She's taking chances...

She gets rock n roll a rock n roll station
And a rock n roll dream
She's making movies on location
She don't know what it means
But the music make her wanna be the story
And the story was whatever was the song what it was
Roller girl don't worry
D.J. play the movies all night long

I remember hearing this song back in the dark ages of the late 70's.  A friend said the song was "my" song.  It was me that Dire Straits was singing about.  I was a flattered 19 year old, stepping out onto the brink of adulthood - no holds barred, nothing to keep in check, the world at my feet.

My life WAS the songs I heard on the radio.  I lived for music - the poetry of my soul.  My hopes, my dreams, my loves, my failures.  They were all there on the radio. 

But the roller girl she's taking chances
They just love to see her take them all

Chances.  

I remember those.  

I took them head on with a smile on my face.  

Looking back, I see a girl who was never afraid.  But I know better. I was always afraid. 

 Except now, it's more noticeable.  I'm more cautious.  I don't pick up and dust off nearly as well as I once did.  Probably because I've learned - you can't always live in that dream world.  Sometimes, no matter how hard you fight reality - Reality creeps in and rules the day.

When I was much younger - before my skateaway days - I never really dreamed.  Reality was horribly there - every day - telling me what I could or could not do.  It was painful and blantant.  And it never left my side. 

Nope.  Love was never coming.  No white knight.  No castles.  No beautiful wedding gowns flowing over the fields as my prince swept me into his arms.  

Never as a young girl did I dream of that.  I was different.  I knew it.  No matter what - it was never going to happen for me.  I was told that - I was shown that.  I believed that.

Then the wheels hit my feet.

Hallelujah here she comes queens rollerball
Enchante what can I say dont care at all
You know she used to have to wait around
She used to be the lonely one
But now that she can skate around town
Shes the only one

I could fly.  I could reach out and pass by all the hurt and the pain of childhood.  I was invincible and alive.  Nothing was going to bring me down as I sailed away on avenues never available to me before.  And that is how I met him.

I was on top of my game.  I wasn't needy.  I wasn't vulnerable.  I was everything I could ever want to be.  I was me.  He was the truck grazing my hip and the seduction of the city.  He was my taxi driver - and I was his matador.  And I fell in love.

No fears alone at night she's sailing through the crowd
In her ears the phones are tight and the musics playing loud

Somewhere along the way - the phones were removed from my ears.  The music faltered and quieted.  But it was okay.   I had the dreams I had never allowed myself.  I had the music we created together.  I had him and I had love. 

Yet somewhere, somehow, over the years - the music ceased to exist.  I don't remember even losing it.  But I do remember waking up one day and realizing it was gone.  It was all gone.  The music, the dreams, the love, the feel of the wind on my face as I sailed into the crowd.  I wasn't sailing.  The crowd wasn't parting.  My feet were like lead weights.  The whirlwind of fantasy was no longer something I could see.  Instead, there were traffic jams and horns blaring and the pain of a gray city.

I wanted out. I wanted my skateaway.  I wanted my freedom and life back.

I rediscovered the song just a little while ago.  

I rediscovered music again.  

The dreams, the laughs, the hopes, the falls.  It's all there.  Again.  In my life. And I'm starting to feel whole.  It's almost as if I'm 19 all over again - and the blip in the middle was only that - a blip. 

She's back.  

That rollergirl - she's taking chances.  

And this time...I know to be careful of the trucks and the taxis and the traffic surrounding me.  I know...the wheels on my feet can slip on the pavement.  I also know...I can fly...

Come slippin and a slidin
Lifes a rollerball
Slippin and a slidin
Skateaway thats all
Shala shalay hey hey skateaway
Shes singing shala shalay hey hey
Skateaway

Any Major Dude...

It's been a Steely Dan kinda day...week...month...

Sometimes it's hard not to see beyond the facade of happy day-to-day existence - it's hard not to see the tiny timber tied together trying to hold up the smiles and laughter.

That's how I feel today.

Tired of trying not to see - not to feel the tiredness of the days as they stack upon one another.  Trying not to fold under the weight of my acceptance.

"Any major dude with half a heart surely will tell you my friend...any minor world that breaks apart falls together again."

