Vivid Musings

I realized the day after writing my last post, WTF is up with me?, exactly what was wrong with me: it’s January.

Over the years, it has become a month full of emotional landmines, one right after the other. My son LT has flown back to his father’s, the 5th is the anniversary of the death of a dear friend and also the birthday of Chooch’s deceased brother, the anniversary of my mother’s death from breast cancer, and my son’s 15th birthday (won’t get to celebrate with him this year either, thanks to finances) is in a week.

It was six years ago, also a Friday the 13th, that my brother called me and said the words I had feared hearing since her first occurrence of breast cancer in 1991.

I was fresh from the shower, rushing around and getting dressed to stay with my Mom so my brother could go home and sleep after spending the night with her. We knew she was near the end of her life and in clear moments she knew it and was scared. We never left her alone. It was bittersweet that she spent less and less time clear of mind as the cancer had spread into her skull and brain.

I was half-dressed and rushing to the kitchen to make a PB&J to eat in the car on the way to the hospital. I didn’t have a scheduled time to get there, in fact, in hindsight I’m no even sure I was expected that morning. I just felt an urgency to get to her as quickly as I could, waking hours before my alarm was set and bolting out of bed.

The phone rang and I immediately collapsed to my knees mid-stride and started crying and praying. My husband woke up instantly, which never happens, and answered the phone. He then came to find me and wrapped his arms around me on the dining room floor, telling me that she was gone, crying just as hard as I was. (I now have a begrudging smile, because I again recognize that there are no two other arms on this planet that she would want comforting me more than my husband’s. She adored him on sight.)

I knew what the call was (why else would the phone ring at 6:30 am) and immediately went from praying for her release from the horror of her life to begging for her to come back because I wasn’t ready to be without her. I needed her to teach me more, to make me a stronger woman. The kind of woman that could lift a burden from the heart of my children the way she could do for mine. Tirelessly and full of unconditional love. And I mean unconditional, because I was not an easy person to parent. I frequently rebelled, still do, even against myself. But I still needed her and suddenly was unable to imagine life without her presence.

Shortly thereafter, I reflected that to be in the room where your Mother is and know that this body, the one that you had been pampering, comforting and consoling, is no longer your Mother… well, it is the strangest bit of surrealism that I have ever experienced. My Mother was literally 2 feet away from me, but she was no where to be found. Still, I couldn’t help tucking the blankets around her feet as I always did, because they were always cold. I felt a fool when I realized what I was doing, but no one mocked me. Hell, wrapped as deep as they were in their own grief, they probably didn’t even notice.

So the subconscious knowledge that this day was coming, along with all the other anniversaries, good and bad, are what I believe to be my huge sense of being swallowed in negativity. In talking with my therapist about the dates mentioned above, the excruciating negotiation process in selling our home, an devastating ongoing family crisis that I am not free to discuss here (we are fine), frantically packing and selling everything we own without sentimental value in preparation for downsizing to a smaller living space, having a near-death experience with Kaylee and missing another birthday of my son’s – these have all managed to make this a real crapper of a month to get through after the stress of Christmas.

Happily, we have no fewer than four loved ones born in January to celebrate. And we got to ring in the New Year with people that rejuvenate us. Moving forward we also have the unexpected joy of taking part in the daily lives of powerfully close friends, and by extension, two beautiful young girls. This includes watching a dance recital for 3 and 4 year olds that was so magically rejuvenating that I could feel the weight of sadness falling off of me in chunks as we giggled and cheered their performances. I told their father that I wished for a pill that could impart what we were feeling as we watched these vibrant little spirits dance and twirl in front of us. Nearly all of the adults to a one were shiny-eyed watching not only their child, but also being charmed by the other girls, all of them working so hard to be brave with such nervousness and barely controlled frenetic energy. I found that it filled my heart containers to over-flowing and used the memory of the two sisters dancing together to pull me out of a panic attack the next day. The memory is truly powerful and medicinal to this old girl.

The highs and lows of this month, in addition to new health issues for myself and for my husband (we’re fine), have me both hiding and clinging to the people that give me strength, whether we talk about the hard things or the good things going on in each other’s lives. It’s just the being with them, the contact with them, that soothes.

I will go to Arlington Cemetery to take my Mom flowers and will return home to work on the book I am creating in her honor. I will survive the emotional landmines of January as the tough chick she raised me to be. And I will take time to revel in the joyful moments that occur along the way, exactly as she raised me to do.

