Solo

I am ending a long term relationship in the next few weeks. The "K" who this blog was started for, sort of, is my psychotherapist. Took many years to be able to admit to being 'in therapy' but I have been for a long time. And honestly thought I would be for a long time to come.

But at some point (and for me, personally, I hit this point in the past couple months), the therapy starts to be 'not needed'. I know who I am. Warts and all. I know the things that push my buttons and the buttons that exist. And while spending time with K. on a monthly basis is comfortable and something I will miss, at some point, I just have to realize that I am who I am - basically a loner, married w/ 2 kids; filled with angst [at times]; and regrets [at times]. But we all are. That's life.

I'm learning and practicing to not 'dwell' on things I can't change. Simple but for me, practicing that daily is something I have to work on. I'm learning to 'let go'. I have a lot of 'life crap' - I know that sounds bad and it isn't anything horrificly tragic like abuse or anything like that - but I didn't have a stellar childhood. And trying to convince myself that I did because that's what I wanted to believe didn't work. And it didn't work for A LOT OF YEARS. K. helped me get the 'not so great-ness' of my childhood defined and 'out there'. And when you understand what wasn't so great about it, and why, and start to learn to 'deal' with it, it helps.

So I'm moving on. Leaving the door open if needed in the future. If some major life-event turns me on my ear again (as the birth of my first child did oh so many years ago). But I'm giving up the 'someone to talk to' - the arbitrary third party who only knows my side of the stories. Heading out into the great 'unknown' - a world of marriage and life without therapy. I'm strangely exhilarated about it.

K. is one of my best friends. Truly. A friend you don't see socially and never will. A friend you don't exchange Christmas cards with and never will. A friend who I honestly know very little about. But 'friend' is the only word to describe her. And this friend changed my life for the better in so many zillions of ways that it is impossible to put into words. And that says a lot 'cuz anyone who knows me knows I don't have trouble speaking up. I owe that to K., also. After years of being voiceless, I found mine and she's responsible for that.

I ask K. sometimes why/how she does what she does - spends hours listening to people moan and groan about life. She said 'because people get better'. I am living proof of that. I consider myself a shining example of her expertise and I'm proud to be that.

Thanks, K., for everything. See you for our 'bon voyage' session in a couple weeks.

Compilations

I'm listening more and more to 'soundtrack' CDs. Most TV shows have them lately - and I just love them. Current favorites are: Grey's Anatomy (TV show), In Good Company (movie), Providence (TV show). I love the music - so eclectic. The kind of songs I usually end up buying an album for only to discover I like one or two tracks. Lots of not-often-heard artists who don't get airplay in the 'Clear Channel' world of playing only commercial songs by big name artists.

Music has always been my outlet. I find songs that say something to me and I listen to them over and over. AND OVER. Thanks to iPod, I can now keep my repeats to myself and not make everyone around me crazy listening to the same piece constantly.

J. listens to the beat and the music. I listen to the words. We had a heck of a time finding the perfect 'first dance' song at our wedding - but finally settled on a little known Beach Boys song - J. loved the musicality of it and I loved the lyrics. We were about to pick some instrumental piece just to have something to dance to - and then we were listening to a tape in the car and suddenly, there it was. A tape we'd listened to dozens of times before - but suddenly, this one song was 'it'. And we both realized it at the same time.

Where I Belong

I've spent my whole life drifting
Towards an elusive sun
I would have wandered forever
If your breeze hadn't come
And you just could be my anchor
You are my northern star
That navigates me home

Don't need to search no more exotic islands
No that I found you're right where I belong
Never been so much at home as I am
Loving you is right where I belong

In my mind we're together
Even when I'm alone
My heart leaves you never
Never will our love grow old
My destination forever
You are my shining star that navigates me home

Don't need to search no more exotic islands
Now that I found you're right where I belong
Never been as much at home as I am
Loving you is right where I belong


Still feel that way, after all these years.

Fans

I moved to Northern California in late April, 1984. I had just graduated from college and had been selected for a training program in the finance department of Mervyn's. The opportunity was so wonderful and I was so lucky/honored to be chosen. After the day of interviews, I 'had a feeling' I would be selected and took a newspaper on the plane with me and started looking for apartments.

I moved the last week of April - a moving van took most of my household things and I packed everything else I could fit into my Toyota Tercel and headed north. I left Southern California where I had family and zillions of friends to move to Hayward, California where I knew NO ONE. Not a soul. It was scary. And exhilarating. And one of the few times in my life when I felt I was being 'led' somewhere by a power greater than me. I just knew it was the right thing to do and had no doubts about doing it. The same could not be said for most of the people I left behind - but there wasn't much they could do. The opportunity to be one of a very few people invited to leave the 'store' environment and move into the corporate environment was too amazing to pass up.

The drive up was uneventful. I stopped when I felt like it. Didn't feel worried or unsafe. My car was loaded to the top with stuff I would need to live in a motel for a few weeks until my apartment was ready. And all my plants, my guitar, etc. It took all day to make the drive.

