Operators Are Standing By

In a discussion with a close friend recently, the following comment came up: “Shirley, it’s amazing to me that you are single!”

Well, I have a few things to say in response to that. First, I rarely think of myself in terms of “single” or “not single” because I get something out of interacting with every one of my fellow human beings. Yes, I realize the context in which the comment was intended involves the subject of dating. Which I am always open to, but never in an all-encompassing way. As I stated in a previous post, I am not afraid to be alone. Not that I particularly prefer that condition, but I’m certainly not going to beat myself up over it or cause myself any unnecessary anxiety.

I considered what my friend had said, and I came up with this hypothesis: I do believe that people in my sphere can recognize all of my positive attributes – the external and the internal – but I think that it takes a lot of courage to bring what I bring to the relationship table. I lay it all out. Sometimes that characteristic brings its own brand of pain. Discomfort. Not that I try to intentionally hurt others, far from it. But, I’ll admit, I can be pretty intense. I can be extremely emotional. I can frustrate the pants off my theoretical mate. In short, I am a big pain in the ass.

Now when talking about all of my friendships and others that don’t fall into the “intimate relationships” category (by the term “intimate” you should read: sexual), this tendency to be completely open in relationships is very attractive. It’s safe. My friends know from interacting with me that they can talk about anything and I will not be judgmental. I won’t hold our relationship over their heads. I won’t withdraw in disgust or horror or offense. I also assume I can interact in kind; there is no topic that is taboo for me, and when I bring it readily to discussion I think it puts others at ease because they can feel the implication of my trust. I am open to this degree because I trust them not to reject me. And through this behavior, my friendships have a tendency to grow very, very strong.

Back to the intimate relationship. I suspect that it is scary for another person who really wants to get close to me – physically, emotionally – when he realizes that while I may willingly throw everything that I am into our relationship, I do expect to be reciprocated. In other words, bring it ALL. The good, the bad, the ugly. I don’t want to see just the happy stuff or the prettiest picture. I feel like Eve who’s already taken a bite of the apple. Life isn’t always pretty. It’s real. It’s messy. Sometimes it bites. I want to see, feel, experience everything. And in doing so, I can feel like the world is solid beneath my feet. If I get overwhelmed or life is kicking my teeth in or I have a complete meltdown for whatever reason, I know that the other person is still going to be around to help me get through it.

So, this was the answer I gave to my friend. It’s tough for people to open themselves up completely to another human being, even one as wonderful as me (have I mentioned I am NOT humble, not by a long shot). I give it all, and I want it all. Add to the mix that I lean towards the aggressive, I’m pretty smart, I curse like a sailor, I’m extremely impatient… no wonder most guys run for the hills! Can’t say as I blame them. If I was a guy and I came face-to-face with me, I’d probably high-tail it out of there too.

This same friend and I were having lunch last week. During lunch I was telling a story about another discussion I had had shortly before; a discussion about suicide. In the suicide discussion there were two points I was arguing, because I didn’t believe they were true. The first was that the majority of people have thoughts of suicide in passing (like briefly, for a second, then it goes out of one’s head). The second was that for those people that have thoughts of suicide for longer than those few seconds, well, THOSE people were “crazy.” I was a little agitated as I was relaying this story, because technically speaking, I have first-hand knowledge of both of these scenarios. As a person who I believe thinks about death more than the average human being, I have somewhat an idea of what inspires thoughts of suicide, in passing or otherwise. When I was with the Bunny – throughout our entire marriage and including the three years that we dated prior to getting married – I never once thought about suicide. I am pretty impressed with myself over that, and it just reinforces my belief that the strength of a person’s relationships and happiness quotient are big determinants of overall emotional health.

As this lunchtime discussion was going on, one of the managers at the restaurant, Vince (this is my favorite restaurant where I eat regularly, so I am on a first-name basis with most of the employees) was making his rounds through the bar (yes, I have my own specially designated table in the bar) and couldn’t help but overhear my comments. My voice tends to project… what can I say? One of the benefits of singing regularly at church every Sunday. When my friend headed to the bathroom for a pit stop, Vince came over and whispered in my ear, “I don’t think people who think about suicide are crazy either.”

Now, if I had to guess I would say Vince is somewhere in his mid- to late- 50’s, at least. He ended up sharing a rather personal story with me, and based on how he told it, I surmised it was a recent occurrence – in the last few years, I’m guessing? Anyway, what Vince told me was that at the time he was going through his divorce, life was kicking him in the teeth, he was having a complete meltdown.. he ended up sitting in his car with the engine running. Had his wife at the time (the one he ended up divorcing) not broken the windows, he would have succeeded in killing himself. Around that same time, the woman he was dating called him up and told him that she was in love with him. That woman was now his wife. Those two actions – the previous wife’s breaking the windows of his car and the current wife’s admission of love – is what saved his life.