I will love you forever, Pocket Mom!

Sorry for the lack of posts here. I’m having an internal crisis of late, and am torn in different directions. I’ve been starting posts and leaving them unfinished. I’ve been writing titles that interest me, never to go back and write the post. I’ve been outright deleting posts after I start them, due to their lameness or lack of interest to even me, the writer. I respect your time too much, Dear Reader, to post anything more than mildly boring, rather than an outright snoozer.

I’ve been wondering to myself about the recent months of perplexed thoughts and actions, and have come to no conclusions. I turned 42 last year, and know that if I’m to find the answers to the great questions, I’ll have to find them myself. This has grown even more necessary recently, and I feel that I’m having to discover myself all over again. This is a surprise as I’ve already done that a few times in the last decade:

• When my ex-husband became my ex;
• When I finally met my soul mate and resigned myself to an ever-expanding blissful existence at his side;
• When my Mom died;
• When our home no longer had my children living in it.

I had thought I had all points mastered, in spite of occasional but intense bursts of sadness from the last two. But it’s possible I’m still in the midst of the identity crisis of not being a “Daily Mom.” Yes, my kids live, laugh, breathe and have experiences every day, but my role is no longer daily. I’m still haunted in our over-sized home by the silence that used to include game sounds, arguing about homework, and footsteps or music pounding from above. That is something that we have made progress on, as our next home has a combination of characters each more magnificent than the last.

Lately, I’m coming to think that it’s hormonal changes, triggered either by my weight loss and subsequent regain, or perimenopause ~ the beginnings of menopause. *tick*tock* I don’t fear that change any more than I’ve been fearful of any of life’s other mileposts. I just have to find a way to organize around it an move forward.

I have more love in my life than ever before, and am accepted for who I am by more people than ever before. And yet, I’m finding that some of my old stumbling blocks still cause me to stumble, and the old insecurities still leave a nasty mark when they come out swinging. When folks have installed our panic button, they can tap it easily and often if they so choose.

Many of these things were so private that only my husband knows about them since I keep nothing from him, no matter how gruesome. Although I’d love to share more here, I’m afraid that while I am wholly honest , I can only be so revealing. We don’t know each other that well, after all, so can you blame me?

I’m trying to rapidly sort myself out, especially as I’m letting those around me down. At least, I feel I am, but I’m told that those that really love me are never as hard on me as I am on myself. That being said there are many strange currents in my life right now, and with fewer than a dozen exceptions, I find I don’t know where it is safe to expose my heart put my trust any longer.

With all the changes occurring in my life right now, it would have been awesome to have had stability in some corner of my life. Well, I do have it and I know I’m blessed. It’s one corner of my life, but it’s a big one. There is no passive aggression, there is no negativity directed at me, there is only love and support shared from person to person. If I am to be judged harshly for finding joy and appreciating it, so be it. Just because things are hard doesn’t mean you can’t find laughter along the way. In fact, I am very sorry for you if you cannot find it when you need it most.

The focus for me now is therapy. To figure out all that is causing me to continue self-destructive behavior. To fight some lifelong demons to the ground and disarm them once and for all. To live and laugh without occasionally stop to rub my head from the weight of all the guilt and stress I feel over things I have no control over. To try and make failing relationships work with those I love and miss.

So, it’s late. And I don’t know what I’m trying to say. But, I will say goodnight now and hope that my next post makes more sense.

Oh, and see Paul, if you haven’t already. It’s freaking brilliant. Simon Pegg, Sigourney Weaver, Sci-Fi conventions, ’nuff said.

My love for UglyDolls began in May of 2008 while roaming a shopping district in Richmond, VA. I could only afford a keychain sized doll, but I took it everywhere, hanging from my purse.

Meeting Christiana Ellis for the first time at Balticon in 2008

Ugly Doll at 2009 Virgin Music Festival Watching Stone Temple Pilots

This year, I merrily stumbled upon a huge display of the Ugly Doll collection at Toys R’Us right before Christmas. I was astounded at the selection available and swooned and twitpic’ed in delight.

“I want them all. And they will all sleep with us. Forever.”

