So, Um…I’ve Had Some Major Life Changes Occur…

It’s been nearly a year since I’ve had the deep seated desire to write.  Not saying I haven’t written anything — far from it, but just nothing I felt inspired to share with anyone.  I’m not particularly inclined to do so even now, but I am forcing this because I know it will lead to good things eventually (very vague — bear with me. I’m beyond rusty.)  Even just having a couple people read what I write and empathize with me in spirit can’t do anything but improve my lot in life.  Not that things are bad.  In some ways, life hasn’t ever been better. In other ways, I feel more trapped and impotent than ever.  If you are so inclined, read on…

Brief overview of the past year or so:

September 2012:

• While living in a small, funky in-law apartment in Daly City, CA (literally a few blocks from our hometown — San Francisco) with my hubby, almost-2-year-old son, and energetic, spastic dog, I am in the process of attempting to add to my brood.  Meaning, I am trying to get pregnant again in earnest. (This is VERY hard for me to write/admit to.  I absolutely detest the phrase “we’re trying” and the accompanying split-second image of whoever has spoken those words doin’ the deed. SHUDDER!)
• Armando (hubby) and I bought tickets to Maui for the end of November and proceed to get the little monkey boy very excited about our upcoming trip.

October 2012:

• Jackpot! I’m pregnant! Uh oh… Reality sets in. Our place will be too small for four…
• Overwhelming fatigue hits. Not as easy to weather with a toddler who doesn’t watch television or DVDs yet. I decide it might be time to bend that rule a bit.  Besides, he’s considerably smarter than most midgets his age, so that should mean he can handle it, right????

November 2012:

• Nausea and vomiting enter my life (again). I begin to worry about what the treacherous, endless, curvy road to Hana (in Maui) will be like — the image of me barfing out of the passenger-side window every ten minutes, even while passing myriads of waterfalls, doesn’t seem very idyllic.
• Solution! Our Maui trip is cancelled (aunt’s husband is hospitalized and for some reason — call me callous — that means we can’t stay in their beachside guest cottage anymore… for now.)
• Heavy, intense rainstorms cause flooding in our apartment.  Our bedroom carpet is completely soaked, and our son’s bedroom begins to smell very…wet.  His accompanying persistent cough and a phone conversation with my general contractor father leads to us checking out of our apartment, and into a hotel.  (“That’s Hawaii!” our son joyfully shouts as we near it.  We have to explain the reality while he looks slightly bummed.)

December 2012:

• Still living in a hotel (in Burlingame, no less), eating all our meals out and spending way more money than we have.
• Nausea is still being a real bummer for me (and everyone around me, no doubt.)
• Leo turns 2
• We begin looking for a new place, since mold isn’t something I’m willing to overlook while pregnant and raising my kid (whose cough has mysteriously stopped.)
• After being invited to do so, we move into my mom’s cousin’s home In Brisbane while we figure out what to do.
• It’s determined that since there is no available place we can afford in the Bay Area, Leo and I are moving in with my folks in LAS VEGAS (!!!) while Armando stays put, moves in with his family and looks for work out there.  We give ourselves three months maximum of being apart.
• With the help of my mom and her cousin, Mague, we pack up our apartment as quickly as possible, hire some random movers on craigslist to move our stuff into a rental truck.  My mom and Mague drive the truck (along with the dog) down to Vegas.
• Leo and I say a horrible, tearful goodbye to “Dada” and take a plane down to Vegas.
• The rest of the month I spend crying, vomiting, and missing my husband and city.

Bye bye, beautiful city that I love… (WAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!)

January 2013:

• We have a couple visits from Armando, which go by far too quickly, and end in tears at the airport.
• Nausea begins to have mercy on me and subsides toward the end of the month. I no longer feel as if I have an endless bout of the flu and life improves somehow.
• Leo has a blast with my mom and enjoys their incredible yard.  But once or twice he pines for home.