I’ve told this story a few times before sharing it in this post. It reminds me that everyone has a story. Real stories. Messy stories. This was the first time in my life that I questioned my belief that I was unique in wanting to connect as much as I do with others… Vince hardly knows me, yet he shared a very personal, meaningful story with me that afternoon. And in doing so, he established a permanent connection with me. Maybe I’m not so different after all. Maybe there are LOTS of people in the world, starving to make those kinds of connections with each other. I guess I’m just better at it than most, at least for now. I hope that over time, more people get better at it. If anything’s going to save the world, that will.

And as far as being single? Well, I am working on that… I’m not alone. Not by a long shot.

Peace.

Full Circle

This morning I went for my 5-mile hike. I've fallen out of the habit of it the last several months; and since "taking care of myself" is once again on my radar, I'm trying to get back to it at least once a week. Having fortunately managed to return to a fairly consistent work schedule, I can look forward to Saturdays off - so starting the day off with an early morning hike seems to be the best use of those hours where I would normally either be sleeping or playing on the computer. And it forces me to go outside. Today happened to be a beautiful, sunny Southern California day - I was happy I didn't miss it.

When I returned home, I decided to make myself breakfast with some Thanksgiving Day leftover spiral ham compliments of one of my neighbors. I am blessed with some really cool neighbors. The house I live in is the same house I grew up in as a kid, and there are a few neighbors still around that knew me from back then. So of course, they also knew the Bunny when we moved back here in 2006 or so, and they knew when he died.. I know I inspire people to worry about me (I'm not sure why exactly; I don't think I give off any "helpless" vibes) and I believe my neighbors to be no different. They come by frequently to see how I am doing, to ask how Christopher is doing and if I've heard from him lately. They feed my animals when I have to go away for a few days. They keep an eye on my house when strangers show up on my doorstep. And they share their food with me.

Anybody who knows me knows my passion for food. I love to cook. I love to eat. I have about a hundred recipe books, and I have several internet websites bookmarked that have recipes or that talk about food. But inside my head, I place special significance on an individual when I allow them feed me. From a very young age, I was fashioned to be very independent and self-sufficient. I don't like to be pampered or catered to as a general rule. Nine times out of ten, I'm a "Let's split the check" sort of girl. 

When I first started dating the Bunny, he never let me pay for food. And from the beginning, I allowed it. Not because I'm the high-maintenance type or because I expected him to - far from it. Generally, I will refrain from going out in the first place if I don't feel like I can cover my own meal... because from my point of view I don't wish anyone to gain an unfair advantage over me. If somebody feeds me, then I must "owe" them.

These thoughts bring me back to my mom. I remember as a kid that my mom never liked anyone else to do anything for her. But hopefully where I am different is because I recognize that, as an adult, I tend to do a lot of stuff for other people AND because I believe it's important (emotionally) for human beings to engage in reciprocation, I bend my independence rules just a bit... the result being: I get a lot of free lunches. I love food, and I love being appreciated.

While I was making my breakfast, one of my aunts called. Another of my mom's sisters, Tia Angela had missed the Thanksgiving gathering yesterday at Tia Fatima & Tio Cacho's house. I noticed her absence along with a few of my other cousins that had scheduling conflicts, but I guess I was surprised just a bit that I got a phone call. A few minutes into the conversation, and my questions were answered.

She was calling about my mom.

If you read the post immediately before this one, you will remember my mentioning receiving a letter addressed to my brother in a conversation with my Tia Fatima. It wasn't meant to be a secret or anything; I guess I didn't figure it was newsworthy enough to share with anybody. But clearly the information was communicated to other family members, because here was Tia Angela calling me and talking about it. What she wanted was to make sure that "if I talked to my mom" to please give her Tia Angela's cell phone number and tell her to call her so they could talk. Most of the family has not seen or heard from my mom in many years; some story about my mom getting involved with some "bad people" and basically she was forced to go underground so these people would not find her and hurt her, and by association find the rest of us and hurt us. I take every story about my mom with a grain of salt. My personal feeling is that the woman has some serious mental problems. So as far as going underground and not being anywhere in my vicinity, to me that's always been a good thing.