Instead of buying all of them, I bought one Little Ugly called Trunko, because the description sounded quite similar to my personality habits:

Trunko is over the top. He freaks out over everything and overreacting is his hobby. When the chips are down, he orders a million more chips at wholesale prices. Where there’s smoke there’s fire… and there’s Trunko using a fire hose to put out his birthday candles. Full throttle, go go go… You know how you look before you leap. Yeah, that’s not Trunko. So please be patient with him. Please be a pal. Please use caution.

Now, I am not exactly like Trunko. I typically over-analyze things to death. And then I overreact.

Happily, now Boo Boo Bun Bun has a friend to snuggle. And someday I shall have a swimming pool filled with UglyDolls to swim in whenever I want.

I have not made any New Year’s resolutions since 2008. I did not meet ANY of my goals that year. Hell, I still have one I haven’t completed, but the others I happily finished.

You are wondering how lame I am? This lame: I am making resolutions for 2012 that I will fulfill. They are all things I will do for myself, without question.

1. Publish the breast cancer anthology, with a goal publication date of July 11th. Having never done this myself, I’m willing to allow myself some slippage, but not much. I give myself the gift of making my Mom a published author and hopefully raising some money towards the disease that ended the lives of her, my beloved grandmother and great-grandmother.
2. Reach my goal weight. Enough of this yo-yo crap. I am getting to the source of my weight issues via therapy and discovering my food intolerances.  I’m considering a reward/punishment system, something along the lines of $10 per pound lost going into a special event fund for my own selfish use. For every pound gained, I will lose $15 from said fund. Yeah, I’m liking the sound of that. If I have a net loss, it will come from budgeted birthday and Christmas prezzie funds for my gifts. To be decided…
3. I will begin half-marathon training again, if and only if, my joints are willing. Otherwise, I will find another athletic goal to strive for. Movement is key for my emotional and physical well-being, and a gift I give myself.
4. I will be better about staying in touch with those I love, so long as they do the same. I can no longer bear all the guilt of relationships that have fallen by the wayside. I have to remind myself that phones and email connect in both directions, and I alone am not in control of the status of the relationship.
5. I will remember that, especially in the midst of the most hectic and chaotic times, I must always do something to take care of myself, too.
6. I will realistically determine if I can do something to help ease another person’s burden. If I can, I will. If I cannot, I will not carry the guilt of failure and uselessness. I will instead put it in a red balloon and let it float away. Even if it takes ten times.

Wish me luck! These won’t be easy for me, but are things that I must do to grow as a person.

Happy New Year’s Eve Eve! Please be safe and do NOT drink and drive!

This song popped into my noggin on Monday night and has not dislodged itself yet. I’ve tried exorcising it by listening to it dozens of times and watching the video at least as many times. I’ve also tried to implant different ear-worm to no avail.

Since I’m stuck with it, you may was well be, too. It’s called “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out” and was written by Morrissey and Johnny Marr of The Smiths.

“Take me out tonight
Where there’s music and there’s people
Who are young and alive
Driving in your car
I never never want to go home
Because I haven’t got one anymore

Take me out tonight
Because I want to see people
And I want to see life
Driving in your car
Oh please don’t drop me home
Because it’s not my home, it’s their home
And I’m welcome no more

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine

Take me out tonight
Take me anywhere, I don’t care
I don’t care, I don’t care
And in the darkened underpass
I thought Oh God, my chance has come at last
But then a strange fear gripped me
And I just couldn’t ask

Take me out tonight
Oh take me anywhere, I don’t care
I don’t care, I don’t care
Driving in your car
I never never want to go home
Because I haven’t got one
No, I haven’t got one

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes in to us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine

There is a light that never goes out
There is a light that never goes out
There is a light that never goes out
There is a light that never goes out”

As I seem to enjoy doing, I will do a series of things like this until I either forget about it or run out of them.

Sleep well, Kittens.

This was the best Christmas in a very long time, and I think the only Christmas that will top it will be when we can finally have all three of our sons together on Christmas morning. Other than that one shortcoming, I could not imagine a better day. It was pure heaven, from beginning end, in spite of some pain and anxiety.

My motivation for this post is not to describe the day in more detail or pontificate on what the true meaning of the holidays or tell you how you should have spent yours (hint: it’s different for everyone, so there is no right or wrong).

No, the intention of this post is to serve The Greater Good. My hope is to inform those with the kindest and most generous of intentions of a gift trap that some of us parents find ourselves in year after year, after year, after year.