When I approached the I-5/580 interchange and headed west, I passed 'Fan Forest'. At the time, it was just the 'Altamont Pass' - and frankly, it creeped me out. It was hills full of whirling, twirling, twisting fans of all sorts of shapes and sizes 'capturing' the power of the wind. I thought 'wow, this place is pretty strange'. I didn't like that stretch of the drive and hurried through it as quickly as possible. It was the first time in the adventure of getting and taking and actually moving up north that I was 'nervous'. Felt a little overwhelmed at that point, 40 miles from my destination and a long way from 'home'.

I've lived in Northern California (now technically the central valley but still 'northern' to me) since and now pass the Altamont daily - I commute to and from work through it. And it is now the 'Fan Forest' - a name given to it by B. when he was little. It was one of the landmarks on the map we drew for him of the route we took to get to Grandma and Grandpa's house in Visalia - and he called it the 'Fan Forest'. I now love that stretch of the road - partly because I always think of B. when I drive through it. And because it leads to home. Our home, which is the place I most want to be. It's strangely beautiful to me now - the way the sky looks as you look through the windmills; the clouds vs. blue sky in contrast to the rotating blades; the sound of the blades whistling through the air. It's amazing to me now. I wouldn't feel that way if it weren't for B. and for my life here. It's a reminder to me how full my life is now compared to way back when.

I think God knew what He was doing when he 'led' me here. It's where I was meant to be.

Morning

I am home today awaiting the arrival of a Sears repair person who will undoubtedly tell me that yes, after only two loads post-repair (2 repairmen here last Saturday until 9PM), new parts are required and another TBD weeks of waiting will ensue. Wherein I will trek to the laundromat, family in tow, and do mountains of laundry in the comfort of plastic chairs, one TV and a Ms. Pacman game. AGAIN. Never buy a Sears Calypso washer, people. NEVER. (They don't sell them anymore ['ya think?] so you're probably safe). And my opinion of Sears repair at the moment is not all that great either, but we're giving them a chance to redeem themselves.

Anyway, I got up around 6 and got 'dressed'. Didn't want to lounge away in PJs and decided 'ala Flylady' I'd be much more motivated if I had clothes on. Got the kids off to school, dogs out, dogs fed, dogs out again - and started tidying up the kitchen. My legs felt strange and I couldn't figure out what the problem was. THEN I noticed. I had two black shoes on - they just weren't the same shoe. Hence the strange feeling in one leg. Lovely. Thank goodness I didn't go to work that way.

The dogs are 'protecting' me from Kevin the pool guy. I might have solved the barking - I put them both in their kennels and turned on a CD of 70's music. They are relatively quiet. I'm sure they'll bark like crazy when the Sears guy gets here - but for now, the quiet in light of a 'stranger' in our backyard is lovely.

Husbands

J. is on a business trip - he returns tonight (Thank you, God). I miss him always - but especially when:

1) The pool filter goes squirrely and I have to figure out what to do to make the horrific grinding noise stop. I can never remember how to shut the blooming thing off (since you're not supposed to shut it off, ever). And then I have to call Kevin the pool guy and do the 'dumb (bottle) blond' routine and ask for his help in figuring out what is wrong with it and make it work again. Which he did - thanks, Blue Lagoon Pool & Spa service. You're the greatest.

2) The dead bird that was MIA under the wheel well of my van is now oh so obvious every time I go out to the car - it makes me shudder to see his legs and wings spread-eagled under the bumper. And I'm not going to even consider attempting to extract it myself - that's J.'s "job". That and all body fluids related to kids, which thankfully, there have been none of (yet).

3) H. brings home his less than sterling report card and it's me (again) being Mommy Dearest and attempting to impress upon him that the note re: needs to focus more in class is related to something other than just sitting there quietly and doing his work. Duh. We need some 'stern Dad' intervention for this one.

4) I've been working on taxes a bit and there's no one there to react to my frequent gasps or the 'oh my Gosh's' frequently leaving my mouth. My expressions always freak J. out - and I miss his reactions from the desk behind me as I wind my way through Turbo Tax.

5) J. does the dishes a lot and I realize I don't thank him nearly enough nor do I appreciate it as much as I should. J. also cooks a lot - we've had frozen pizza and Taco Bell the past couple nights - which the boys are thrilled with. But if J. were home, there'd be better eats around - and fewer dishes in the sink.

6) When it's cold and I can't get warmed up for HOURS 'cuz there's no one there to help warm up the bed. And it's been FREEZING this week (not Ohio freezing, K. - but cold for here).

7) I dreamed all night how horrible I felt - sore throat, headache, achy. And I woke up to realize that it wasn't a dream - I DO feel horrible and yucky. And there's no one to bring me hot tea or a blanket or help switch the DVD's for Buffy The Vampire Slayer 'cuz J's not home. (I'm spoiled - I admit it). He's the best 'caregiver' on the planet.

8) 'Cuz when your hubby's away, you realize even more how much you love him - and miss him. I can't wait for him to be home!

