Apologies to Kierkegaard

Today I was in a somber mood. Its Monday, its snowy and its the last day I am only 40. Last night I went with the girls to see the movie, The Golden Compass. I hated the books. I was captivated by the movie. I loved the noble character of the liar girl, Lyra. Also, I loved that her name is appropriate.

This morning I woke up sad. I had dreamed about some of the people from my former life as a wife. I knew in the dream that they lacked souls. There was a death of another person in my dream that brought my sadness and their sadness together. I knew that I would one day grow past the sadness but it was all they could expect.

So, in a pensive mood, I listened to philosophy lectures while I worked. Today was a reading of Group Thinking by Kierkegaard. I've always thought him a writer of the obvious. He seemed to lack the original or extravegant thoughts that appealed to me as a younger person. Maybe he and I think alike so I was as unimpressed with his thoughts as I am with my own, at any rate, today I experienced him differently.

My first thought was that he was constructing the next advance from the teachings of Jesus. It was nothing revolutionary, but it carried on exactly from the point of loving others as yourself. It addressed truth as an individual manifestation and make a strong argument that it can be no other way. He wrote with such compassion and kindness, even when the statements were strongly worded that I could not help but respond to his tone.

I don't know much about Kierkegaard. I'm not sure that I will ever be impressed by his thought. It like watching a magician perform a slight of hand trick. If you know how it is done, your enjoyment comes from the beauty and technique, not the trick itself.

faith and belief

I am thinking about belief and faith these days. One amazing thing about working somewhere like the post office is the time available to think. True, it isn't actual thinking, its more a type of wandering softcore musing, but the quantity, if lack of intensity has its charms.
Anyway, I'm thinking of belief. I feel like I've been handed a really big win with numero uno supremo bf coming back into my life. So thats good. But lately I've felt deeply the actual real loss of the two big men of my high school days. Gregg and Paul.
It really took the door closing on a continuing friendship with Paul for me to understand that the same thing had occurred with Gregg. The horrible and extremely sad thing for me is that I totally get that it is nothing personal about me. At least nothing bad. It is just that as a woman, I am incompatible with their lives as married men. This realization hit me so hard I immediately did what I do best. I whined. Loudly and much to another mutual friend, that I almost never see. Surprisingly, it made me feel much better. So I did it again this time to my super special go to guy, Bob.
Bob was my first love interest after my marriage broke up. We had our fling and have remained friends. At first this was beneficial to me because Bob is a PhD Psychologist. I felt so crazy. It was good to have a recognized authority to lean on. Now I feel like I am just lucky to have a good friend who loves me and supports me. For now, anyway, until he remarries. Then I will likely lose him too.
Then to whom shall I whine? Anyway...

Asking for a bit of sympathy to work out my sense of profound loss from el bf magnifico, I set out to figure out why I felt like someone died. Of course any self examination of lose promotes an equal examination of belief. I am still super sad and confused as to why we women forbid our men to stay friends with girls after those men commit, but I did it too. Or tried to. Liam has way too much sense to let me dictate policy. I'm pleased to say that now, years later, I'm glad he has a friend in the girl that initially made me so insecure. But it took me a long time to get here.

So belief. I believe in god. Sort of. A god like something anyway. I'm not proud of the fact. I used to pray (to who?) that oblivion was what awaited good girls like me. So that sort of contradicts belief in god period, but as someone smarter than me said, "Its a fool that looks for logic in the chambers of the human heart." Or something better but similar.

I'm a lazy buddhist. I think those guys have it right. Sort of. Church of Jamie right. Which is to say that the way I think of buddhism and actual practice of buddhism are very different. Some of the teachings have really gone to my heart. As an example, the essential nature of a good death, free of suffering (as much as possible) and especially free of attachment. The fact that this has become an actual belief for me astounds me. I really think that it is essential. That is the part that freaks me out. When did this thought become true for me? How can it even be true? It fits my personal criteria as a belief. I have noticed that people don't bother to believe in mystical properties like gravity or time. Those things are now so obvious to so many that they are taken for granted and the very idea that someone could apply belief or faith to them is absurd.