February 2013:

• I continue being pregnant, missing Armando and wishing there was some other solution. (Can you see why I wasn’t writing much at this point? Geez!)
• My dog gets attacked by my parents’ strange, Dr. Jekyl/Mr. Hyde dog.  He gets some serious ear injuries which require stitches and end up more or less healing in a couple weeks.
• Leo and I go to San Francisco to see the dentist and the chiropractor, respectively (our dental/chiro benefits do not extend to Las Vegas). We spend time with friends and enjoy the gorgeous city we left behind.
• I decide to stop seeing my OB-GYN and switch to a midwife.  A homebirth is a possibility I am leaning toward more and more, due in part to the astronomical C-section rate in Las Vegas.

March 2013:

• We had determined that this was the month that Armando would move to Las Vegas, but with no prospect of a job yet, it seems smarter to keep things the way they are for a bit longer and thereby continue having an income and benefits.
• Our Las Vegas house, which we bought a year and half prior and which we had been renting out for a year, is vacant, and we begin talk of improvements/repairs to make before we move in.
• Another trip to San Francisco, to attend a wedding. The trip was very enjoyable, until Leo catches croup and is in terrible shape, leading to an emergency room visit (as he burned of fever in my arms, lethargic and nearly unresponsive.) It is determined that due to the ear infection that is discovered, he is in no shape to fly home to Las Vegas.
• Our tickets have to be cancelled and we extend our stay in SF by another week, as I use herbs to try to cure my baby.
• Leo and I take the Amtrak train to Los Angeles, where we are met by my mom, brother and brother’s fiance, and are driven back to Las Vegas.

April 2013:

• I catch Leo’s croup and it lasts nearly three weeks, thanks to my “condition.”
• Another trip from Armando. Another horrible goodbye.
• Still no job for him in Las Vegas.
• Boogie is again attacked by my parents’ dog. This ear injury is serious enough for another trip to the vet. He gets stitched up and put on antibiotics and pain meds.

May 2013:

• Work on our house begins in earnest, thanks to my family.
• FINALLY, Armando moves to Las Vegas, sans job.  We just care that we are together again!
• Dog is attacked AGAIN, and his injuries are so bad the vet has to see him multiple times and even put him under to stitch him up properly. We are feeling pretty stupid at this point and the vet makes it clear we are not to ever put the two dogs together again.
• It begins to get hot…………….

June 2013:

• We move into our new house, with its fresh paint and new floors.
• Leo begins sleeping in his own room and bed. Hallelujah!
• On Friday, June 28, at 6:19am, Lucas is born at home (as planned) in a birth tub. He is 6 lbs. 4 oz., 20 inches long. (Post about my home birth experience to come…)

July 2013:

Now we are up to speed. I don’t know if anyone is still reading after that not-quite-riveting blow-by-blow account, but I will pretend that someone is, in fact, still out there reading.

Yesterday, Armando was offered a job.  It’s a part time job with no benefits BUT it has major potential for growth and that is what we are betting on.

Our boys are healthy and happy and are getting along fine (one of them is a newborn, so getting along well isn’t much of a shocker at this point.)

So… we are now residents of Las Vegas. Yay.

(Sigh…)

Music To My Eyes — In Praise of Mary Cholmondeley

I was one of those people who was completely dead-set against Kindles and all digital readers.  I love BOOKS.  Their smell — whether crisp and fresh, or old and moist — gives me a cozy, comforting feeling inside.  The fact that e-readers were directly leading to bookstores shutting down one after another made me especially hostile toward them.  Then my mom bought me a Kindle. And I get it now. I’m a traitor. I LOVE my Kindle.

One reason why I love my Kindle is the free books one can download from Amazon. This includes many books which may now be out of print and difficult, if not impossible, to find in actual, physical written word.   Tons of books have moved into the public domain and are up for grabs as digital publications, including many of the classics — such as Jane Eyre, one of my personal favorites and one e-book I downloaded immediately.

Not surprisingly, some of these now-free digital books written by authors now long-dead are virtually unknown nowadays by the great majority of people. In certain cases, this is a travesty.

One such travesty has to do with the virtually-unknown British authoress named Mary Cholmondeley (1859-1925).