Proud

Last night in our town, a star was born. That star is my son, B.

B. played at a jazz dinner last night. He had mentioned that he had a solo. He didn't mention that he had TWO. And he also neglected to tell me that he is good. Really good.

Every measure of those solos felt like an eternity to me. Not because it was painful to listen to. But because it wasn't. The kid has 'it'. He is talented and a showman. The audience was mesmerized. Including the gentleman sitting behind us who it turned out is the superintendent of Tracy schools. I heard him commenting to his wife 'now that kid's had some lessons'. I leaned back and said 'yes, he has'. He replied 'he's pretty talented'. We chatted after the performance and Dr. Franco thanked us for supporting Tracy schools and for sticking with the music program. He was glad to see a student who had stayed with music from the Jefferson School district - many haven't. But we did - the Jefferson School music program is significantly smaller than Tracy Unified's program - but the Jefferson School district is growing and more and more kids will be coming into Tracy Unified w/ music experience. That's a good thing.

The band director announced after B's second solo - 'and that's freshman B. on the drums'. The audience clapped even louder. It was amazing. I've never been so proud of him. Honestly proud. He's worked so hard to be good and it's paying off.

I hope he can make a living playing. It would be wonderful for him to do something he absolutely loves everyday for the rest of his life. I'm realistic enough to know that a performance musician has a hard road - and most aren't successful as studio musicians. But I get it now - it's B's dream and what mother doesn't want their kids to fulfill their dreams?

It was an amazing night. He was so happy - and his bandmates kept congratulating him over and over. 'He can really play' was a common theme. And he can. Honestly, really play. He is very talented. And I've been reluctant to admit it - not 'cuz I don't want him to be awesome. But because being a musician is a tough way to make a living. But it's what he wants. So we're going to do everything we can to help him. We are encouraging him to major in music - and the superintendent's wife mentioned the same college we have been researching that has an excellent music program, and specifically an excellent jazz program. Hearing that from an un-biased 3rd party who happens to be married to a district administrator might help B. consider that school more. And it's a school he could attend and commute to - for a couple years and then live on campus the last two - or four, since he'll probably get his master's. Then he can teach while he tries to break into studio musician work.

Wish him luck. I'll be holding my breath for the next decade.

Mr. Fuji

Our freezer died last week. Upsetting given that it's only 5 years old and a major name brand. I'm not even sure why I bought the service plan, but I did and I'm sure glad. Even more glad that the company who repaired it actually had the part on their truck - unlike the washer (same brand, purchased same time) which has been out of service now for THREE WEEKS. Those parts (round 2) are still on order and are so large that they get shipped to your home. So the wait continues.

We lost a lot of food and are cooking and eating a lot of stuff that thawed. We are having 'smorgasborg' dinners with vast selections of food to choose from. Last night it was pork chops (the kids ate those) and fish filets (me and J.).

So the freezer is pretty much empty, which is a nice refreshing change. Only ice, ice packs and Mr. Fuji. There he was, carefully in the door where he's been since we moved. And he moved here with us from our house in Hayward - lovingly carried here by one of the boys and ceremoniously placed in this freezer to rest out eternity. He is wrapped in a printed paper towel and 'sealed' with Scotch Tape - the 'flat' kind, not the glossy kind, so it doesn't brown with age.

Mr. Fuji is a balsa-wood flat 'spoon' - the kind of flat spoon shaped utensil you get when you buy a small cup of individual serving ice cream - like from the ice cream man. He has a face drawn on him with a pen - eyes, nose and small mouth. He met his untimely death in some sort of "Mousie" war. We aren't sure how he died and when we inquire, we are met with furtive glances between the boys and a sort of hushed reverence that says 'we don't speak about this tragedy'.

The kids have played 'mousie' for as long as either J. or I can remember. The 'game' involves the boys being 'mice' - complete with the high, squeaky voices to go with the characters. There's a lot of 'fighting' in Mousie-land. Wrestling. Debates. Complex rules that only B. & H. know or understand. They don't play this game with anyone else - just the two of them. It is their own invention - and we are amused that even now, in their teens, we will frequently still hear the familiar mousie-screech words between them. They still 'play' and work out stuff using 'mousie land' as the venue. It's always been a fun game to 'watch' - how two creative, bright, fun kids invented this 'other world' that only the two of them know about. And I'm glad that they have this place that is just theirs - no adults, no adult-rules, or adult 'have-to's'. Just two boys sharing an adventure.

I have on occasion inquired of the boys if it's time to let Mr. Fuji move on to the great big 'bio-bin' where he (along w/ other lawn trimmings and branches (wood)) will be ground down and burned at the Tracy bio-mass plant. They won't hear of it. He might be 'reborn' someday to fight another day. So there he sits. Alone on a shelf. Soon to be rejoined by food, juice, etc. seeking refuge in the cold, dark freezer. I think I cherish him as much as the boys - and if he ever is 'let go', I will be secretly sad. If I come across Mr. Fuji in my 80's someday, he will still bring a smile to my face. He always does.