But my concept of approaching death has taken on this mystical, "I'm right" absolutism. I am confident when I think of dying, maybe of change at all, that the right way to do it is calmly with those you love and yearn for far from your sight and hearing. I'm glad that I mentioned this to Liam (did you know that Liam is the sexy nom de plume of my super dooper bf? He selected it because it is preposterious and extravagent. Just one more reason I love him.) He said that if I died first, he'd talk me thru it. I know he meant it because we were on our way to a strip club, so why would he lie? Oh the adventures we have!

So the thing that really sticks to me right now as I type distracted by the child that sits next to me and wants my attention is that when it comes to belief, I tend to cling (buddhism alert) to things that help me approach and understand loss of control and loss period. Maybe its the ego death thing that the Zen folk are always going on about. I have much more to say about this, but I think I am good for now. I will get back to this later, for now I have other things to do.

Economics and society

First of all, I don't know much about economics. But I have observed a few things about society. One reason I think I don't line up with most people is that I am not a big time consumer.

I don't lay awake at nights dreaming about the perfect anything. If I were inclined to, it would assuredly not be a house, car or anything like that. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be something that could be purchased. When I play make believe about how I'd spend millions of dollars, it usually involves having enough money to not need to spend it. I'd buy initially so I'd have stuff to potter around with. I'd build myself a nice plain non tech greenhouse. I'd have a good woodshop. I'd get some composting stuff and equipment to make rock fences and walls.

Even today, with the little money I have all I want is to live simply. I don't dream about nice new cars or the latest silly handbag. I want to spend money learning good stuff, not collecting it.

Sure, in my wildest dreams, I spend all the money in the world. I travel. I get bodywork. I set up imaginary charities and spread the love.

I think the worst part about not wanting to keep up with the Joneses is that eventually all we have to talk about is tv. I guess that's not so bad. Thank goodness for the Simpsons.

Timpanogos

Today was Timp Caves. Of course it kicked my butt. I'm not much of an incline hiker. Which makes me not much of a hiker. I loved the hike, I loved the caves, but I did not love the loud yuppie types with whom we went on the tour.

I am so over being tolerant of other people's ill behaved children. I think I used to enjoy being around them out of the awkward guilt that my children were the same. They weren't. They might have been bad, but I never had the feeling of entitlement yuppie parents seem to have. I never expected other people to be happy that my kids were being loud or running all over. I never ignored my kids until they were annoying other people.

I think I may be evolving into some type of misanthrope. This makes me sad. I love people. I look forward to talking to them and hearing their stories. Or, rather, I used to. Now I just want to set them on fire or push them down and stomp on their vapid faces.

I think part of my venom comes from the fact that I used to like people. Like the child attacked by the family dog grown up, I'm wary and unhappy in most of my dealings with them.

So, that at least, was fun. Because it reminded me of why Ed Abbey went into the desert. He did it to get paid, but also because people where a poison. The are a growth upon the land, a cancer. He did some of his best writing because he knew this. I don't have the incentive to join up with the rangers, so eventually I'll just make myself happy out in the nowheres with Liam. After that, a monastic life beckons. I thought up until now, I'd live in community. Now I'm thinking retreat or hermit. As much as I can.

But the caves were beautiful. And I made it all the way. My legs are becoming so sexy. Next time, I'll ask people to please just be quiet. Then I won't feel so ripped off at seeing something so breathtaking ruined by loud american tourists.

The Republic

I've started listening to Plato's Republic. While I admire Socrates, the thing that astounds me most is that they didn't kill him sooner.

I have read a brief biography and studied his teachings via other authors. Mostly in my introductory and history of philosophy studies. While the man was no doubt brilliant, he strikes me as annoying as hell.

I can only imagine the charisma necessary to gain the goodwill of the Roman upper class. Those men that Plato writes about seem to really adore good Ol' Stinky. None of them seem to really want to bash his head in when he points out that what they think is true only if it is also untrue to someone else. The nice thing so far is that he foreshadows the teachings of Christ. I like that. Christ has always struck me as a smart man, not a divine one.