Mary Cholmondeley 1859-1925

Rather than share her story right now, I am instead going to share some of the passages I’ve highlighted (yes, “virtually” highlighted) from the five or six novels of Mary Cholmondeley’s that I’ve read so far, starting with Red Pottage, her most successful novel — it was even made into a silent film in 1918.

Let me just say, these passages can in NO WAY aptly summarize this woman’s phenomenal writing abilities.  There were many, many times where I almost highlighted entire pages at a time.  These are the very bare bones of the incredible wealth of beautiful prose enveloped in Cholmondeley’s lovely, lovely, poetic stories.

I will change the names in the passages, JUST IN CASE you are going to do yourself the favor of checking out her work for yourself. Don’t want to be one of those people who ruins surprises.

 

From Red Pottage (Published in 1899):

“He had never spoken to her till this moment, but yet he felt that her eyes were old friends, tried to the uttermost and found faithful in some forgotten past.”

“Sarah had not yet wholly recovered from the overwhelming passion of love which, admitted without fear a few years ago, had devastated the little city of her heart, as by fire and sword, involving its hospitable dwellings, its temples, and its palaces in one common ruin.”

“…[instead she offered him] the paper money of her friendship.”

Someone in the book, in speaking about clergy who preach their own interpretation of the Bible: “‘As often as not texts are like bags, and a man crams all his own rubbish into them, and expects you to take them together.'”

“Only a shallow nature believes that resemblance in two cups mean they both contain the same wine.”

“‘But the sword that pierced your heart forced an entrance for angels, who had been knocking where there was no door — until then.'”

“To grow stout (fat) is not necessarily to look common, but if there is an element of inherent commonness in man or woman, a very little additional surface will make it manifest, as an enlarged photograph manifests its own defects.” (this one made me chuckle)

“The tears were in Helen’s eyes, but the eyes themselves were as flint seen through water.”

“To the end of life, Sarah never forgot Mr. Tristan, any more than the amber forgets its fly.”

“Some, in the night of their desolation, can take comfort when they see the morning-star shuddering white in the east, and can say, ‘Courage, the day is at hand.’ But others never realize that their night is over till the sun is up… The message writ large for her comfort in the stars that the night was surely waning had not reached her, bowed, as she thought, beneath God’s hand.”

“But memory only gave lurid glimpses, as of lightning across darkness.”

“There had been wind all day, a high, dreadful wind, which had accompanied all the nightmare of the day as a wail accompanies pain.”

“Hope came next, shyly, silently, still pale from the embrace of her sister Despair, trimming anew her little lamp, which the laboring breath of Despair had wellnigh blown out. She held the light before Henry, shading it with her veil, for his eyes were dazed with long gazing into darkness. She turned it faintly upon the future and he looked where the light fell. And the light grew.”

“There was a home ready made in Sarah’s faithful, dog-like eyes, which at once appealed to the desire of expansion of empire in the heart of the free-born Briton.” 

“Hope and Love and Enthusiasm never die. We think in youth that we bury them in the graveyards of our hearts, but the grass never yet grew over them. How, then, can life be sad, when they walk beside us always in the growing light toward the Perfect Day.”

 

I will stop here for now and continue another time with my highlights from the next book of Mary Cholmondeley’s that I read — Diana Tempest, which I loved just as much, if not more, than Red Pottage.

In case you are interested in reading a bit about this remarkable author, here are a couple of places to do so:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Cholmondeley

http://www.marycholmondeley.com/

 

 

 

A Few Upcoming Films That I Want To See

This one is going to make me cry — no doubt about it.

 

 

This looks cute. I loooove Wes Anderson films.

 

 

Hmmm… Maybe… Cool concept.

 

 

Heh heh heh.

 

 

Last but CERTAINLY not least…(but I have to wait till “CHRISTMAS”?!?! Aw, COME on!!)

One of My Most “Moded” Moments

Have you ever heard the word “moded”? (Is that one spells that word? It sounds like this: “MO-ded”.) If you are a San Francisco Bay Area native who was born sometime in the 70’s or 80’s, I’m sure you have.  I have NO idea whatsoever how far this word traveled back in the day, but it is one that is nowadays uttered so infrequently, that it instantly categorizes its utterer (is THAT a word?) in a very specific way.