I try.  Day in. Day out. I try.  I'm no different than anyone else - yet, I wonder sometimes why it is that I feel so different...so removed from the rest of society.

If you look at me statistically - I'm right there in the thick of things.  I'm a divorced, single mom.  I struggle with making ends meet. I'm average height.  I'm one of millions of overweight Americans. I remember the 70's. I believe in hope.  I don't trust our Government. I hate war. I love puppies.  Nothing too unusual about me.

Yet...

I've always felt as if I were just a tad removed from the reality of life around me - as if I exist on the sidelines and can almost reach in to experience the game...but not quite...it's just a transparency sitting outside the perimeter of my sight.

God knows I try.  I want to play.  I want to be a part of it all - but sometimes it's so exhausting to go through the motions just getting to the game so that when my chance finally comes around to join in, I find an excuse to step away from the field.  It's maddening sometimes - yet, I know I do it to myself.

I make sure I find a way to live life on the peripheral.

"I can tell you all I know, the where to go, the what to do. You can try to run but you can't hide from what's inside of you."

The melancholy of living - even to those of us who always see the glass as half-full, who would rather smile than fight, and who chose to see the joy in the day instead of the death and destruction that surround us - never escapes us. We know it's there. It's always there - and it's not even hiding around the corner.

No. It's twisted up in the twine that wraps the facade around us as we go out into the world. Every day. Every moment. It's always there.

Somehow, it's part of who we are.  And, at least for me, it's what keeps me anchored on the outside looking in.

"I've never seen you looking so bad my funky one. You tell me that your superfine mind has come undone."

Any major dude...

Shine on...shine on Harvest moon...up in the sky...

I love Fall.  Or Autumn as the season is properly called.  But, while I was living in Alaska - I came to understand the reason behind calling Autumn Fall.

My first Autumn in Alaska - I was talking with my mom on the phone and looking out of my sliding glass door.  We lived in a second floor apartment and my view was a forest of trees.  They were beautiful.  The white birch wore their canopies of yellow leaves brilliantly while surrounded by the reds and pale greens of ash and cottonwoods.  It was a cornucopia of colors framed by the majesty of varying spruce.

Well - as I was talking to my mom - all of the leaves (and yes - I do mean ALL OF THE LEAVES) dropped from the trees. At the same time. Together. As if they all counted "one, two, three" then yelled "jump" and down they came.

Fall.

I never called it Autumn again.

It's the end of September - officially Autumn for the last couple of days - and it's a ridiculous 90+ degrees outside.

I hate Fall in Texas.  It's almost as unbearable as summer.

We've had rain - thankfully - but it only adds humidity to the air and makes the heat all the more unbearable.

Right now, I'm pretending it's lovely and I've opened the windows of my apartment for the first time in four months.  Yep. Windows open, A/C off.

I'm insane.

But I want it to be cooler.  I'm desperate.  I want to wear jeans and long sleeves.  I want to curl up with a blanket and a book and listen to the rain and the wind.  I want to be chilly.

Sometimes, I want to go home.

Except, where exactly is home?

Right now it's Texas.  I guess.  I don't know.  I'm still not sure after three years. It's more familiar than it was, but I don't know if that makes it home.

Is it Alaska?  I was there for 18 years.  It was heaven.  But ... life happened up there and it was time to move on.  Emotionally.  Financially.  But I miss it.  I miss the trees and the mountains.  I miss the waters and I even miss the snow.  I miss Summer.  I miss the week of Fall and the week of Spring.

I don't miss seven months of Winter.

Or is home really California?  My mom always said I would miss it one day.  And I do.  With all my heart.  But I don't think the California I miss is still there. Most of the people aren't there anymore.  At least the people that I loved.

No.  Most of them have moved on or died. They are the California that I miss. They are the California that is home.

Maybe it's true.

Maybe you can never go home.

Because home isn't a place.

Home is a memory.

So - I'll hold my memories close to my heart. I'll wear them when no one is looking - bring out the thin, Victorian needleworks of time and gently wrap myself in the familiar fabric of family and friends no longer with me.  And as I quietly twirl around the dusty confines of memory, I'll ache to touch them all just one more time before I gently fold them back into the tiny compartments of my heart. I'll kiss them all goodbye and pattern them throughout my present day life.