I'm sure I would have hated Mr. Smellypants. On the surface his musings and dialogs smack of zen koan nonsense. I would have been one of the working class folk without time for such ridiculousness. There would be work to be done and I would counter with, "Help me carry this you feckless windbag. Your arms aren't painted on, are they?" and "It won't heal if you pick it." No doubt these statements are the antidote to puzzling mystic teachings. Socrates would probably laugh at me and my elementary wisdom. That's just fine, as long as he's downwind.

Actually I've decided that to be a proper philosopher (even if you won't identify yourself as one,) you've got to be stinky. Just like composers have to have wild hair. Its a keeping up appearances thing. No hard feelings Socrates.

Lazy Sunday Afternoons

This is just about being generally happy.

I am and I like it. I have my man back by my side and a few bumps and misunderstandings, it feels like the good times are back.

This other girl thing is a little confusing. Liam wants to throw it in the dumpster. I don't know that I support that idea. I think I will just stand by my position until we are in synch about it again.

I adore the man. More than that, I believed him when he said he would hate to feel trapped in any relationship. I remember it vividly. Mostly because it hurt and scared me so much. It blew my mind. It made me really believe that as much as he loves and wants me, he wants to feel free and happy more. So I thought and thought and decided that my happiness was directly linked to his. It depended on his. I thought that being with other girls and my full knowledge of it would make it easy.

I was wrong. Nothing about this has been easy. We've had arguments most couples would never dream of.

Now as he is going mono on me, I want to remember it is a phase. I'm not afraid of the other women so much anymore, but I am afraid of how it changes us. I think sex will never be casual with Liam. He's not really the bonk them and leave them type. He's every inch (and there are a lot of them) the gentleman.

I can't help but think of the cliches from Stranger in a Strange Land. Waiting is. I get that. Sharing is growing closer, sex or otherwise. Groking is about knowing something so much that there is really no other way of being once you have that knowledge.

Maybe we are moving past other women as important. Maybe they don't provide freedom so much as limit the expression of it. Of course it all could be that I'm just a crazy doofus and never should have suggested it.

But I still think it was the right thing to do. I want to be free too. I want to know people as they are. If Liam decides he needs more freedom after the waiting, then I hope I will be wise enough to give it. So far its been an adventure and even though we haven't always handled it very well, I've learned much about myself and my heart because of it.

Muggle, please

So I want to join the rest of the world in talking about Harry Potter.

First, I never loved Harry. Sure, he was interesting. He had drama and crisis. He had the sexy power vibe going-well in potentia. He is a super young boy and not really sexy. He is a rich orphan boy reaching out for a family. Its pretty close to the Escape from Witch Mountain fantasy I had when I was a young girl. So there was nothing very new or interesting in Harry's psyche. I loved the creative arc of the stories and admire most of the ways the stories fit together. But we've all imagined ourselves as Harry. He's angsty glamour.

No, the character I really love in the Harry Potter books is the sidekick, Ron Weasley.

Ron is the friend I wish I was. Hell, he's the person I wish I was. He sticks with stuff that doesn't come easily. He sticks with his butthead friend even as he is overlooked and feels impoverished compared to Harry. Its only fair that he ends up with the love of Hermione. Not that she's a super dooper catch. There is nothing wrong with her, I actually wonder if she isn't really there to reward Ron for hanging in there. Especially in book 7 when we find out her big role is to slow Harry up so he has time to get into the right frame of mind to accept circumstances.

I think Hermione lost her flavor as a individual in the last book. Just as Ron really hit his stride. He's pretty much the best sidekick ever. He accomplished much on his own terms even though he didn't have any advantages. This rambles way too much. I am distracted by some of the Ron Burgandy stuff Mike wants me to enjoy. This is really weird.

Dog days of summer

So, its happened. I knew it for sure when I heard myself singing Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood in Nina Simone's register.

I'm bored. All my friends have real jobs now. Bob got his doctorate and has to have regular business hours. Liam isn't home. Lisa lives 2 hours away. I haven't seen Paul often enough to make demands on his time. Rich seems to be some kind of flake. Or, maybe he doesn't like me anymore. Gregg is globetrotting with his hot shot wife. Its just me. Alone. So I thought I'd keep a list of the riduculous things I do to pass the time.