It is a very clever word that I won’t try myself to define.  I was surprised to find that “Moded” (I spelled it correctly! Miracle of miracles!) is listed in the Urban Dictionary (or is it “at urbanddictionary.com”? I’m driving myself nuts, so I know you are plenty annoyed yourself, my (possibly lone) reader.) It is described in this way:

This word is most appropriately used when someone is proven wrong in an embarassing manner. It is not simply a matter of making a mistake, or being embarassed, but is most properly used when someone has vehemently defended a position and been proven wrong. 

Well-put.  As a kid, being “moded” in public (such as in the classroom or on the playground) was a horribly embarrassing occurrence and everyone dreaded it. Yet, every person who was at anytime a child or teen has been “moded” many, many times, even if their taunters did not use this specific word when calling attention to their error. (However, it was possible to hear the taunts bellowing from your insides when you screwed up when, mercifully, no one else was around)

However, the word “moded” encapsulates more than being proven very, very wrong. It can also be used in this way:

Embarrasing mistake or moment…

This is the aspect of “moded” that I am going to share now. One of my most “moded” moments, comin’ right up…

I was 17 and being held captive in Las Vegas for the summer against my will (redundant much?) My father had a bunch of work there and so my parents rented a house for the summer and dragged my brother and I there.  Hey, at least there was a pool. Albeit without friends or any prospect of friends. (You remember how it was being 17, don’t you? Friends didn’t have the freedom to tell their parents that they were borrowing the car and driving out-of-state to hang out with their lonely friend in the desert for the weekend.)

For that reason, and because I was bored and penniless, I decided to get a job for the remainder of my sentence.  The most logical place for me to start was the nearby shopping mall.  So, I put on my flip-flops (this is some foreshadowing here) and yelled to my mom that I was ready for her to give me a ride. (Again, being 17 sucked.)

I perused the mall, not really finding any place I could see myself working at, even for a couple months.  Until I came across a “Foot Action” shoe store (redundancy resumes) with a pair of hot teenage employee-dudes hanging out near the store’s front.  They gave me the eye (yep, both of ’em) and I smiled back and gravitated toward them. The conversation probably went something like this:

        Dude #1: Whassup… You nee’ sum help finding any shoes? (obviously, with a flirtatious tone and smile)

        Me: Uh, nah. I’m actually looking for a job for the summer. You guys hiring? (semi-shy half-smiles galore)

        Dude #2: Oh what. You is? (cocked grin. Yes, I liked ghetto guys.)

        Me: Mmm-hmm.

        Dude #1: Where you from?

        Me: Not from around here, that’s for sure.

You get the point. I will spare you.  I ended up getting an application, and gave them another one of my half-smiles and slowly sauntered off, knowing they were closely watching.

Now, there was a staircase DIRECTLY in front of the store that I decided to start walking up. You can see where this is going…

On about my fourth step, one of my flip-flops abandoned its rightful spot between my big toe and index (?) toe (sweaty feet perhaps?) and I completely ATE it. I fell badly, skinning my shin and losing my sandal completely. (You ever fell going UPSTAIRS? It isn’t cute. OR sexy.)

I was mortified. I heard the two boys behind me sort of gasp, but they held their laughter, no doubt using all their strength not to laugh. But I’m not sure exactly what they did, because I made the conscious decision NOT TO TURN AROUND.  Keep in mind, these guys were no more than ten, fifteen feet behind me.  But instead of turning around and accepting my defeat graciously (and perhaps horrifyingly, flirtatiously), I chose to KEEP GOING.

About three seconds passed before the eruption of their hysterical laughter hit me from behind like a sack of…basketball shoes.  My face burned with shame.  I carefully avoided that entire section of the mall for the remainder of my time at the mall. However, at one point, as I walked along the second level, I saw one of the boys below, point up at me, and with a cocked-grin excitedly yell to his co-worker, “There she is!”

And that, my friends, is a true “Moded” Moment.

I never got a job that summer and remained quite alone and quite broke.