I'll look out the window and imagine the stagnant breeze of a Texas Autumn carrying my home into the tiniest of dust particles and depositing it all around me.

Maybe today - I'll start to accept this place as my home afterall...

Maybe - just maybe - Autumn will be Fall, Fall will be warm sweaters, and Texas will weave itself into my heart along side Alaska and California.

What wroth is brought to bear?

In a continuation from the last post...

The silence has brought about a pain that I didn't see coming.

Not mine.  No - I'm more or less at a milestone in the bumpy road I share with my ex.

My son.

He was fine...for a while.  Until he realized that this woman referred to herself as "wife to be" four months ago.  That would be May.  This is September.  In between was Summer and a two week vacation my son and his dad  took together.

You know...the trip where two people reconnect?  Where two people learn about one another?  Yep.  That trip.  The one where his father failed to mention he was getting remarried.

To a woman with two children.

The trip where my son's father failed to mention his family would be expanding.  That my son would have a stepmother and two step brothers.

Fail.

Epic Fail.

Whatever trust his father was attempting to rebuild disappeared in that whooshing sound you heard last night.  Gone in a flash.

That's what happens with trust.

It can be there - be strong and unwavering.  It can be given without a second thought.  It goes hand-in-hand with love.  But be the one who whittles away at it?  Be the person who pulls that last peg out from the Jenga game and watch all the pieces fall everywhere?  It can suck.  Plain and simple.

If you're lucky - you can rebuild that tower of trust.  But you can only tear it down so many times before your partner is done playing.

The sad part is - you never know how many times you can remove pegs from the fragile tower.  And each peg removed cannot be automatically replaced because you changed your mind.

No.  Trust was destroyed years ago.  The sad part is that the trust originally there was the innocent trust of a child - the trust that comes from being born into a loving home.  There's no reason to doubt as long as there is love.

But watch out for those promises.

They'll get you everytime.

Without a drawn out reason for the past breaches of trust - suffice it to say, it has been a long three year rebuild that was enjoying a wonderful success.  It was a mature trust.  A once bitten, twice shy trust - but it was there.  Eyes were wide open.  Mistakes were expected and forgiven.

And sadly, excuses were made.  The mature trust was disguised and ... as it turns out ... was simply a facade for a hurriedly recreation of that innocent childhood crush from long ago.

For all my ex did through his years of self-destruction, I had thought his sobriety and rediscovered self had taught him that omission of truth can be just as damning as lies.

I was wrong.

And now he is paying the price for a debt he isn't even aware he owes.

Over my son's lifetime I have taught him the value of trust and faith in another human being.  I've taught him that these strengths must start within ourselves.  He has seen firsthand the damage that can be done when trust is lost in another person.  And he has seen what happens when that trust - rebuilt several times - looks like when it is completely destroyed.

My ex destroyed my trust in him.  It was the final straw and the catalyst for divorce.  It doesn't matter how it was destroyed.  My son was a witness to the rollercoaster that was the final years of an incredibly wonderful marriage gone terribly bad.

By not volunteering his involvement with a new woman allowed the black hole of speculation to open up and swallow our son.

The fragile trust is gone, and the pain that had been a lingering memory has reignited into a festering sore threatening to infect any future attempts at family.

And his father has no idea.

The many Surprises of Facebook

My son informed me that while I was out last night - Hell had officially frozen over.

His father - my ex - is now on Facebook.

Oh. Dear. God. No.

While most people share the ever-entwining paths of Facebook with lovers and friends and exes of every imaginable existence - I have been blessed with a technologically deficient ex-husband who has shuddered at the thought of moving into the 21st century.  He has repeatedly informed me that socializing sites are a complete waste of time and not a valid use of what the internet has to offer.  And while I disagree with his take on Social Networks, I have quietly reveled in the knowledge that I was free to be who I am to a network filled with strangers.

True...I shuddered when older family members joined the ranks of Facebook - but I've come to realize it's easier  to stay in touch this way than forgetting to send out yet another round of Christmas letters every year.

But my ex?

Oh. Hell. No.

While I admit I truly loved the man and believed him to be my soulmate on this earth - we've completely grown in opposite directions.  There is a reason he is my ex.  I feel no animosity toward him, nor do I wish him anything other that peace, love and goodwill.  But...I do NOT want him reading about my day to day life, nor am I willing to censor what I say and do on Facebook.

