exactly!

Tom Brosseau - Today Is A Bright New Day

You know it's a good song when it makes you cry ...

my daughter and spiders

my way?

At my stepsister's wedding reception a few years ago, the DJ asked everyone for requests from the dance floor. My then 17-year-old son quipped: "My Way." Haha … at a wedding! I love that boy.

He's always been a "my way or the highway" kind of kid. Yes, good manners, kindness, and respect have been prominently stressed in our home and all are very much a part of his character. But I love that he also owns who he is and stays pointed in that direction, give or take a couple of wrong turns that he's quickly corrected. I wish I were more that way. Most of my life decisions (as a mom, at least) have been centered around what's best for the boy and his sister — and the few times I've strayed from this ideal I've been met with devastating results ... i.e. moving all of us in with my less-than-kind boyfriend when the kids were in their adolescent years. Yeah, that didn't exactly work to anyone's advantage.

But I digress. Point is, do you ever feel that you only exist just to blow in whatever direction the wind takes you? There's a judge and jury inside me that's trying to decide if this is an acceptable way to live Kirsten's life. I am accommodating by nature, likely a coping mechanism from a somewhat dysfunctional childhood. Shouldn't I be more adamant about getting what I want instead of trying to please everyone else all of the time? Wouldn't a therapist tell me this would be healthy?

Fact is, the proverbial clock is ticking and it seems I've reached the chapter in my life's guidebook that proclaims: After the youngest child graduates high school — actually happening in a few months — Kirsten finds a nice guy, settles down, and lives happily ever after. Check the nice guy part and thank you, God. But there are so many uncertainties with my children and his children that we find ourselves putting aside our grand plans, temporarily, for their benefit. It's tough out there when you're approaching college, in college, or are a recent college graduate ... and we both believe it's our role as parents to provide them with the safety nets they need. Be that as it may, the 13-year-old rebel inside my head is screaming "that's not fair!!!" Most days I tell her to shut up and that's that, but others ... dammit if she's not the most self-righteous and convincing voice on the planet.

A good lawyer would make a solid argument that I have not regretted one sacrifice I've made for the sake of my children's wellbeing, nor will I regret further sacrifices I make for them down the road — which is totally true.

"I hate lawyers!" screams my teenage self.

Springing

Thanks, google. I might not have known it was the first day of spring! Or maybe I would, had I stopped for two seconds to observe my own surroundings. But Google, and the fact that I arose, wide awake, at 5:00 a.m. this morning, has forced that pause. Change is in the air, for sure, but instead of embracing all that is new and wonderful, I'm frankly, freaking out. Also, my rheumatoid arthritis is flaring up. Well, damn. The part of my being that thrives on order and routine is being shaken to its core and I fear I'm not up to the task — mentally or physically — to adapt to an unforeseeable future. Hell, I'm lucky if I remember to put the trash out on trash day. Thursday, right? Shoot. Add another task to my morning to-do list.

My daughter is graduating from high school in a few short months. I am so proud of the person she's become and I have no doubt that she'll go on to do amazing things with her life. Artistic and creative things. Brilliant things. Same with my boy, who's in the middle of his college career and has decided to become a writer — an apt career choice, being that he has so much to say and a way with words that's off the charts brilliant! There I go bragging about my kids again and overusing the word brilliant. Point is, this period — in which the kids are well on their paths to becoming adults —was to be the springboard (hey, pun!) for the next chapter in my life. Finally, the answer to the question "when is it MY turn?"

But, as usual, it seems things aren't going to go exactly as planned. You'd think I'd have learned by now that real change involves 25 percent disappointment, 25 percent graceful adaptation, and 50 percent faith in an all-knowing God. Or is it 100 percent in the God thing? Yes, probably. The most wonderful examples of this, for me, come with this season. Neurotic people like me fight it, but all one has to do is look outside — one day you're a bud on a stem and the next you're a rose in full bloom.  Then comes, summer, fall, winter ... and you get to do it all over again. Brilliant!



Photo by Melissa

Morning
by Krista Lukas

The stillness, the radio's news,
the scent of rain. My neighbor
bending to pick up his newspaper
in its orange plastic bag, tossed
on the step. The cars all
heading this way or that,
a fine spray beneath their wheels. Vapor
rising from sidewalks, and the light
of the eastern sun, slanting long, as if
there's all the time in the world.

"Morning" by Krista Lukas, from Fans of My Unconscious. © The Black Rock Press, 2013.

the important stuff

Mein bruder.

It's about time for another trip to Goodwill. Old clothes I never wear, cups and mugs from the back of the cabinet that never make it into the rotation, books I've never read and never will read — they've all gotta go. I came to realize years ago, after, for lack of better terminology, my shit rainstorm, how cleansing it is to get rid of stuff I no longer need. You know that feeling you get when you've cleaned out your purse or your car and life seems wonderful and uncomplicated? After a good stuff-cleansing I am my purse with no trace of already-been-chewed chewing gum wrapped in a napkin that wiggles its way out of the napkin and sticks to everything else. I am clean and organized and know exactly where my keys are. This philosophy's become my credo in recent years — part of the collected works that comprise my own personal wisdom. I'm in dire need of that Goodwill purge right now, and bonus: another soul on the planet might actually benefit from all that stuff. Win win.

Switching subjects: It's the holidays and I miss my brother! When he was literally on his deathbed in the hospice facility ten years ago, a nurse asked me if we were twins. I hadn't thought of it before that moment, but yes, for all intent and purposes we were — only 14 months apart in age and allies from day one. But I'm currently angry at myself, not for a lack of love for him, but because I seem to have undergone a diminishing of brain cells with passing years and many of the details of my life and times with that wonderful person are fading, I'm ashamed to say. Thank God for small reminders, especially at this time of year, including but not limited to The Carpenters, Andy Williams, and Charlie Brown Christmas albums.

Here's where stuff is important — and I'm gonna sound like a really old person here. Every framed or digital photo that reflects my brother's face is a memory to treasure. As is a VHS video of both of us yucking it up in a paddleboat at the lake behind our parents' old house — coincidentally, at Christmastime. His old transistor radio collection I inherited. See's candy,  Starbursts, and Baby Ruth bars. Old cassette tapes containing our voices as children. Charmin toilet paper (there's a story). His book "1,000 Questions Every Home Buyer Should Ask" (he'd always lived in rented apartments), and old yearbook from Jr. High on which he graffiti'd  the word prison after the title, i.e. "El Rancho Junior High School Prison" (I keep it on the bookshelf for easy reference!). His Cuisinart pot/pan set. Ornaments on the Christmas tree. Just random things. 

I own  a few expensive luxuries — fine crystal, jewelry, and the like — but none compare to the everyday items that scream precious memories of my lost loves. (My dad is equally missed this time of year and merits his own blog entry!) Those little trinkets mean the world to me!


Speaking of stuff:  Stuff That Works-Guy Clark