It’s gift cards. The loving and thoughtful family and friends that give gift cards to my sons that they so genuinely appreciate are a bane of my existence. The day after Christmas is spent online determining the value and then buying those same gift cards off of them so that the items they are saving up for (a set of cymbals for LT’s drum kit at a mom and pop store in his home town and the necessary bits for Naughty Bear to build his own kick-ass gaming rig from various vendors) can be achieved.

Yes, indeed. It’s possible that the gift card at Target or Best Buy or WalMart will instead get buried in the wallets of the parents of the children you bought them for, after they shell out the face value so the kids can attain their saving goals sooner.

Should I do this every year? Maybe not. But when your kids are miserly in their saving for these expensive goals and being careful with every expenditure to find their way to what their hearts desire, they can think of nothing else to spend money on and it feels almost frivolous with where their minds are to extensively search for something to spend the card on.

Please, I beg of you, on behalf of other parents that may be finding themselves in the same boat as I am again this year, find out if the kids would prefer cash towards a large purchase they are planning. Especially if they are older than 10 or 11, because they will definitely be starting to set their eyes on more and more costly items at those ages.

Yes, they may spend a small portion frivolously instead at a movie theater or buying a pair of red jeans. But it *is* the holidays and if you are giving them cash value to buy something, why not just give them cash and make it easier for them? And their parents?

Happy Holidays to all that celebrate at this time of year, and Happy Monday to those that don’t. I sincerely wish each of you Dear Readers the very best health and happiness as this year comes to a close and we await the New Year.

My husband and I recently celebrated the our 8th wedding anniversary and our 9th anniversary of our first date. At that time, I reflected on how similar and, in contrast, how different we are. Events in the last month have clarified how much I treasure him and I want to make sure I never take him for granted. Note: while I won’t be going all “Shmooopy!” I will be pontificating on how awesome my mate is. Feel free to roll your eyes and click to another page.

If you don’t already know, one of the things Chooch and I have in common is our extreme social anxiety. The difference is that mine causes me to chatter nervously and his causes him to sit back quietly until he has a level of comfort. Some people perceive me as being extroverted and outgoing and him being withdrawn. In truth, the opposite is true. He is more likely to say yes to unfamiliar social engagements with unknown people. In many cases, I would simply stay in and miss out on the fun without him to urge me out into the world. In fact, that is exactly what he had to do to get me to go to any of the first meet-ups in 2008, including Balticon.

I frequently find myself speaking for both of us in the hopes that people will recognize just how amazing he is. This is a mistake, as it makes it appear as though he is with me, not that we are together, in what we do. Regardless of how it appears, he is NOT my tag-along, just “Viv’s husband” or an accessory. He is Chooch. A singularly magnificent man.

I get really pissed when I think he is overlooked or not getting credit for all he does, for our family and for others. I am shocked that more people don’t get that he is the reason the New Media parties we hosted in 2009 and 2010 were successful, along with countless other things for which I alone have gotten most of the praise. Possibly it’s because he’s busting his ass behind the scenes while I am doing more of the dressing and food prep. Just know that without him, little of what I dream up would actually happen.

To share with you who he is in my eyes, peep this list:

• the reason that I am able to live in a loving home instead of a homeless shelter, since my health does not allow me to work and my disability was denied;
• the enabler, builder and code monkey of my mostly goofy/sometimes creative musings;
• the Yin to my Yang – I am emotional where he is logical and he is emotional where I am logical and I rely heavily on him for balance;
• the first person that, when I have some hair brained scheme, actually listens and is supportive at the same time he is constructive in criticism and suggestions;
• the fuel that feeds my craving to continually challenge myself, guiding me away from self-sabotage;
• the kindest and most loving man I’ve ever known;
• generous with his income on purchases for my children from a previous marriage, never saying that something they need is not going to be provided;
• perfect in his imperfections;
• glorious in his flawed humanity;
• never out of patience with me, even when he has every right to be.

We recently rescued the ten year old dog of a family member that was no longer able to care for him. Only because my husband was willing, were we able to do the necessities that had been neglected for this loving pet (dental cleaning and removal of a diseased tooth, neutering/biopsy, analysis of a suspicious growth, vaccinations and grooming) that allowed for him to be adopted into an extremely loving family that will give him the best care and attention that could be hoped for any person, let alone animal.