I understand that most people don't care one way or the other what I say or do on Facebook.  He may be among those people.  But have you noticed that each time you add a new friend - somewhere in the back of your head - you wonder if they will judge you for saying "fuck"?  I guarantee if my mother were still alive, my statuses would be entirely different.

I'm thankful I'm as technologically literate as I am.  I have blocked my account from most of the curious out there who wander the internet cloaked as stalkers seeping into the lives of unsuspecting marks.  He cannot see  that I had a date last night, or am pissy about working 70 hour weeks, or bitchy about lack of parental support for our son.

But I can see his Wall.

So I did what any other ex would do and I looked at his Facebook info.

SONOFABITCH if the first thing I see is a comment asking him when his upcoming wedding is.  WHAT THE FUCK???

Seriously?

Further down is another comment...this time from a woman...greeting him with love from his future wife.  And not just any woman...the woman he is "renting a room from."

So...all this time I was thinking he was a loser for not having a place of his own - for feeling bad for him because he was trying to get back on his feet - he's been "renting a room" from a woman who thanks him for last night????

Jealous? No.  Pissed off because I was COMPLETELY in the dark about this? Absolutely!

I've told him repeatedly that I wish only love for him - that I want him to find someone who loves him and looks at him the way I use to.  I want him happy.  So maybe he could tell me?  Or at the very least, tell his son?

I've always known that if you want to keep things quiet - the last thing you do is post it on Facebook.

Obviously, my ex missed that part in his lessons on navigating the "highway of tubes."

And then the morning comes...

New day.

Sometimes, they just pass by like a daily freight train rumbling through the backyard, and then there are other days where they whisper and flit around like a butterfly dreaming of clouds.  Morning brings with it promises of a new day, or reminders of the broken pieces from the night before.

But if you're like most people - morning is just morning.  And the day is just another day.

I am not like most people.

Sure, there are times I get caught up in the angst of daily strife and lose sight of what I'm supposed to be doing besides going through the motions. I hate those days. They depress me and capture me within a funk that can - at times - be difficult to break free.

And then there are mornings like today, and like I expect tomorrow to be.

Days that hold promise of new things - of being one step closer to love - of being that much closer to floating just above the ground.  These are the days I live for.  I wish I could plan them out - line them up and use them when the need arises.  But instead, there is a higher power that seems to drop them on me when I least expect them.

It's the same power that brings me love, tangible or not.  The same power that shows me possibilities, but not a way to attain the dream.  The same power that gave me just enough time away from one who holds my heart to see there's another who is willing and able.  The power that throws me back together with original to remind me there is always a choice - always a decision to make in life.

Right or wrong - eventually I have to make a choice.

But not today.

This is not the day to break dreams, to step among the pillars of reality and dodge sleeping freight trains.

Today is a day filled with the warmth of love and promise. Today is the day I climb a tree and laze about in the sun. Today is the day of youthful daydreams - of chasing frogs in the grass and releasing the magic of dandelions.

At least for a moment - I will be cocooned within the comfort of childhood hopes. I will smile up at the sun and thank the Spirits for the gift of today.

Maybe tomorrow I will be one step closer to a decision...

Love the one you're with

He says I'm beautiful.

And smart.

And funny.

And kind.

He makes me laugh and has a way of bringing me up when I feel down or frustrated.  He always seems to put a smile on my face.  He can also make me blush...and for some reason, I look forward to his IM's popping up on my screen at work.

And I don't know why.

I really don't see what he sees.  Yes, I believe I'm intelligent and funny.  I know I am kind.  But beautiful?  Nah...not really seeing that.  But they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so I'm not going to argue with him.

So why am I here blogging about this?

Because I'm truly confused.  For everything I've said that's positive about this man, I'm not that attracted to him.  Even though he stirs feelings inside of me - I'm not sure how far I want to take things with him.  And I don't know why.

I'm beyond the age of judging a person simply on their looks. No...I've grown in that I see beyond the physical and can peer deep down into the soul.  Look for the heart and not the head of hair.  Look into the eyes and not measure the girth of his belly.