This Should’ve Won Best Picture

 

To truly appreciate this beautiful film you would do well to have the following:

1) A patient, pensive (even passively-pensive will do) state of mind.  Some people are just this way in general, while others, like me, have days or hours in this state, sandwiched between more anxious, antsy moods.

2) A deep-seated belief in a loving Creator (or at the very least an openness to such a possibility.)

3) Humility

4) An appreciation for the fragility of life

5) A love for photography (this isn’t required, but would be highly beneficial. An article my husband read about this film said that one could pause the film at any moment and have a beautiful, frame-worthy image. This is true.)

It also helps if you have children, but that certainly isn’t necessary to enjoy the prowess of this film’s message. (The message — in my opinion — is, “Enjoy the moments and incredible gifts you were given in this life. You were created in love.  However, you are wise to recognize you are small, as are those you treasure.  Be modest and respect each and every life as its own miracle.”)

Oh, and Brad Pitt and Jessica Chastain were both nominated for Oscars last night, but for the wrong movies. It should have been this one for both of them.

Let me know what you thought about it.

 

My Dog is a Rocket Dog!

Just sent this to Rocket Dog Rescue, the good people who introduced me to my AWESOME dog, Boogie.  It’s for the “Success Stories” section of their web site ( http://www.rocketdogrescue.org ). Love my Boogie — he’s so good to me.

Our Success Story:

BOOGIE (formerly “Rooney”)

It’s been exactly two years since Boogie came to live with us (back then a 7 month-old pup known as “Rooney”) and as I look back on the time he’s been in my life, I can’t help but get a bit teary-eyed. Where do I begin?

He came to us an awkward, insecure little guy — anxious if left alone and scared of his own shadow. Yet, his uber-sweet, lovable and fun-loving nature was always present.  Boogie was a very high-energy puppy who LOVED playing fetch, wrestling with other dogs, and taking runs on the beach — a little of that medicine would magically transform him into a tame, easy-going, super-affectionate snuggle-buddy.

Two months after adopting Boogie, my husband and I discovered we were pregnant.  It came as a shock and — when mixed with the grueling schedule of an 8th grade teacher, morning sickness and fatigue — having a high-energy rescue puppy with anxiety problems seemed a tad overwhelming for a little while. But with a bit of encouragement from Lena and the purchase of a dog crate, it became very obvious that Boogie was nothing but a blessing for me during this very challenging time, as I had a live-in exercise partner, a warm little body to cuddle with while watching movies, and endless comic relief.

Much to Boogie’s delight (and mine) I was laid-off from my job due to budget cuts.  The days I spent with Boogie during my pregnancy will always be a rich reserve of lovely memories for me — together we hiked every doggie-friendly corner of the city.  He kept me in great shape and high spirits, both of which made for a wonderful, smooth transition into motherhood.

Boogie has taken to my son, Leo, beautifully and a new side of his personality has emerged — that of the patient, affectionate (and tolerant!) protector.  I have chosen not to return to work so I can be a full-time mommy to my two “boys.”  The money is tight, but we could not be happier.

As I type, Boogie — now a gorgeous, strong, healthy, confident dog who is often the subject of lots of praise from strangers — is dreaming doggie-dreams at my feet, as tired as my son is from a full day spent mostly outdoors.  My life is sweetly full and full of sweetness, and much of that has to do with the sweet puppy who rescued ME.

My Little Narcissistic Guilty Pleasure

At the risk of sounding terribly vain, I have to admit that I completely fascinate myself.

But before you click away from this blog, thinking me a conceited, boring wench, hear me out really quick.  I feel confident in saying that this doesn’t make me as narcissistic and self-absorbed as it would seem.  I think I would fascinate me even if I were someone — ANYONE — else.  I just happen find the way we “tick” (as humans) completely incredible. We are all just these self-conscious, insecure beings — our brains tangled up with our unique, complicated desires, emotions and experiences, all weighing heavily on our every decision.

