I am so utterly happy, yet not.

I love. (sigh) Yes, I love my life. The joy I have felt recently is just as strong as the pang of grief. (sigh) The paradox of life. Life and death. Love and hate. Joy and sorrow. Complete and empty. Beginning and end.

I miss Marilyn and also revel in the discovery of so much love — all together in one life, in one heart.  The intensity of brilliant bliss and new beginnings with Paul, yet also a blaring black void of where my sister once was and is no more. Life is lovely and yet so lacking as well.  I love yet still … life and all it’s tricks slice through — and yet, sweetly there is still love. I smile quietly, and she would like to see me smile.

Thank you God.

I won???

I can’t believe I was elected as BSW Representative.

wow.  I’m shocked since I was nominated, didn’t ever consider running myself and truly didn’t think victory was an option.

Well, as we say dozens of times while slave to the institution of higher learning:

“It will be good experience”.

There’s this woman I can’t stand

She is a saccharin simpleton with a past time of stirring shit.

That bitch.

(sigh) Okay. I feel better.

Wish she would read this.

D- Dumb

E- Evil

B- Bitch

Not met yet, but know each other best

Technology has opened up a door to allow us to open our hearts to people we have never “met”, and maybe, never will. Some of the most beautiful hearts have revealed them self using only emoticons as facial expressions. I love knowing such a plethora of people and being a part of their life — even it it is just an email a day. Some of the most unconditional kindness and support has been from a man or woman who knows me on as “linda@wordpress” , “linda on MySpace” or “linda @ sbcglobal”.

However, my base self in some situations longs for a cup of coffee or glass of wine with some of the friends I have made here in our cyberworld. I wish to hear the voice of the woman who supported me through me angst with my ex. I long to see the eyes of the man who shares his days with me and playfully flirts in between darling description of his days as a single dad. I wish I could hug the social worker across the country that reassured me, “yes, all social workers wonder if they spent all those years in college for nothing and yes, the field really is worth it.” I want to take a walk with these different people and laugh at the absurdity of life.

But, would it all be different in person? Would the magic and beauty be gone with a different method of communication? Would our ability to be honest with the big stuff still happen? Would we stumble to chat without a delete key before us? Hmmmmm … I think with some friends it would be better and more lovely and amazing should we meet face-to-face. I think with other friends, we were never meant to really, meet … our reason and season in each others life is to stay confined to the computer. Bittersweet isn’t it? Still special, nonetheless.

God bless you Mr. S

Thank you for the beautiful conversations and allowing me to see the world through the eyes of a homeless man. You were not only my first “client” as a social work student, but my favorite to this day.

No more cold nights or even colder stares. You are finally home. Give my sister a hug and save me a seat.

Love,

Linda

Your favorite Intern

Wow, at 39 I am actually doing better

As I listened to an acquaintance drone on the other day about how they were a “victim yet again” in the world of dating, I felt something odd. Actually, it was an absence of normal feeling. I wasn’t feeling the usually sympathy. I wasn’t blurting out my normal, “Oh my gawd, are you serious?!?! That pig (or wench) did what?!?” I listened to him go on about all he did for this girl … and how he loved her so much… and she told him she loved him … and it seemed so right … he thought she meant it … yaddah, yaddah.

It was then I realized, “Wow, Linda, you don’t do things like that any longer.” And, I am not only happy, but proud of myself for making better choices. Now, before you blow a gasket and fire off a hateful email, let me state right off the bat that I do believe 100% that bad things do happen to good people and especially in the dating world. We all have been collateral damage to someone else’s “growing and finding themselves” as they dance off into the sunset and leave us behind in the dirt with a broken heart — tears rolling down our cheeks as the dust mingles unattractively with our tears. Yes, we all have been victim to the “serial dater” who is addicted to the rush that comes with infatuation, but when the relationship begins to develop into a much more sedate, “mature love” (an actual more advanced stage of love), our partner suddenly loses interest. He (she) may mumble something about “falling out of love” as they surreptitiously send a text message to their “new love”. And I’m not alone in having dated individuals who were just emotionally unavailable either because of some emotional health issues or else being hung up on an ex — none of us can compete with a ghost. These situations are out of our control. The operative phrase is “out of our control”. Let me repeat that: these situations are out of our control.

My darlings, I am here to rant about those situations which are in our control. Otherwise, our pain and heartache is secondary to our own choices… our broken heart is because of our inability to take control of our own life and make good choices. Now, in case you don’t know me or do, but forgot — I didn’t just wake up over night and start to make good choices — oh hell no !! I hung out for some time in the land of “this-choice-is-a-little-bit-better-than-the-last-choice-I-made”… and that’s okay — progress, not perfection is what life is all about, my friends.