First of these things is thinking. Some of the things I think about are:
Writing a letter to my grandmother
Sending my dad a card wishing him speedy recovery from his latest operation
Redoing my bedroom
Dying my hair blonde
Putting up a personals ad seeking friends who can commit to getting together once a month to talk about crap, and maybe eat barbeque

Other things I do:
Sing songs in the styles of artists I think are silly
Dance
Fantasize about skydiving from a hot air balloon
List things that annoy me. I think I'll compile them and post later
Wonder what his/her problem is
Wonder what the most regretted thing Charles Dickens (or others) ever did
Plan parties I'll never have-That's a good one. I will definately post that
Menu and shopping list planning
Find goofball songs and bands to listen to
Wonder what exactly a girl has to do to be a SuperFreak
Wonder, am I willing to do that? And, if so, under what circumstances?
What if boobs went up instead of down as we age?
Am I reading enough?
Do I have a backstory for my WOW alliance toon? I really hate my guild again.
Why, with all this time, do I still not have any friends?

Pennymaker Uncle Sometimes Me Mike Walter The Waitress The airport the swing fight
friends who mean well but are weak, friends who don't mean well at all
adoption by diplomats climate changes magic growing up formulas hidden in the snow
torture by the memory of water the red the blue the yellow
children drowning their parents as the parents push them forward but hinder them with tradition
the glorification of the past

Beggars

Today I did something I never do. Actually, I've been doing a lot of things I never do. Namely, I gave cash to a beggar.

He wasn't a fashionable washed beggar like the kinds that make nuisances of themselves at the off ramp from the highway. He was an unshaven, unkempt bike riding panhandler. I gave him the money because just the moment before I thought to myself that I was very blessed to have enough. I even had a little bit I could give away if asked. This was remarkable for me. I'm stingy. Or, if not stingy, I value money. I hoard it whenever possible. I give money to the homeless shelter and the food kitchen. I never give directly to panhandlers. There was something different about it today. Maybe it is that the weather is changing. Maybe its that I'm changing.

Right after I handed that smelly dude the money, I immediately questioned myself on my behavior. The local neighborhood has an anti panhandling campaign. I know giving encourages the down and out to show up and ask more often. Then theres the old question: will he use this money well or will he drink it away? Have I hastened his death or unhappiness? What if he od's with the money I gave him? I didn't ask how he would spend the money, I just wanted him to have a little peace, maybe some rest from the anxiety of not having enough.

I gave him a twenty. I knew exactly where in my wallet it was. Maybe I telepathically transmitted to that man he should ask me for money. I'm glad now that I did. I think its likely that a portion (maybe 100%) of the $20 I gave him ended up in alcohol or a drug of some type. $20 is enough for a meal from the store or a fast food establishment and a little bottle of something from the liquor store or a hit of something else from the kids at the skate park. At least I hope it is.

Dear Mr. Beggar,
I hope that the money I gave you today helped. I hope it reminded you that materialistic people like me can be okay. We aren't always selfish bastards. I hope it filled your belly and that gave you some comfort. I hope that if you did use some of it for drugs or alcohol, you found some peace. I hope that you won't always have to beg. I hope that you enjoy the sunshine and dry cool breezes. I hope that you won't often be hungry or for very long. I hope that freedom finds you and you are able to recognize and savor it. Thank you for being in my neighborhood today. Thanks for letting me challenge my stinginess. Thanks for reminding me that the sun shines on everyone, rich and poor and that sometimes everyone, rich or poor just likes to take a walk and nap in the sun. Good luck.

Boobs

I'm forty. I like it I guess. My body isn't the hard body of a television swimsuit model. Nor is it the athletic body of the girl skateboarders I see zoom by my house. Its a comfortably overweight for years kind of body. Its becoming less so since I've been doing more running and hiking. I'm solid muscle under a soft layer of "fluff' and skin. I'm pretty ok about my body. I recognize losses due to age. I've got the cellutlitey thighs. These are both sources of pride and "Oh my god!" freakout. The fitter I get, the bumpier they get. More muscle definition means more cottage cheese from knees to hips. I don't believe the ads in women's magazines, so I know that cellutlite is my destiny. Ditto for the grey hairs marbling my temples and the wrinkles/age spots on my forehead. The one thing I haven't been ready for is my boobs.