I suppose that’s why psychology always fascinated me.  It would’ve been something I’d have pursued, except that I am too impatient and outspoken to make a good therapist or psychologist. (When picturing myself in such a career, I often imagined yelling at some poor schmuck, “THE REASON YOUR LIFE SUCKS IS BECAUSE YOU’RE STUPID AND BORING AND YOU KEEP MAKING THE SAME MISTAKES!!!”) So, I wisely left the Psych classes behind and got more into…(drumroll…) the wonderful world of PERSONALITY TESTS!!! (Wait! Stay with me, I beg of you!)

My attraction to personality tests began when I was about eleven or twelve when my dad’s much older sister (who lives in Maui) sent me something called “The Mind Book.”  It was definitely too old for me, in general — there were some inappropriate questions for a preteen (“True or False: I am sexually satisfied in my current romantic relationship.”) But all in all, I learned a little about myself and that made me feel somewhat empowered.

So, I will get to the point.  I want to share some of the most enlightening (and just plain fun) personality tests that I have hoarded over the past…16 years (?!?!), starting with my favorite.

I don’t recall where I first learned of this next test, but I know I was in high school.  I have given it to just about everyone I know and it is extremely accurate in sizing someone up (as long as he/she doesn’t know the meaning behind the questions.) Why not grab a pencil & piece of scrap paper and try this one out on yourself?

COLOR/ANIMAL/WATERFALL/COLORLESS WORLD Test (don’t fret — it’ll make sense.)

1. Think of your favorite color. Not for clothes, not for cars, not for walls, but just the color that makes you feel better than all the others.  The first one that comes to mind is the most true.

Now, list three adjectives (descriptive words) that fully describe the essence of that color to you.  This isn’t easy — it takes thought.  One way to do this is to imagine describing a color to a person born blind, someone who’s never seen color (as in, “Blue is very CALMING…”) Oh, and please do yourself a favor and use better words than “nice” and “good.” You may also write descriptive phrases if one word isn’t enough (as in “full of life”).  When you’re done, move on…

2. Think of your favorite animal, and don’t limit yourself to domestic creatures that you see everyday.  Think about the exotic, amazing creatures of the world’s oceans, rainforest, savannas, etc. What animal used to really float your boat as a kid?  Again, your initial, gut response is probably the best.

Now, again use three adjectives that sum up this animal.  For instance, “Warthogs are wise, humble and kind-hearted…” (Hey, maybe they are!)

I promise there’s a point to all this, bear with me…

3. Next, try to imagine being under a waterfall.  You supply your own details with this one.  People always ask, “UNDERNEATH a waterfall, or like behind it?” I don’t know! Just whatever “under a waterfall” conjures up in your mind.

Again, come up with three adjectives, this time describing how you imagine you’d feel being in that setting.  Please avoid using the obvious “wet.” That’s a given.  But how does the idea of being wet make you feel?

4. Now imagine you exist suddenly in a world that is completely colorless.  I guess that means white, but I just picture it as everything being like a blank coloring book. There is no color anywhere — the sky, the trees, yourself, nowhere.

Three words — how would you feel?

Okay, now prepare to have your mind blown. (Just kidding. It’ll be more like having your mind tickled.)

KEY/ANSWERS

1. The way you think of and described your favorite color is HOW YOU VIEW YOURSELF. If aqua is exciting, full of life and refreshing to you (like it is to me), then those are the words you’d use to describe yourself if you were being completely honest.

2. The animal you like most represents HOW YOU’D LIKE OTHERS TO VIEW YOU.  Maybe you find wolves intelligent, mysterious and beautiful (again, as I do.) Well, my friend, you secretly want others to think the same of you.

3. The waterfall response you came up with represents HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT ROMANTIC LOVE/INTIMACY.  This is quite touchy for some people.  Some individuals I know wrote things like “cold,” “overwhelmed,” “terrified” even! They were a little embarrassed when I revealed what the waterfall scene “means.”  I believe that being under a waterfall would make me feel refreshed, fulfilled and stimulated (I mean in regard to my senses, I swear!)

4. The colorless world represents how you feel about death.  Many people say “cold” or “lonely” but some have said “clean” and even “anonymous.” 

