great frequency.  Even now, it is rare that I remember my dreams unless some especial effort is made to do so.

And also, I’ve come to associate myself with the image I once feared.  The wolf on the wall and the wolves in my dreams, no longer do I find myself afraid, but rather, I’ve come to recognize a profound respect for these magnificent, intelligent, social creatures.  Indeed, the picture has afforded me great comfort, especially these last few years.  Many of my mother’s sisters would look deeper into this connection, and at times I do as well… looking for a guide or a totem or a spirit-mentor… I find comfort, and I give thanks, and the image watches me from it’s place on the wall… and I find myself thinking that there is more here to explore.

Night has always pushed up day
You must know life to see decay
But I won’t rot, I won’t rot
Not this mind and not this heart,
I won’t rot.

And there will come a time, you’ll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

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I cannot get these songs out of my head… nor the lyrics. So poignant and honest. Tragic and hopeful. Anyone that’s ever lived to love, and lost that which they once thought was certain must feel something akin to this… After the storm has subsided and the ravaged soul finds that rocky shore once more, and after the trials have been endured again and again, and the tears shed and cast aside, there simply must come a time where love will not betray, dismay or enslave you, nor break your heart and wrap you in grief. Rather, it will dismiss your fears and you’ll be happy and wholesome once again.

I must believe this, and I do. I must believe that our greatest power is in our ability to heal and forgive and, of course, love. And our greatest fear, in turn, be only our insecurities that maneuver to hold us back.

And then I wonder, where the hell did this version of me come from?  Whatever.  It’s antagonized by boredom and lack of alternative things to dwell on.  But today’s sorting and cleaning (and disposing of almost ALL of the boxes still lying around!!) was conduit for enough moodiness to last me a good long while.  Now, I await my beau’s arrival with sushi and look forward to a quiet movie night and the start of a very busy week (albeit only a 4-day one).

I need to remember that life is good.  That I am strong.  That the universe is beautiful and whole and true, despite the fears and insecurities that pass through me at times.  I am still blessed, come what may.

Serve God, love me and men
This is not the end
Lived unbruised we are friends
And I’m sorry
I’m sorry

Sigh no more, no more
One foot in sea, one on shore
My heart was never pure
And you know me
You know me

Love that will not betray you, dismay or enslave you,
It will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be.
There is a design,
An alignment to cry,
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love as it was made to be…

We tied, better than losing, but the refs called some stupid shit, and we *should* have won.  Still.  Very fun.

I’m so tired though… and tomorrow is the last day of camp for the kids.  Next week is training and the week after we start back at the schools.  Crazy.  Where the heck did summer go???

My cat got pissed at me (pun intended) and PISSED all over my bed the other night.  I was less than amused.

25 days and still lovin every second.  still not sure why i get to be the one, but not questioning it too closely either.

need sleep….. !!!

today.

i sit in a new apartment… content.  hardwood floors cool beneath my feet, sirens screech outside and the outlets are all 2-pronged, but it’s mine.  mine and the kitty’s, and we are happy here.  the moving was less-than fun, but i am so very thankful for the friends and family in my life that made it possible (if only just barely).  without them, i would have had an unimaginably difficult time.  still so much to do, but slowly it’s becoming home.

18 days and the dream continues… tomorrow i plan to join him in Lincoln City at a beach house with a bunch of his friends.  if only i wasn’t fighting an infection/fever.  i’ll see how i feel in the morning, but ya, angry and disappointed at the moment.  still, i should scarcely be surprised with as hard as i’ve been pushing myself: between this new thing, a 4 day family-reunion camping trip (where i busted my knee up pretty bad), an insanely hectic/stressful moving out and in process, another day-long family reunion and this last crazy week at camp (complete with sick kids and lice everywhere), i haven’t been sleeping well and spending an exorbitant amount of energy… no wonder i’m sick.

yet, i can’t quite bring myself to complain … not yet, not without knowing if i have to back out of tomorrow or not… life’s been too rewarding and exciting lately.  i keep thinking there’s got to be a catch somewhere… that one of these days he’ll realize i’m not actually his type, or something.  but i think i need to stop psyching myself out … i AM his type… or at least, he’s mine, and i’m just praying this whole insanity continues… i’m more than a little bit smitten, methinks. ;-p

and now, bed.  my whole lower back/gut is aching, but at least the fever’s gone.  here’s to hoping  for a better morning than today’s.

Samson went back to bed
Not much hair left on his head
He ate a slice of wonder bread and went right back to bed
And history books forgot about us and the bible didn’t mention us
And the bible didn’t mention us, not even once

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first, I loved you first
Beneath the stars came fallin’ on our heads
But they’re just old light, they’re just old light
Your hair was long when we first met

Samson came to my bed
Told me that my hair was red
Told me I was beautiful and came into my bed
Oh I cut his hair myself one night
A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light
And he told me that I’d done alright
And kissed me ’til the mornin’ light, the mornin’ light
And he kissed me ’til the mornin’ light

Samson went back to bed
Not much hair left on his head
Ate a slice of wonderbread and went right back to bed
Oh, we couldn’t bring the columns down
Yeah we couldn’t destroy a single one
And history books forgot about us
And the bible didn’t mention us, not even once

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first
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Still not sick of this song… still waitin for the other shoe to drop… still tryin to settle and hit a stride… still smilin.  Life is still pretty freakin awesome.