Here’s some concepts and opinions of mine in regard to dating. Take ‘em or leave ‘em:

• It really never works well when there’s 3 people in your relationship… (i.e. you, him, and an ex they always talk to but emphatically insist “we are just friends, really!”). If there’s an ex hanging around — hang it up.
• When I hear you love me, I should be able to see you love me. (words are meaningless if your actions aren’t loving, respectful, faithful and etc too. If you can’t see what you hear from them, I’d call that inconsistent. Translation: they’re lying and they have a self-centered definition of love)
• Rebounds are a reality and no amount of denial by one person can change this truth. When we are rebounding from a relationship we just need someone to make us feel like we are okay. Rebounding may imitate love, but in the end it’s no imitation of heartache.
• It’s just not a good idea to begin cohabitation before a year of dating has passed. I knew one guy who knew a girl TWO weeks and asked her to move in … let me just say the girl took him for several thousand dollars, a computer, a cell phone and more. He swears he’s just a nice guy and is a “victim” and to this day he still feels I am unreasonable when I say, “You brought this upon yourself”.
• You have to date in the same zip code regarding intellect, faith, goals — only some variables are compatible as opposites. I think actually the more things you have in common, the better. Enough differences do need to exist to provide some individuality — but hey, let’s get real — an atheist and Mormon aren’t most likely going to be a good mix.
• Drinking impairs one’s ability to make good life decisions — both in and outside of the dating arena.
• If they get serious really fast, that’s not really a good thing. Relationships, unlike most things in our society today, are not instant … you gotta do more than “just add water”. If someone isn’t able to do the process necessary for a relationship, then there’s usually a good reason. Are they in love with the idea of being in love and just need someone to fill the bill? Are they unable to support themself? Are they unable to be alone?

That’s all I have for now … hopefully I retain and implement all that I have learned. Hopefully, I remember to maintain control over my side of the street and worry about controlling the only thing I have the ability to control — myself.

Unbelievable

So what was it that made him think it was even an option — even a remote possibility? I was so frustrated and irritated, and of course, all the good lines came to me after the moment had passed. However, isn’t that always the case? Next time I will be more prepared and say something witty like, “You have got to be kidding … right?!?!” Or perhaps I’ll just burst into hysterical laughter and walk away, choking on my chuckles. Or maybe I will coolly respond, “I don’t do charity work on Thursdays.” Ouch, that would work.

Why in the hell would he think I would go out with him? I would never date a married man!

Today and Tomorrow — Life is good!

I started my social work practicum today working with veterans. I will be working with them in both the individual and group setting. My enthusiasm increased significantly after getting to know some of the clients and other social workers at the facility. We are one of the sites targeted in the nation to pilot a new program so needless to say, this is a very good opportunity. I will be working at the micro and macro level, while gaining experience with organic mental illness, substance abuse and war-related issues, of course. Since I will be interning 20 hours a week, taking 13 credit hours and raising my three children, my blogging will be decreasing significantly. I also want to continue my volunteer hospice work, but won’t be taking on any new clients. There’s no way I could stop seeing my surrogate grandmother … seeing her is a gift that I give myself.

This is the most content I have ever been in my life. My little family and I are all healthy, I am in a good place financially, I love school and my future looks very promising. The only thing lacking is the love of a significant other … someone with which to share all the blessings and occasional heartaches. I’m in no hurry however, and have no intentions of “settling”.

I’m wiped out, time to read a story to my younger two and fall into bed — alone again, yet all is well and life is good.

One Life and Three Centuries

Upon entering the “Activities Room” I began scanning and looking for the familiar Colts baseball cap with the signature scrawled across the bill in black Sharpie. The “Activities Room” is where all eating, bingo, reading aloud and conglomeration of group sleep occurs for the residents of the long term care facility. The lighting is poor, which I don’t think is fair since many of the residents had begun to lose a good deal of their vision some time ago. The mean age looks to be about eighty-something.

I squint my own almost-but-not-yet-40-year-old-eyes to see if that will suddenly make my adopted grandma appear from out of the institutional gray walls. It was difficult to distinguish one fuzzy head of white hair from another at times. The staff has them arranged in such a way I am reminded of the pussy willow buds which grow away from the mid-line of the tree. A nurses aide moves and I finally locate my surrogate grandma in her buggy, as I call her wheeled legs, with the infamous hat and hot cocoa in front of her. As I cross the room and close the distance between her and I, snippets of conversations layer themselves over each other — all spoken at an elevated volume to bridge the hearing loss which is inevitable with age.

“Can you eat some more Jello?” shouts one aide as she deftly scoops up a wobbly green cube

“No, you can have it,” says a shaky yet high pitched voice.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, darling,” another voice calls out which is roughened by a few too many Marlboro Lights.

“Take me to my room, I’m tired,” grumbles a man with several days stubble shadowing his jawline. His lower jaw protrudes forward giving him a vague resemblance to a bull dog.

