Splinters of Self

It is difficult to take a picture of one's self. There are those who seem to do it with the greatest of ease. I am not one of them. Have I mentioned that I love Jayna?

What's On Your Bookshelf

I have noticed recently that people are fond of participating in Book Meme thingy-bobs. I too participated, but refrained from posting my results. Of 100 books on one list, I had read 71. That number should really be higher than 71 because technically the Chronicles of Narnia are more than one book. Most of the titles that I checked off are ones that I read before I turned 25.

The exercise made me want to start my own book list--What's On Your Bookshelf? This would be a list of books that you have read in the past three months. My list would look something like this.

1. Jesus Land by Julia Scheeres. A raw memoir of a girl who grew up in a whacky world of fundamentalism gone awry.
2. When You Are Engulfed in Flames, essays by David Sederis.
3. Best Friends by Martha Moody
4. Compulsion by Jonathan Kellerman
5. When Katie Wakes by Connie May Fowler. Another autobiography.
6. The Book of Jeremiah
7. Scarpetta by Patricia Cornwell

These are just books that I have read recently that I can REMEMBER. I have been known to read a book and promptly forget the main character's name and everything else about it.

One of my favorite books of all time is, Surprise Party by William Katz. As books go, I think it is fairly obscure, but it twists and somersaults its way to the best "who-dun-it" endings that I can recall. ("Recall" being the operative word.)

I liked it so much when I first read it that I bought a copy and sent it to my dearest friend, Ronda. It was before Amazon.com. I had to actually order it over the counter at Walden Books.

Amazon link to Surprise Party by William Katz

Leave and Cleave

I suppose I married far too young. Nothing could make this any clearer than when I look at my own daughter who is just two months shy of her twentieth birthday and the same age I was when I said "I do" back in 1986.

What was I thinking? What were my parents thinking? Does it matter now what any of us were thinking? Jim and I were in love. Our hearts were full of youthful passions, ideals and dreams for the future when we stood together that day under the warm smile of the Michigan sun promising each other forever in front of my father the minister and a crowd of 300 witnesses.

I've always said that we fought as hard as we loved during those first years together. Our personalities clashed daily. I remember he once told me that I made him crave four-letter words more than anyone else in the world. And, I believe it. I could be difficult when my ideals squared off with reality...and lost.

With maturity's hard-won hindsight, I can see now that we were both going through the process of "leaving and cleaving." I have heard younger souls romanticize the Biblical admonition to "leave and cleave." The truth is...leaving your youthful ideals can be painful; and, the process of blending two strong wills is not the stuff of fairy tales.

As we made it through those first few years, our hearts did grow together. We learned what was important, and what to let go. We worked together to achieve some basic goals: college--for me; a new car--a Chevy Celebrity; a house--we signed papers right after I turned 21; and children--Jayna was born right before I turned 23; and, Jared was born four and a half years later.

Since that time, the trajectory of our lives has twined us through things we never knew we would have to face. Things that left us far apart, and things that brought us back together when we least expected it. Up out of the rubble has grown a fierce mutual respect. And, for me, that is love.

Last week I had my annual physical. As part of routine screening, my nurse practitioner asked, "How are things with you and Jim?"

My answer might have been more candid than she expected, but it was the truth.

"We are partners in this business of life."

And, I realized that was the truth. Does my heart skip a beat when he walks into the room? Not really. Do I sometimes look at him and feel overwhelmed with the dearness of this man I call friend? Absolutely.

Last night we went out for a Valentine's Day dinner at Denny's. Why Denny's you might ask? One of our first dates was a breakfast supper. I think a stray bit of my former idealism hoped to grab a meaningful memory from our shared past.

As we sat across from each other in the booth, no giddiness crackled through the air. Instead, the space between us was filled with the companionship of 23 years; and, our easy conversation was punctuated with stretches of comfortable silence.

When the waiter came over to the table, I ordered breakfast-- two eggs over-easy, hash browns and pancakes.