I thought as I lose weight my boobs would shrink. They always have before. They turn into tiny little bumps. What the hell happened? They just sit there. I look more like Eleanor Roosevelt than Gabriella Reese. I never expected this. I figured Victoria's Secret would keep my lovelies high and mighty well into my late 50s. I assumed Mrs. Teesdale from the Marx Brothers movies looked like her boobs hung out on her belly button because back then women wore chemises, not brassiers. How is this possible? My boobs love being level with my elbows. I wore Playtex living bras. I provided them support. I held them up when I ran and lifted them when I bounced. How can gravity do this to me? I feel gypped.

I've started noticing other women with this problem. Angelina Jolie for example. I predict it will happen for Salma Hayak. Actually the only women in media spotlight I don't notice this problem with are the ones who have had boob jobs. How does Pam Anderson keep her tits up so high? They are so damn big, they should be level with her belly button, not her armpit. Is it a surgical thing? Can doctors fix droopy boobs by replacing them with the inflatable models?

Heres the thing that is most unfair of all-Playtex bras are uncomfortable and itchy. Victoria's Secret bras are uncomfortable and binding. Sports bras dig into the shoulders and torso. Especially if they keep the girls from getting a work out too. So what good did any of those miracle garments do? My boobs still slide southward. Could I have been comfortable all these years in a tight ribbed knit tank to the same eventual outcome? What about lovely lacey cotton chemises instead of sweaty molded cups?

I don't want the boobs of a 20 year old. But I'd love to have the boobs of a 30 year old forever.

Being left for a lesbian

I can tell its allergy season. The outright weirdness of my dreams has increased.

Last night I dreamt that I was living in what amounted to a mansion or a castle. I lived in the pavillion in the center of the estates. It had a garden and a moat. It was filled with light and breezes and exotic fabric billowing curtains.
I lived there with my boyfriend and my youngest daughter. Liam headed out with Dave to do something and phoned in much of his role in the dream. K decided she really wanted a cat. There was a nice old lady who took in rescue animals across the valley. She had the perfect kitten, except it was ugly. I gave permission to K. We brought the animal home. Perfect kitten was awesome. We put her in the basement until we had safety proofed the home and estates.
I got busy with my gardening. Because we lived in an estate/castle there were other people in our close community. I seemed to be the overseer or at least a central point of connection between them. I was very busy but not seeming to do very much. Liam phoned home. I told him about the cat. He told me fine, and since he had been out and talking with Dave he had become dissatisfied. Because of my thoughtlessness he now needed something technical called a "tacky." I was stunned. He was breaking up with me. He immediately appeared before my eyes. Yes, he was breaking up with me. The not so hot lesbian living with her partner to the North wanted him. She was very tall and blonde and not attractive at all. She looked like a drugged out version of Diane with a short shag and no boobs. He walked out on me with her. I stood there amazed at how even in my life I play a supporting role.
But then I got on with the business of day to day life. Just to try me, I suppose, he started calling me all the time. We talked as friends will. I was mad and not just a little hurt, but I was determined to give myself time to adjust to the curves life was throwing me. I loved him very much so I tried to be there for him even though I recognized that he didn't want me as a partner. What? I was wrong? He did? He left hastily and hadn't thought out how much he'd miss me? Well lets give it another try then. Move back. There's plenty of room, we can see a much or as little of each other as we like. I'm sorry about having to get the "tacky." It was not really a big deal? He needed one anyway? It was just an excuse? Ok then. Another woman you say? (Sigh.) I guess you'll have to bring her. Lots of room and all. It was settled.
Imagine my suprise when this woman was Angelina Jolie.
They seemed happy together. I kept busy to the point of exhaustion. I baked and ran and played on the beach. I hung out with my kid and played video games. Ang liked ordering me about and acting very cold and accusing. It was as if she expected me to jump into some type of backstabbing competition. Had the circumstances been different, I might of, but come on, Angelina Jolie? My man gets the best part of Brangelina and I try to ruin it for him? No way. Liam and I weren't together at all. I kept to my space only intruding on them as duty and Angelina's requests dictated. I felt that she was setting up situations that would make me fail, feel small, blow my top and lash out. I don't know how she did it, but she ruined an entire batch of pies I baked. She never called me out or gloated over my failures, but she remained steadfast in watching me and making Liam aware of my faults.
For some reason the pies were different. I think I handled the smoking oven and baked on cherry goo well. She said something to me in passing, something demeaning and classist. We got into an argument. She accused me of having an affair or something with Liam. He just wasn't truly connecting with her. I told her she was crazy. She was/is Angelina Jolie or crying out loud. I'm just a round bodied nobody. I'm good but I'm not lusted after by most of the country. I'm not rich, I'm not thin, I'm not the kind of girl who does big and important things. I clean house and bake pies. Furthermore, I do not wreck other people's relationships. I try real hard not to wreck my own. I want Liam to be happy. I don't dislike her, but I've tried and I don't know her.
Liam walked in and the two of them left. She directed him out.
I stood there in a smoking kitchen and cried. Not hard and not a lot, but enough to mark the time and the irony of Ang humiliating me.
Later that night I was doing laundry. I was feeling very alone and looked for the kitten. I found her. The phone rang as we were crawling into bed. It was Liam. He apologized for the fuss. He told me that he really saw the way things were. I thanked him and turned out the light. I changed my mind and called him right back. I got his machine at the hotel for some reason. I told him I think I understood but that he really should probably give up being friends with me. It made his new woman feel threatened.
It was weird to leave that message.