I was proud of myself for understanding most of the conversation between Tia Angela and myself (she was talking in Spanish); I've always wished I was fluent in Spanish but for whatever reason mastery of the language has always eluded me. My parents used to talk Spanish around me when I was a kid - when they didn't want me to know what they were talking about - and so I created my own mental block of "I can't understand I can't understand I can't understand" which clearly is encased in some kind of emotional concrete. 

I've come to the realization that there is a distinct possibility that I will, at some point in my life, come face to face with my mom again. At least I have some notice, so I can think about it, and hypothesize, and figure out what my potential responses would be to that event. Even just thinking about her, I feel the intensity of the strongest emotion: anger. I'm angry at her. I'm angry that she made my life as a kid a living hell. I'm angry that she pretended to be this "perfect mom" in front of all of my friends so everyone thought I was fucking crazy. I'm angry that I was so powerless against her.

But what do I want? Do I want retribution? Revenge? An apology? I don't expect any of those things. And when I take a step back and I evaluate what kind of person she is (from a daughter's perspective) and what her life must have been like... I feel sorry for her. Whatever the situation, to cut oneself off from one's family for years, to not even know or be part of the lives of your own children - that's got to be tough.

There is one thing I can empathize with: I know how tough it is to be a mother. Not that it's any excuse to treat your children like shit, however. And that's how I felt until I left my home at 18 years old. And why I worry so much about my relationship with Christopher; if I am doing right by him. If he feels loved. If he feels like a real person, with feelings and opinions and everything that goes along with that. My only hint is when he tells me that he loves me. Or when he talks to me and asks me for my advice. Or when he tells his friends what a cool mom I am.

I have no idea what I am going to do when that day comes. Guess I'll just have to wing it. But it will be interesting to see which side of me takes the lead. Either way, I don't see myself giving my mom entry back into my life on a regular basis, or even an infrequent basis. But maybe I can stop being angry. Maybe I can forgive her. Maybe I can let go.

Time will tell.

What I Want For Christmas

I can honestly say that this is the first time in three years that I am actually looking forward to spending time with family during the holidays. Not just family; people in general. I can’t put my finger on why exactly, but the prospect of mingling amongst my blood isn’t accompanied by a feeling of obligation or “Crap! Do I really hafta? Can’t I just stay home in bed?”

It’s exactly two weeks to the third anniversary of the Bunny’s death. It’s also Thanksgiving Day. I realized recently that my worldview is no longer seen through a prism of “the accident” – it’s now seen through “my new life.” And because I seemed to have done a decent job so far (knock on wood) of getting that life in order, I’m feeling… good. Strong. Dare I say it? Happy.

Earlier I was having dinner at my Tia Fatima and Tio Cacho’s house. For those of you who are neither Latino or Hispanic, that’s aunt and uncle. The house was full of familiar faces – my cousin Adriana and her new husband Hector (at whose wedding I sang for several months ago), my other cousin Dario and his girlfriend Niki (who I always tease because Dario is super tall – probably 6’ 5” at least, maybe taller; and Niki is 5’-nothing standing next to him). In addition there were a few more of my aunts on the Argentinean side (my Tio Cacho is my mom’s only brother) and their respective husbands, children, and even a few grandkids running around; little girls, who for five hours straight played hide-and-seek, ran from room to room, giggling and screaming with joy. It brought more than one smile to my face.

After the first part of the meal (the one with the turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn on the cob, salad, cranberry sauce – you get the picture), I joined some of our group for a walk around the block. Now, the street where my Tio and Tia live isn’t really like a normal city block, to mean that it isn’t straight and rectangular like the block I live on. It’s in an area that is somewhat hilly, so I think the city planners incorporated the area’s geography into the plan and just made the streets follow the landscape. Maybe that’s how it’s traditionally done – I don’t know. But so this walk took maybe 20, 25 minutes – just enough to make some room in my stomach for dessert, also known as “the second part of the meal.”

I walked along with my Tia Fatima.

During our conversation, the subject of my mom came up (always a sore topic for me). I mentioned that I recently got a letter at the house – my house – addressed to my brother Sandy; the return address was somewhere in Orange County, so I knew my mom was back in California (last I had heard, she was in Nevada or Arizona or someplace). My initial reaction was fear. Not fear of HER exactly; more like fear of what kind of impact her presence would have on my life – the one I’ve been working so hard to be happy in. There’s never been a single moment in the forty years of my existence where my mom and “happiness” could coexist in the same place. The last time I saw her – Christopher was just a baby – was one of the lowest points in my memory. It was after that visit in particular that I tried to overdose on my insulin. A big overdose. On purpose. A lot has happened to me since then, so I don’t believe for a moment that if she showed up on my doorstep today I would be taken back to that low place. But I feel the fear just the same.