He ordered...a hamburger, medium-rare, with onion rings.

My Valentine's idealism bristled for only a moment...this was supposed to be a breakfast supper. And, then I smiled.

Leaving and cleaving, as it turns out, is the process of a lifetime.

In which the truth is revealed...

Haiku2 for daughterofdivagation
seek a merciful restoration of a buzz word. bite the lessons.
Created by Grahame

Swish you were here

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,

blue skies from pain.

Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?

A smile from a veil?

Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? 

Hot ashes for trees?

Hot air for a cool breeze?

Cold comfort for change?

And did you exchange a walk on part in the war 

for a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.

We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,

Running over the same old ground. 

What have you found? The same old fears.

Wish you were here.

Lyrics: Pink Floyd (photo courtesy of J. J. LaFontaine)

What's in your toolbox?

A few years ago I had the good fortune to meet with a therapist who fit my need on every level. I like to say she helped me finish growing up. My diagnosis was PTSD. My treatment was EMDR, a form of cognitive therapy. It involved a little tapping, a little talking, a lot of silence, and even more prayer.

One of the most valuable things she did during my time with her was to help me pack my "toolbox." I don't think she called it a toolbox because that would have just been too much of a buzz word. But, the lessons I learned about myself in that little basement office gave me tools that I still use today.

She took one terrible, soul-crushing incident and helped me see that it wasn't the whole of me. With her help, I stepped back far enough to see that the black tangle of that incident was just a corner in the great, rich tapestry of my life.

And, I learned...

1. You can contain any situation or emotion. You don't have to dump out all your dirty laundry at once. It is possible to treat one piece at a time. Sometimes an issue is delicate and needs extra stain stick or special care. Other situations are more durable and can be washed with like colors.

2. When something happens, ask yourself, what is the truth? The truth might be that someone else messed up. And, the truth might be that you messed up. Accepting the truth either way really does set you free.

3. You can heal from the inside out. Just as your body heals the bruises that we can see, it also holds the knowledge to heal the bruises on your soul. (for those of you who have faith, you understand what this means)

4. You can recognize what parts of you are reacting in a situation. Not as though you are Sybil or anything, but we have our child selves, our rebel selves, our good selves, our caretaker selves, our spiritual selves etc. and each plays a part in how we deal with life. When we recognize the self that is calling out, we are much better equipped for dealing with a situation.

Be Quiet in the Kingdom

The old upright piano lived in the "den." The den was not much more than a glorified closet tucked behind louvered doors, but we still called it the "den." It was where I had my desk, my craft table, and a built-in bookcase.

The piano stood against the back wall. Its thick varnish was blackened and cracked with years of Old English polish, and the ivory keys had faded to pale yellow. The piano had come to our house on Davis Lake Road after being stored in the church basement. We had it tuned, and I promptly signed up for piano lessons...again.

Our daughter, Jayna, loved to climb up on the spindled stool, and plink the keys. Even at two and a half she had an ear for making a melody. She would pick the keys out one by one instead of the crash, bang, boom that you might expect from one so young.

One day I saw her perched on the edge of the stool in front of the old piano.

Plink, plink, plunk went the notes. Plinkety-plink, plank, plunk. I stopped to listen. Her little body was bent into the keyboard and the strap of her pink and white Osh Kosh jumper fell over her left shoulder as she concentrated. She was singing as she played:

"Be quiet in the Kingdom, be quiet in the Kingdom...beeeee quiiiiiiiiet in the Kinnnngdom..."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but she sang it again and again.

Later, when I asked her about the song, she answered with all the wisdom of her two and a half years, "It spoils it if you talk about it too much."

Ten years after having left the "Kingdom," I have to agree. It does spoil it if you talk about it too much. White garments and stains alike, it was what it was. It is what it is. It was not all bad; it was not all good. But, it is the melody that shaped more than half my life. I give it that respect and move on.

Plinkety-plink. Be quiet in the Kingdom.