June 2011

Sorry I haven’t written lately…I’ve been unexpectedly and happily and temporarily distracted by this:

Stay tuned…

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For Father’s Day 11 years ago I wrote out a bunch of memories on little pieces of paper and put them into a jar for my Dad. When he died, it was the only thing I wanted. It now sits on a shelf in my office. I hope you don’t mind that I am indulging myself in this way.

Here are those memories, in no particular order:

I remember how you helped me make friends in whatever neighborhood you lived in.

I remember ice skating with you…you stood behind me and pushed, or in front and pulled. I remember you pushing me on the swings at Calf Pasture Beach.

I remember that you did not disparage my mother to me. I remember how scary it was when you had open-heart surgery.

I remember talking a walk on the stone wall that had wiggles in it. I remember the car wash.

I remember how you used to come and pick me up for visits, no matter how far away it was. And then I remember being old enough to take the train. And then being able to drive myself.

I remember how you showed me how phosphorous glows in the water at night. I remember watching cartoons with you on Saturday mornings.

I remember feeding the llamas at Old McDonald’s Farm. That was my favorite part.

I remember that I got my first period at your house.

I remember sled riding down the hill at Newtown Ave. I remember “say what I say.”

I remember your good-night hugs & kisses. I remember you reading Dr. Seuss’s  Sleep Book to me.

I remember talking on the CB Radio. I remember “Big Red.”

I remember how nice it was to walk and talk on the beach in South Carolina. Actually, I remember how nice it was to walk and talk with you anywhere.

I remember when I let go of the kite. I remember when I mangled my thumb.

I remember how you comforted me after I got divorced. I remember all the times I called in tears…for whatever reason…and you listen and  let me talk it out.

I remember that whatever decisions I made,  you’d tell me that you supported me and that things would work out the way they were supposed to.

I remember how you used to put on my socks and shoes. I remember when I had Bell’s Palsy and you  called me Funny Face to make it less scary.

I remember when I got lost on the ski slopes…and then you found me. I remember being very afraid to go sailing on the catamaran. I remember the time(s) we laughed so hard in the car that you had to pull over to the side of the road.

I remember how you encouraged me to follow up on the job at the Greenhouse Restaurant, because you knew it would impress them.

I remember working at Brightside Market. I remember Anastasia’s.

I remember staying up late to talk.

I remember playing Stinky Pinky, 20 Questions and Packing Grandmother’s Trunk.

I remember that you instilled in me a love of Dixieland jazz, banjo music, and “the classics.”

I remember the only time you were angry with me…when I came home late from a party.

I remember “happy face/serious face.”

I remember how you taught me to respect my elders. I remember when we went to the Fourth of July parade in Bristol. I remember how patriotic you were.

I remember how neat it was to have a step-mother, a half-sister and a half-brother.

I remember how you treated my boyfriends (and husbands) with a lot of respect, even if some of them didn’t deserve it!

____________________________

There are more recent memories I want to share:

I remember when you watched me kickbox and you told me to keep my elbows in, and I was pissy about it, thinking, “geez…I’d like to see you kickbox for two hours and keep perfect form.”  HA!

I remember that you were concerned about me and some of the things I wrote in my blog. I remember that you left comments and it made me feel good to know you were reading. That some of your comments still exist here is comforting to me.

I remember the debates we’d have about proper grammar.

I remember how much I looked forward to your visits from Florida.

I remember that  there were some things we disagreed with each other about, but that it was okay.

I remember you trying to teach me to sail your model sailboats at The Pond.

I remember how you entertained all the little kids at our wedding…the pictures are priceless!

I remember that you made an effort to be a grandpa to my stepkids…I love that you showed a sincere interest in them.

I remember New Year’s Eve at Ponce Inlet!

I remember the time we all met for Thanksgiving dinner at that fancy inn in New Hampshire and that someone said something that cracked us up to the point that I thought they were going to ask us to leave.

I remember you walking me down the aisle. I remember that Tim is the only guy you let me share a bed with in your home even though we weren’t yet married!! I remember that you were happy that I finally met a good guy.

I remember that when you’d call, if Tim answered the phone, you’d engage him in conversation. He loved that you’d eventually ask to speak to his “bride.”

I remember when you’d declare, “Karen, you’re neat!!”

I remember how proud you were that I had written a book.

I remember that at the end of every phone conversation, you’d say you loved me, and I’d say that I loved you. And one of us would say, “talk again soon” and the other would say “yes we will.”

I remember thinking, seriously, that you would live forever.

I will never ever forget the talk we had the morning of the day you died. What you said things that helped me understand things in a new light. I am so very grateful for that. Sometimes I wish I had known that it would be out last conversation, but mostly I don’t.

I remember how I laid there sick on the bathroom floor, knowing that you weren’t going to make it, and realizing just how close we are.

I remember the day, a little while after your service at Arlington, realizing that I was feeling a little less sad. Or maybe a better way of putting it is that the quality of my sadness has changed a bit.