I think to myself briefly how similar the residents sound to my own children. Is it not irony we exit this lifetime almost as helpless as we came into the world? As I approach my hospice client, she looks up and deduces someone is coming to see her for I see her mouth turn up at the sides and the lines deepen and crinkle around her watery blue eyes. I smile back with both joy and relief. In being a hospice volunteer, one learns quickly each day is a gift and without notice playful eyes can suddenly become dull and lifeless and entire dimensions of a person can be erased with a stroke, dementia or impending death. Her eyes thankfully still radiate with life and her feathery voice has a happy lilt as she reaches out for a hug. She never remembers my name, but knows she knows me and that is all that matters. If I were 110 years old, names would slip from my mind like wet noodles off a wet plate. As I press my cheek against her soft, wrinkly cheek I try to memorize how it feels — almost like a kitten’s ear. I pull away and place a hand fondly against her cheek.

“You look good Grandma. How are you?”

“The good Lord willing, I’m doing well again today.”

” I haven’t found you a husband yet, a good man is hard to find Grandma … I can’t even find one for myself.”

She chuckles with amusement and reaches out to touch my arm, her fingers swollen at the joints, the skin looking like parchment. Her touch is cool and soft, surprisingly pleasant.

“Well, I don’t want no lazy man now. I don’t want to have to care for another one. Get me one about 65 so he can still work and take care of a home.”

And so begins our weekly visit. She shares about her childhood and laughs when she tells how her brothers would carry her to the top of the barn and leave her there scared out of her wits. I ask her how did she get down? She tells me with a twinkle in her eyes that shines despite the cloud of her cataracts, “Oh, I just hollered for mother — and boy, did they get in trouble.” An hour passes too quickly as our resident grandma explains to me the handiness of slop jars back in the early 1900s. She tells me about being premature and being kept warm by a cook stove after she was born. I listen intently as she explains how to button shoes with a shoe hook; and I laugh when she tells me about her two aunts lived together because “they both were a bit snooty and deserved each other.”

I hear a lot of the same stories now. Yet each time I hear them I bubble with enthusiasm and love for this stooped over, tiny woman who sits with her Colts hat jauntily cocked upon her thin white hair. I bubble over because she bubbles with joy as she tells them — reliving the beautiful moments with glee. Her memory is an endless well of life’s precious moments she ladles out to those who listen. The painful moments she puts a fence around by saying, “Things don’t always make sense when they happen, but there is always a good reason and you just have to be okay with that.” There’s gotta be something to that … after all, she is 110.

On the precipice of tomorrow

I have been restless all day — well, the seven hours I have been awake for this day anyway. My beloved children are with their father and I slept in today until 8:00. I woke up slowly, lingering in the area between wake and sleep, enjoying the fuzzy feeling that comes with it. I am pleased that I can experience such simple pieces of heaven. There was a time in life that I was too stressed or too “something” to notice the little wonders like that in my day. The cat (note I don’t say “my cat”, because I really basically ignore her and leave the lavishing love part to my children), she was not too happy when I stretched and accidentally displaced her from her perch on the end of the bed. For some reason I still do not understand, she always sleeps with me. She reminds me of myself earlier in life, still hanging onto relationships when the other party really is not all that interested in interacting. Hmmmm, and I thought dogs were supposed to be the devoted ones.

Now that my summer has been officially brought to a close by the magic, blue rag I am no longer able to “just lounge” and now find myself in continual motion. This morning I busied myself with mindless activities, as my mind was busy organizing the various tasks I need to accomplish prior to Tuesday’s close and thinking about the clients I will be working with in my internship. I walk into my Senior practicum at 9:00 on that day and am quite optimistic about the opportunity that has been afforded to me. Most of my classmates are really nervous, yet I’m not, which I suppose is a benefit of being an older, “non-traditional student” (I just love that little label). I feel more excitement and a growing desire to learn and serve — not nervous, worried or fearful. My placement is to work with veterans in supportive housing, which will be good experience since we are dumping thousands of war -torn individuals back into society on a monthly basis.

In 2004, according to the US Census, the United States had 24.9 million veterans. (For edification purposes, a veteran is an individual who has served 24 months in the military.) I hope to gain an understanding of what it is like to go from the institutional environment in which one is told when to eat, when to sleep, when to awaken and then upon completion of the time (which is up when “they” tell you) to be dumped back into society and told, “get a job, mow your lawns and play nice”. I wonder what it is like to live in hyper-vigilance, not knowing if the man by the apple stand will have a bomb and then to return and begin living in the States where we don’t even like to share our apples. I wonder how skewed our visions of the war are by our media. I wonder what it’s like to live in fear and not be with the ones you love. I wonder what it’s like to not know if you will be alive tomorrow and you are only 20 today. I wonder what it is like to see your buddy turn into what they call “pink vapor”. I wonder what it’s like to be told you have to serve an additional three months when you don’t know if you will be alive tomorrow. But mostly I wonder, probably the same thing they do … just simply, I wonder, ” Why?”.