Mourning again

May 15, 2007

I've had my share of downs over the last year.

Something pretty terrific happened to me the other day. I reunited with the boy I wanted in High School. We had lunch. We talked about his hopes, his kids, my kids, our individual histories. It was amazing. If felt so good to be with someone I had known for years. I felt so completely safe and seen.


We had several moments of quiet throughout our lunch. He was the first person I learned to be quiet with. I felt nostalgia and peace.

When I went thru my divorce I vowed that he would be the next man I married. I knew that I loved him in a way that went beyond possession but was made up of passion. I was young. I got back together with my baby's daddy. (I've always wanted to say that.) Then I saw him, Mr. Dream Guy again for the last time. I'd committed to the man that would cost me so much. So I let go of the fantasy of marrying the first and until recently, the best man I had met.

I had a baby. I heard through the grapevine that he had gotten a girl pregnant and they had married. He didn't talk much about her during our lunch. I imagine her to be beautiful and kind and harrassed and tired. I realized I imagine her to be like I think I would be, if I had married him.

They've been married 12 years now. I project so much still. I imagine him loving her, even if he doesn't talk about it. I imagine the building of a life together and raising 4 kids in difficult circumstances. I imagine her frustration at his inability or desire to communicate. I think she must have had some extremely lonely years. I think of how much they have to be proud of, how they've held together. I wish I had been her. Not really of course, but in a deep and private way I wish he had chosen me. I am also really glad he didn't.

I think its a very momentous thing to grow up, even just a little and just for a moment. I knew when I was having lunch with him that he was still the man that would kill anyone who hurt me. At least in his heart, if it wasn't practical in real life. I could see how time had made him into a better man than he was boy. I saw the sadness that said he lived an honest life. I saw the love for his children and the pride in his work, his hope for the future.

I liked that he is almost certainly the boy he was when we were 15 together. He still thinks for himself, he compromises when necessary. He has grown wiser and maybe more optimistic. He has an idea of what is important. I love that it mirrors mine. I love that after 15 years of not seeing each other, we still think along similar paths. They aren't the same paths that they were 15 years ago, but they have changed and grown as if we had stayed in touch and influenced each other. It seems like a miracle to find someone like that. Someone I understand that understands me without explanation.

I am convinced that it is useless to mourn what you can't have. I haven't been successful at suppressing it however. Finding an old friend, and I guess that is what we really are and always have been, has been a better experience than I thought possible. Its taught me that time and distance don't change the way you feel about people. It taught me that patience and a willingness to live an authentic life is more important than money in the bank. But I knew all that stuff already.