I remember the day, about a week ago, when a pen from the Daytona Auto Auction showed up in my car. I had never seen it before in my life.

To be continued.

Happy Father’s Day Dad!!

 

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When you crunch on potato chips for the sole purpose of drowning out the negative voices in your head, you also drown out the positive ones.

When you have one more glass of wine for the sole purpose of numbing sadness and anger, you also numb joy and contentment. And you wake up in the middle of the night sweating and with your heart pounding.

When you eat ice cream out of the carton, even if just two spoonfuls, you’re certainly not enjoying it, and when you don’t enjoy it, it doesn’t feel good in your body.

When you can’t find it within yourself to make a nice meal, and you sit down with a bag of Smartfood popcorn instead, you’re not honoring your body, and when you don’t honor your body, it feels fat.

When you shovel the food in, barely chew it, and don’t really taste it, you eat more than you need. And when you eat more than you need, you find yourself reaching for the Tums.

When you sit at your desk for hours on end, distracting yourself from doing what makes you feel alive, a little piece of you dies. And your body feels stiff and painful.

 

Take a deep breath.

Soften your eyes.

Unlock your posture.

Slow down.

Chew.

Taste.

Acknowledge reality.

Do your best.

 

You are okay. Really.

You are free!

 

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This was going to be a post about how I had learned to NOT be attached to outcomes. I’ve been trying to write it for weeks now, but my thoughts are a jumbled mess. The reason?  Because I am very much attached to a particular outcome, even though I swore I was not.

And the way I’ve been eating lately tells the story.

I’ve gone from enjoying my food to using it to punish myself.

I’ve gone from eating intuitively and in moderation, to mindlessly eating too much. I’ve been eating foods that don’t feel good in my body. I’ve been eating when I am not hungry. I’ve been eating too fast and not chewing enough….getting the food in there as fast as I can.

I’ve gone from a place where control isn’t an issue (meaning I don’t have to control food and it doesn’t control me) to feeling both out of control AND as if I am purposely eating too much in order to both numb AND hurt myself.

I think what’s driving this is a big ball of anger and sadness inside me that I haven’t wanted to acknowledge, because acknowledging it would mean that I am attached to the aforementioned outcome, and I am pissed because I don’t want to be attached to it. And the outcome I am talking about is the potential response to a letter I wrote to someone. Reference this post for more information.

The good news is that the script running in my head regarding the eating is much different than it would have been a couple of years ago.

A few years ago, my script would have looked like this: “You’re pathetic. You can’t control yourself and you’re gaining weight. See? The number on the scale is going up. You better do something about that! Time to get back to counting calories…you better cut carbs and start working out more. It’s time to put and shut up! It’s time to struggle!”

Interestingly, last night when it dawned on me that I was punishing myself with food, I thought: “Oh look…you’re punishing yourself with food. How about that. Our body feels icky…you’ve been eating too much salt and sugar. It’s a good thing I noticed…it’s a good thing I am aware. Yeah, it’s been a few weeks but it’s okay. We know what it looks like to have a good relationship with food.”

And that’s when I got clear about what’s going on. It’s when I acknowledged the sad, angry ball. Actually, as I write this I realize that it’s a lot more than that…it is dark, ugly and irrational. At it’s very worst, it’s impotent rage. The rational, content, loving, and aware side of me is the bigger part and for that I am grateful, but I’ve not been willing to accept that there’s a dark, ugly and irrational side. And in order to be free, I need to accept it.

In an effort to stop eating over it I have started a private journal where I am going to let myself spew all the dark, ugly and irrational thoughts.

___________________________

The other day the July issue of O magazine showed up and I turned to Martha Beck’s column. It is entitled, “I Don’t Care: how do you get your nearest and dearest to change their behavior? Love them unconditionally…and stop giving a damn what they do.”

From the article:

Think about how someone must alter him/herself or his/her behavior before you can be content. Complete this sentence:

“If ____________ would only _____________, then I could feel ___________________.”

Now scratch out the first part of the sentence so all that remains is, “I could feel _____________.”

It doesn’t matter what the first part is, but the second part, for me, is this: “I could be free.”

This is the whole truth, right there. And it reminds me of this:

I don’t have to lose weight in order to be happy…I could choose happiness any old time.

I could feel free. I could, couldn’t I.

I’ve been making the same mistake over and over again in regards to this issue. I keep thinking that if I take the high road, it will resolve itself and everyone will be happy and love each other. I also made the mistake of thinking that detaching from this outcome (that the issue would be resolved and that everyone would be happy and love each other) would be easy…just a matter of deciding to do it. But no, like so many other things, it requires practice and a continuous detaching.

In the end, the goal is not to control someone else’s behavior, it is to create your own happiness.

There is real freedom in not being attached to outcomes.

“Don’t take anything personally. Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won’t be the victim of needless suffering.” ~ from The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz

“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.” ~ Anatole France

What do you think?

 

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