We are so very much more than the outer casings we try so hard to maintain for everyone's approval.  We are more than height and weight and hair color.  More than a bra size.  More than ... well, you get the idea.  So that's not it...completely...

He's such a nice person - and for some reason he really is interested in me.  And that's the complication.

He reminds me of the other person in and out of my life.  The one that has my heart. The one that has no idea what to do with it so he runs the other way.  The one who reminded me what it's like to love and be loved.

This man reminds me of him.

And that confuses the hell out of me.

So I think until I sort it all out - until I can differentiate the feelings in my heart and in my head - until I can hear this man's words and not the other one's voice - I think I need to play my cards close to my chest.

Afterall...that is where my heart is...

Rediscovery...

I'm slow.

I'll admit it.  I'm finally starting to read "Eat, Pray, Love" and only because I bought the book for someone else.  I figured maybe I'll flip through it and see if  it's worth the hype.

Liz Gilbert described my feelings exactly when she talked of ending her marriage.

"I don't want to be married anymore. I was trying so hard not to know this, but the truth kept insisting itself to me...How could I be such a criminal jerk as to proceed this deep into a marriage, only to leave it?"

Then she described my feelings on Spirituality.

"Culturally, though not theologically, I'm a Christian. I was born a Protestant of the white Anglo-Saxon persuasion. And while I do love that great teacher of peace who we call Jesus...I can't swallow that one fixed rule of Christianity insisting that Christ is the only path to God...Traditionally, I have responded to the transcendent mystics of all religions. I have always responded with breathless excitement to anyone who has ever said that God does not live in a dogmatic scripture or in a distant throne in the sky, but instead abides very close to us indeed - much closer than we can imagine, breathing right through our own hearts."

It's hard to put your life into words - or at least very few words - when you are discussing what some would consider a failure in your life.  Yet, Ms Gilbert does so quite well in her quick synopsis of what pushes her toward the journey of this book.  I'm barely into it - yet I feel as if I've been embraced by a soul that found a way to grow while still young enough to learn and give back.

So what am I doing?

I started my life over officially 4 years ago when I left my husband after 23 years of marriage.  I put him on a plane to Washington for his 4th (and seemingly) final attempt at sobriety on the day of our 23rd anniversary.  I told him not to bother coming back since I was leaving him and moving to Texas to be nearer to family.  I didn't finalize my divorce until April 2008 - after he followed us to Texas. I finally decided he was strong enough to let go.

But is that when my marriage ended?  It's what I've always told everyone...but no. That's not the truth.

My marriage ended for me after I gave birth to my son. My light. My joy. My gift. I realized there was a person in this world that I would willingly give my life for - sacrifice everything for - someone I could and would love truly unconditionally no matter what.  And at that moment, my focus changed and I started to breathe - to see - through my heart.

Understandably, my husband was not happy about this change.  I tried to balance it. I truly did.  But somewhere in my attempts, I found my own needs - my own voice.  I hadn't even realized they were missing.  I reached out to my education. I reached out to my passions. And while I was reaching - I was holding on to my son. I thought...I had hoped...that my husband could follow along side me. I had assumed he would want to move forward - for the sake of bettering ourselves for this precious child we had lovingly brought into this world.

But in that first year, and subsequent years, our paths separated and became further and further apart. What I thought was a lull in our marriage was actually the division of the union of souls. My marriage ended almost 10 years before I found myself acknowledging that voice inside of me, "I don't want to be married anymore."

As I said, I'm slow.

Here I am. 50 years old. Divorced after a lifetime of marriage. Mother of the perfect teenage son with less than two years left before college.  Starting over. No retirement, no savings, no credit.

But I'm at peace. Something I wasn't sure I'd ever experience again. I'm true to myself and I'm true to my son. I study everything I can searching for the God that I can feel beside me, speaking through my heart. I believe I have found that without the surety of labels.  I have my spirituality, I have my peace, I have my God.

I wish I could have traveled to Bali. Or Italy. Or a quiet cabin nestled in the redwoods close to the Pacific ocean. But I couldn't - I had to find that peace within my day-to-day means of survival as a single mom.

And I did.

I have the peace and the understanding to move forward in my life. To rediscover the lost spirituality I gave away when I got caught up in living for everyone else.  I have the chance because I am simply me.

Slow.
But me.