Tia Fatima told me that she would always be grateful that “Russ brought you back to us” and that I had gone through some really rough things in my life; that I deserved to be happy. I in turn told her that I had never felt entirely comfortable being around family in general, but that I was really happy to be with her and everybody else tonight. She told me, “Shirley, we will always be there for you. No matter what.”

It brings tears to my eyes, when I replay that conversation in my head. It amazes me that I could find my family, now, at this stage of my life, so important, so meaningful, so critical to my ongoing survival when as a kid all I wanted to do was get away from them (I left home when I was 18 – just after graduation and in the middle of the night, no less). I remember driving away in the truck my dad was letting me use (I had a friend drive it back shortly after); as I peeled out of the parking lot he grabbed for one of the side mirrors, but it was too late. I shot out of there on squealing tires – free! Finally! It felt so good to escape. And I never looked back. Always forward. And I have carried that mindset through to the rest of my life. I never go back to the same situation, one that I’ve left. If something doesn’t work for me... and I’m a very fast learner. But if any of the variables change, well, that’s another matter entirely.

Driving home, I got a text from my brother Sandy, wishing me a happy Thanksgiving. Sandy pretty much works crazy hours – he’s an engineer and does some complicated computer design fiber-optic test equipment something or other that I couldn’t even begin to explain – so when I do hear from him it warms up my heart like a shot of adrenalin. I love my brother. It’s funny, because we hated each other as kids. I’ve heard that about siblings – if you hate each other as kids, you get along great as adults. And vice versa. I’m thankful Sandy and I hated each other as kids, because you spend a greater amount of time as an adult. And he has been the constant in my whole entire life. He’s my only brother. Kind of like people say all the time “you’ll only have one mother and father.” I have that feeling for Sandy. And to me, depending on the specific mother and father in question, that could be either a blessing or a curse.

I have the weekend between Christmas and New Year’s off from work (all of my jobs), so I’ll be spending that week in Chicago with my cousin Lisa and her family. Sandy will be flying over from Hawaii, so I’ll get to spend some time with my brother too. I’m very excited… I was on the phone with Lisa the other day, and I told her how much I am looking forward to seeing everybody.

Happy. I could get used to this.

Looking Forward

Recently I have found myself inspired to pay a bit more attention to taking care of myself in the physical sense. Not to say I’ve been sitting around on the couch eating bon-bons for the past few months, mind you; but taking care of myself from the perspective of trying to maintain a more consistent mealtime schedule, incorporate regular exercise back into my weekly routine – the kinds of things that are hopefully going to have some positive impact on my blood sugar control. I am scheduled to visit my endocrinologist Dr. Tran at the end of this week, and in reviewing the numbers since my last appointment six weeks ago I am guessing she isn’t going to like seeing all of the lows I’ve been having. Okay, okay! My newfound inspiration has come to me in the form of a new guy in my sphere of existence. He’s a bit of a dichotomy – we haven’t really interacted all that much, yet I feel very emotionally connected to him. It’s a strange feeling, different than what I remember; but then again, I feel like I’m a different person than before. So I’m trying hard not to overanalyze things, which coincidentally is exactly what my boss advised me not to do… as I concurrently embark on yet another new income venture.

So! Back to my health. This past weekend I had a very informative conversation with a woman by the name of Esther who is a nurse specializing in colon hydrotherapy. Another one of my friends has been talking to me about this particular treatment for awhile now; if you can get past the details of it (and I’m not going to spell it out for you here – even I have my limits – this one’s good for Googling), colon hydrotherapy is rumored to have significant impact on a) how your body processes the food you consume and b) how you feel in terms of energy level, overall well-being, etc. Again, I fall back on my “try most things at least once” ideology. And given that I’ve pretty much felt like crap for awhile now (no pun intended), combined with the fact that my friend absolutely believes I’ll feel better when it’s all said and done, I figure I’ll give it a shot and form my own opinion on the matter using an actual real life experience.