Okay, that one is a wrap. This is a handy tool to use if you are trying to size up a new (or old) friend or romantic partner.  It may reveal some wonderful, or unsettling, insights.

The next best personality test I’ve taken is the Enneagram Test.  It asks you some basic questions about yourself and then categorizes you as one of nine personality types, all of which fall onto a scale of their own.  You can be a “six” with more healthy characteristics or a “six” with more vices to overcome.  This test is scientifically accurate and useful in many ways (for instance, it can help you spot when you’re going to do something predictably typical of your “type.”)

Take the test here: http://similarminds.com/test.html

Then go to this other link for a breakdown of the 9 types (and their compatibility with others): http://www.enneagraminstitute.com/descript.asp

According to the test results, I am a 7 — “The Enthusiast.”  Here is the description. It really is me: http://www.enneagraminstitute.com/typeseven.asp

If you’re not into being asked boring questions, try out this fun, creative test, which analyzes you based on the images you choose:

http://www.youniverse.com/quiz/personality

I’d love to know what your results are! Share them with me, if you’d be so kind. I’m running out of steam here, so pardon the less-than-witty conclusion to this long, long post. Have fun picking your brain!

“…and you may ask yourself, ‘Well, how did I get here?'”

Have you ever had an out-of-body sensation? I don’t mean like in the movies where you’re suddenly floating away and can see your body below you.  I mean… hmm…. this is SO hard to explain.  But I’ve had these sensations even as a kid, so I know it isn’t a result of my crazy “experimental” teenage years. I should be able to explain them. Let’s see…

It’s kind of like the song “Once In A Lifetime” by the Talking Heads.  There’s a part of the song where David Byrne sings (or SPEAKS, rather), “and you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile…You may find yourself in a beautiful house with a beautiful wife. And you may ask yourself, (THIS IS KEY) ‘Well, how did I get here?'”

That’s it. It’s a random “How did I get here?” kind of feeling. It happens out of nowhere. One moment I’m IN the moment, doing my thing, and then suddenly, I’m kind of coming-to, as if I’m re-entering my consciousness — although I hadn’t ever left, or so I thought. (I hope you aren’t finding this annoying and vague.)

All of a sudden, I’ll be looking out at whatever happens to be in front of me with seemingly new eyes.  My thought process will go something like this: “Huh. Wild. I’m alive. I’m Amy. I’m 30 years old. This is my body I’m in. This is my car. Where am I going again? Oh right, the store. Huh. Okay. Good to be alive, and conscious.”

Additionally, now that I’m a mom, I have more of these thoughts while looking (or, staring) at my son:

— Wow. That’s my SON. Right there. That’s him. Weird.

— Cute kid. He’s mine. He’s MINE?!? Weird.

— Sooooo… He GREW INSIDE ME and then CAME OUT OF ME?! Weird.

— He is half-me, half-Armando. Him, right there. Weird.

— He’s actually real. People can see him and interact with him. WEIRD.

Okay, keep in mind these aren’t, like, CLEAR thoughts with actual words. More like the normal, wordless, hard-to-explain thoughts that everyone has all the time. But still, strange ones, don’t you think?

So, what DO you think? Am I as big of a freak as I sometimes wonder I am? (Boy, that’s a brain-twister of a sentence, right there. By the way, it’s rhetorical. You don’t have to answer that. Unless you’re being nice.) I guess what I really want to know is, has anyone else felt this way?

Of Survival

This is harder than I thought. I want to purge myself of my strange thoughts, but I also want to keep you mildly entertained in the process. But that shouldn’t be TOO difficult.  I have been told countless times that I’m weird — yet all the while the person saying it always seems to have a very ENTERTAINED grin on her face. (I don’t think I’ve ever been told that I’m weird by a guy.  Maybe because I think more like a man than a woman.  This is only true when I’m not pregnant or about to get my monthly Aunt Flo visit.)

AnyWAY, one of the foremost things on my mind lately has been the fact that every one of us alive today only exist because of some very strange twists of events.  For instance, I have a friend who was born only because her parents decided to have more children after their toddler son choked to death on a spinning top toy.  They had been perfectly content with their four children — until one of them was snatched away from them.  My friend’s birth is a happy result of a terrible tragedy.