Without Chooch’s generosity, this dog would have likely ended up at the shelter and after evaluation would have been put to sleep because of all his health issues. Especially with how “cage brave” (growling and barking at people) he was in his fear at what was happening. We were EXTREMELY lucky to have had the wonderful staff at the animal hospital, thanks to our future housemate, and the ability to afford to do even those basic necessities. Their kindness and love in taking care of this dog that needed so much and ensuring that he had it along with a healthy dose of love and affection is something I will never forget.

Because of this and countless other reasons, Chooch will always be the man of my dreams. A man that I was lucky enough to ensnare and trick into spending the rest of his life with me. A man that I made pinky swear on camera in front of Kaylee that he won’t die until after I do, because I love him so much that I cannot imagine life without him. She sealed the promise with a lick, by the way. Irrefutable contract in any court in the land, dontchaknow.  (Did you know I was so needy and high maintenance?)

So as the big world continues to rotate around the sun,

as people go about the hustle and bustle of their pre-holiday chaos,

I wake this morning knowing that there is one person that truly knows each and every one of my deep dark secrets, flaws and failings,

and he loves me anyways.

I am the luckiest woman I know.

As I’ve mentioned here before, I’m part of a group of podcasters talking about the HBO Game of Thrones series, called SpecFicMedia Presents: Beyond the Wall, A Game of Thrones Podcast. Oi, what a mouthful. I’ll just refer to it as BTWPodcast forever more in my personal blog.

As the HBO series season has ended, so has our podcast. For now. During one of the episodes, P.G. Holyfield made an observation about all the plotting and planning over the span of years being undone in an instant by a random and unpredictable event. While I agreed with the point at the time, it didn’t really sink in.

While running and doing a QA listen to the podcast before posting, it hit me like a brick wall. Rather than just knowing that as a fact of life, the concept has been brought home in a very painful way and absolutely resonates with me. No matter how sure your footing, with no regard to the most honorable of your intentions, things happen that can change things forever. If you’re very very lucky, you can recover. If you aren’t, then you have to find a way to move forward, if possible. In both cases, there is likely a price to pay.

Happily, unlike many events in the the book and series, we have landed in a safe and loving place. And while things are not perfect or what I ever would have imagined for myself at the age of 42, I have to say that I think we are recovering pretty well.

Uncle.

I have now attempted to watch this film twice and cannot make it through. My husband agrees and wouldn’t even give it another try.

There is actually nothing that compels me to finish the movie. I feel nothing for the characters or the story. I understand what is happening, I just don’t care enough to finish it.

I’m saddened because I intended to watch every single movie from beginning to end, but cannot expend any more of the rarest of all commodities – time – into this film.

I give the following as explanation for this movie being on the AFI list:

From Wikipedia:
The Wild Bunch is a 1969 American Western film directed by Sam Peckinpah^[1] about an aging outlaw gang on the Texas-Mexico border, trying to exist in the changing “modern” world of 1913.

…

The Wild Bunch is noted for intricate, multi-angle editing, using normal and slow motion images, a revolutionary cinema technique in 1969. The writing of Green, Peckinpah, and Roy N. Sickner was nominated for a best-screenplay Academy Award; Jerry Fielding’s music was nominated for Best Original Score; Peckinpah was nominated for an Outstanding Directorial Achievement award by the Directors Guild of America; and cinematographer Lucien Ballard won the National Society of Film Critics Award for Best Cinematography.^[2]

In 1999, the U.S. National Film Registry selected it for preservation in the Library of Congress as culturally, historically, and aesthetically significant. The film was ranked 80th in the American Film Institute’s 100 best American films, and the 69th most thrilling film.^[3] In 2008, the AFI revealed its “10 Top 10″ of the best ten films in ten genres: The Wild Bunch ranked as the sixth-best Western.^[4][5]

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Back to Netflix it goes, as I eagerly await the arrival of Modern Times, my first full-length Charlie Chaplin movie!

While I wait for the post office to bring on the goodness, I will definitely be checking out Christiana and Mike’s discussion on The Wild Bunch as they are always able to find and appreciate things I miss. I guess it’s a damned good thing they are doing a podcast and not me!

Related forms
pow·er·less·ly, adverb
pow·er·less·ness, noun

Synonyms
1.  ineffective.
2.  feeble, impotent, prostrate, infirm.