It was during this conversation that the whole insulin-dependent diabetes thing came up. I mentioned how much insulin I take, how long I’ve taken it, and some of the particular challenges I face in the ongoing management of my blood sugars – like skipping meals. Just a few weeks ago I was on the phone with Christopher – now stationed in Okinawa, Japan – and had one of my worst low blood sugar episodes to date: I took my shot of insulin and then never got around to eating any food. I was driving home while I had him on the phone with me, so the good part of this story is that I did make it inside my house in one piece… but I was a complete mess otherwise. I did have enough sense to test my blood sugar while he was on the phone with me ; it was 36 (36!!?! WTF!!) and even though I insisted I was going to eat some food after I hung up with him (which I did), he was sufficiently freaked out enough to call his friend Bryson’s dad and aunt who live two blocks away from me AND his own dad who lives a few cities over… so in a very short period of time I had three people pounding on my front door ready to call 911 if I didn't answer quick enough. I think at the time I was in the middle of eating my third banana so I was starting to get back to normal… but I realized how that episode might have really scared my son. I felt guilty until I did actually get to talk to him again later on in the week (in Okinawa, he’s 16 hours ahead of me). Not that I plan to ever let THAT happen again; but I did tell him what to do if he’s ever on the phone with me and I start acting “funny” (the alternating between laughing and crying is a clear sign) – I told him in that circumstance, he needs to be the “drill sergeant” and I am the poolie. Orders, not questions. When my blood sugar is that low, my brain isn’t working well enough to process questions. I need to be told what to do, not asked what I need.

So Esther introduced me to this company by the name of StemTech. The company itself was founded in 2005, so yes, relatively young; but what’s preceded that date is tons and tons of research, mostly by a botanical researcher and neurophysiologist by the name of Christian Drapeau. Christian took up the challenge of trying to figure out the benefits of a natural growing freshwater plant known as Aphanizomenon flos-aquae, or AFA, on human health. An aside: The idea that AFA was in some way beneficial for the human body was established by a school teacher back in the ‘70s. A school teacher! Of COURSE. Anyway, so fast-forward though the timeline of discoveries (you can do your own research on the company website), and it turns out that what StemTech did was to develop a supplement that helps one’s body to access its own adult stem cells. If you have been paying attention to the news, stem cells are those things that can facilitate amazing things – regenerative, curative things – in one’s body; you hear about people trying to extract them from their bone marrow to freeze for some later use; for example they have a kidney fail and need to grow a replacement. Esther was telling me that scientists can even do things like re-grow teeth using stem cells. It really is quite amazing when you start learning about it.

So, based on what Esther was sharing with me, and in describing what her own personal experiences have been with these supplements – both from taking them herself and others that have taken them – I was convinced to try it for awhile and determine for myself if there was any positive benefit that I noticed. Now, I am as big a skeptic as there ever was; I don’t believe in miracle cures for anything. I am too much of a realist for that. However, the potential is that my body might better utilize the insulin I do have to inject into it which might mean that I would need to inject less. Which in turn would constitute an improvement in my overall quality of life. Hell, I might even live a few years longer, who knows?

Because of my recent career changes, I decided that once I get my regular paycheck back, I’m going to start with the supplements. And get my housecleaner and DirecTv back. I’ll give it a year. Then I will reevaluate. Since Dr. Tran is lobbying hard to get me on an insulin pump (something I’ve resisted for various reasons), I figure this is going to be the last opportunity I have to change my fate. Once I start on the pump, I doubt if I’ll ever be able to get back off of it. Not that there’s anything inherently bad with an insulin pump – from my understanding of the technology of it, it would probably better manage my highs and lows – but I just don’t want to do it. I’m too young. It’s not fair. Or maybe I'm just holding onto the unrealistic hope that somehow, some way, I’ll be able to do something to change my condition so I’m not such a “sick person” – I mean, I’m a pain in the ass enough as it is. I need to try to decrease the baggage I ask other people to accept from me, not ADD to it. Sheesh!

It doesn’t escape my notice that in two days is the 3rd anniversary of the “last happiest day of my life.” And then begins the three week countdown to the Bunny’s death, aka Pearl Harbor day. Like Adele croons in her song Somebody Like You “who would have known how bittersweet this would taste” – although I realize, a bit surprisingly, that this time of year doesn’t cause me as much pain as it used to. It’s a strange feeling, different than what I remember; but then again, I feel like I’m a different person than before.

Peace.

Dog Philosophy

It's getting to be that time of year again (the holidays) - this one came off a marble plaque from my Signals catalog.



BARK
as if no one can hear you

CATCH
the ball on the fly

LICK
like there's no end to kissing

SLEEP
on a sofa nearby

JUMP
like the sky is the limit

SIT
by the fire with friends

STAY
with the ones who love you

RUN
like the road never ends



Peace out, my fellow humans.