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Blog started in Jan 2005: 1st entries for Write in Every Genre. Then the REAL ME begins |
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It Hurts When I Stop Talking Sometime in Fall of 1998, when a visit from Dad was infrequent, and primarily at the mercy of his 88 Toyota making the 50 mile journey, I was being treated to lunch. The restaurant was my choice, I think. Sisley Italian Kitchen at the Town Center mall was somewhere my dad had not yet tried, so that was my pick. Either I was being treated to the luxury of lunch and adult conversation without my husband and 5 year old son in tow, or that's just how the moment has lodged in my memory. The more I think about it, they probably were there, but enjoying the Italian food too much to bother interrupting. Daddy and his lady friend at the time, Anne, came up together and made a day of it with me and the family. We were eating together and talking about some of my scripts, stories, coverages, poems and other creative attempts that really were not seeing the light of day. I think I'd just finished a group reading of The Artist's Way and was in a terribly frenetic mood over my writing. I think I'd just given them an entire rundown on a speculative Star Trek script. My Dad asked me point blank, “Why don’t you write it?? Anne agreed. It sure sounded like I wanted to write it. Why wasn't I writing seriously? It's what I'd set out to do when earning my college degree in Broadcasting many years earlier. Heck, I should, I agreed non-verbally. “I will.” But, I didn’t. Blogs can be wild, unpredictable storehouses of moments, tangents, creative dervishes, if you will. I'm getting a firmer handle on my creative cycle. My mental compost heap (which is a catch phrase from Natalie Goldman or Julia Cameron - I can't think which, right now) finally seems to be allowing a fairly regular seepage of by-products. That may be a gross analogy, but I give myself credit to categorize my work in raw terms. It proves that I'm not so much the procrastinating perfectionist that I once was. Still, I always seem to need prompts and motivation. Being a self-starter is the next step. My attempt to keep up in the Write in Every Genre Contest at the beginning of the year seemed like a perfect point to launch the blog. |
| Compared to some people seriously impacted by the economic consequences of the global pandemic, I am fine. I accept that this is partly by chance. I did make a conscious choice contractually, before layoffs and unemployment of so many occurred, which sustained my income until the end of 2020. Supported by a faith that things happen, not as a punishment, instead in response -- and that the law of good is acting for all, so I feel at ease on most days. I have been additionally helped by already living an existence unlike many others. Satisfied with less space, willing to live off one income, have one car and/or use public transit, have my grown children move in. I have been able to support local business with much in DoorDash orders. How will I look back on this and what does it say about me? The one or two rough patches I have experienced did not even qualify for mental health counseling according to a contractor with Kaiser. Guess I should be grateful. I even found myself looking up the stages of grief. I think we are all going through that; some more than others. |
| When I read or listen to other people talk about the experience of sisterhood, I know that my sister and I are not alien; there are ways that our experience fits all the norms. But after an unexpectedly brusque response to a disagreement -- See. I cannot even call it a fight -- I do not believe we ever have had a fight. I do not believe my spouse of 32 years and I have ever had a fight... Might not be factually true, as I can remember some solitary periods of isolated anger in the aftermath of non-fights. That's the way my brain rewrites the interaction into memory. So, I guess it is possible my memories are not an accurate reality, maybe...I. So, I wouldn't make a good witness in a criminal case, sure. But that doesn't make my brain's function a bad thing -- I think my relationships are good. Realizing that from the other person's perspective, maybe the relationship is "less than." don't know. "Most of all, I worry that she is happy" is a late comment contained in a sister relationship piece I read today in this other blog archive https://www.brainchildmag.com/category/slider-content/page/2/ It does not specifically mirror our experience, but its wisdom still resonates for me. I encourage you to read it. I struggle today, wanting to post it to her Facebook timeline as a message that we have sisterhood. I always thought that was enough. I asked her to realize I am sorry for however the pushback of my words set her apart from me. That would not be a final forceful declaration against her person, ever. The course of action she made as a suggestion was all that I was rejecting, not her. And in hindsight, I do not even know what was triggering about the suggestion (It had something to do with two words, which I no longer can recall...my mind's safety protocol...great). Instead, I know I have to process in this slower, less direct and like so many people are learning to navigate right now...isolated manner, that is against my wishes. In hindsight her request was not even unreasonable, we just got in a roundabout. Even with a few texts and a long-hand letter response from her, this is far from resolved. It's deeper, but for now she tells me she cannot plumb the depths with me. Everything (maybe not everything) has been dredged up onto the shore, and I am asked to sit here on the beach while it rots in the sun. She's walked away, offering to possibly come close enough again to the pile (and me) once its content has dehydrated and shriveled. Then we have to catalog wondering, what was this? I rewrite the reference quote from the other piece to admit: "Most of all I assume that she is happy" My sister's unexpected response, like a baseball slider pitch served knowing that it's this batter's weakness, forces me to reassess my readiness. My beliefs about life and love have been colored by recent changes to environment and action, by physical truths, by any of the changeable perceptions that affect a human. Also true for my sister, but of course, hers is a different kaleidoscope. Life and love are constants. Society and different cultures do not all teach this directly, and also, we each individually easily forget. But just as I can accept that the grief of death is also love, the relationship strain for survivors is also life. Existing together is hard. Existing apart is hard. And, in life and love, we have to learn to do both -- but few think to tell this as some great lesson for fear of scaring children of all ages (?) -- my guess. Clearly, not prepared, that's all I am pointing out. I can factually recall that many I know have already lost someone, but that doesn't mean one confronts one's own mortality, until one does. Is this part of what has been inserted on the path for my sister and I? Not sure. She is 9 1/2 years younger than me, and my only sibling. The age gap itself has already always been a factor. Another circumstance not in our control (our parents divorce) made our interactions few, but from my account, not strained. However, this is an area where I can see my ideal recall of no previous fights makes so much more sense. Similar experiences cannot span the gap, it seem to maintain it, how could it not, with the brain I have that remembers simply, unnuanced? We both have our own families with spouses, and we live in different locations. Am I meant to pull off the winning double-header with no one else on base? As I wait this out, because I know it is no game, I look back on when and how we've teamed or not. When have I done little just out of inexperience and lack of practice? How, without having to struggle, have she and I functioned together just as family should, and it goes without saying? Preparing myself for a new season, one that may include uncharted territory, but hopeful that the errors and fouls of words become just a set of stats that can near change what the spirit of our sisterhood can always be. |
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