Or, what about someone else I know whose parents had her only after realizing the awful mistake they had made in recently aborting a baby.  Had that aborted baby been allowed to live, she likely never would have.  Again, someone’s happy birth brought about because of tragedy (a tragedy for the embryo/fetus, that is.)

What got me thinking about all this? Reading about the horrendous WWII air attacks on Germany.  Towns such as Dresden and neighborhoods of Berlin, areas heavy with family homes, were strategically attacked by U.S. fighter planes in order to weaken civilian support of the war effort — a very effective way of doing so, I imagine.  If I try to picture myself as a dutiful, proud German woman, (what? You’ve never done that?) it seems likely that having my home destroyed and my innocent child violently massacred as he slept peacefully in his crib would be one way to take the wind out of my sails.

The strangest feeling overtook me yesterday as I watched MY baby boy sleep peacefully during a nap.  A bomb could randomly hit HIM right now, I thought with a shudder.  (Flesh seared from tiny little bones. Would there be screaming?)  Horrible, horrible thoughts, but how many children, how many slumbering kitties and loyal doggies died a horrifying, fiery death just so that support for the agenda of a madman would lessen?

Yet my very own grandfather, my son’s great-grandpa, was one of the patriotic, hot-headed teenagers flying overhead, following orders by dropping bombs on (hundreds? thousands?) of unsuspecting families.  Just doing his “duty” as an American. (Don’t get me wrong — I LOVE me some Grandpa! I do not judge him. He did what he believed he needed to do.)

Out of all the boys from his neighborhood, he was the only guy who made it back home.  The rest were shot out of the sky in defense of the “Mutterland.”

My father wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t made it home after the war.  I wouldn’t have been here if my father hadn’t been born.

And my son wouldn’t be here if my grandfather hadn’t been a missed target in the German sky.  Again, a joyous birth that ended up meaning the death of other children.

Of course, my grandfather could’ve just stayed home and my son would’ve been here, possibly. He could’ve just been a good boy and not lied about his age (he was only 17 when he enlisted, with the help of his mother.)

But all in all, it’s a bittersweet world.  And we are all survivors.  Let’s just try to make our lives worth the pain it took to get us here.

If you want, share with me your unique arrival story. What kind of crap had to happen for you to be here?

 

To Blog or Not To Blog?

In going about my daily life, I find many a moment where I long to share my thoughts. You see, my musings are generally so a-musing (pun intended, good reader), I often feel it’s a huge shame that I’ve no one to share them with during the day but an infant and a dog.  Having read about the benefits for both species to overhear frequent speech, in a semi-constant one-way conversation, I do my best to keep my thoughts public and transparent to my daily audience, but it’s much easier said, or rather NOT said, than one would imagine.

It’s difficult, now that I don’t work the typical daily shift, to find the satisfaction one gets (and often takes for granted) from talking and interacting with peers, even about mundane matters — “Did you get that last email the boss sent out?” “Doesn’t this meeting have a POINT!?” “I haven’t been able to urinate in days,” etc. — basically, the satisfaction comes from just having someone ANSWER YOU BACK WHEN YOU SPEAK. I am referring to intelligible words, obviously. “A-da-da thimpsh” doesn’t do much for my ego, much as my son would hate to know.

This is not to say I wish to be back in the grind — far from it.  I have never been more satisfied with life than now — even though life now entails being at the whim of an intense, exhaustingly energetic one year-old with a rabid oral fixation.  It’s just that at the end of the day I am so anxious to interact with anyone who can understand me, that my husband gets more than his fair share.  He comes home, tired and smelling of public transportation, only to be confronted with Little Miss Chatterbox (one of the darling pet-names he’s given me.)

So, I figured it wouldn’t be a BAD thing to start a blog that would enable the free, public space to just get my thoughts and feelings “out there.” Out where, I’m not exactly sure. But any space is better than frequent, mundane Facebook updates.

In conclusion, dear hypothetical, faceless confidante. I need you more than you need me.  And I need another time-waster like a hole in the head…