sueeeus

The first trick-or-treaters have arrived! The Boo Boy enjoyed holding the candy bowl for the first wave of costumed visitors. He was very brave when it came time to open the door, but the skeletons and goblins that soon followed proved to be too scary for this little one to handle. Not having seen skeletons and goblins and scary things like that before, and all. Poor little guy, whimpering and giving me that look. The furrowed brow. Deep concern etched all over that sweet little face.
We had fun carving the pumpkins. Mine projects a shadow of a cat looming over a pair of rats in the foreground. Mr. Gadget chose a grim reaper skeleton with a scythe projection in back, but he decided to light his with a strobe light rather than a candle, so the background shadow effect is lost. Ingenious technique, though! I’ve never ventured into such creative pumpkin carving territories before. The patterns and techniques came from a book I found on clearance last year at JoAnn’s. Fun fun!

I love the look of glee on a child’s face during that thrilling ride down a slide.  Especially when it’s my child.  I’m biased that way.  Just a bit.  Weeeeeeeeeee!   

He looks so grown up!  He is constantly trying to nab our phones.  I recently upgraded my phone (it was free, with an extension to my contract, that is) so this little boy is pleased as can be to have his very own phone.  He was chattering away, and fell asleep midstream.  He has so many faces of cuteness, but I can barely get a non-blurry picture in.  Daylight savings time has thrown him off a bit.  He’s falling asleep a bit earlier.  That’s a good thing, but the waking up a bit earlier I could do without.

Music is a powerful thing. The soft hint of a melody awakens emotions, bringing them to the forefront of my heart and mind, so that I am transported to that place and time, as though it were here and now, and the experience is new.

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love
Can the child within my heart rise above
Can I sail thru the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life

I see a little girl, four years old, microphone in hand, swaying to the music. I hear the sweet sound of her little voice, off key, singing her heart out. I see her mother, her belly in full bloom, round with my nephew, due any day. She is flanked by my nieces, teenage girls with basketballs stuffed under their shirts. The trio has taken the stage and are singing their song. I see my niece again, this time in her daddy’s arms, out on the lake in a boat, waving the orange flag. Swimmers in the water!

Happy memories of happy times.

And you ask me what I want this year
And I try to make this kind and clear
Just a chance that maybe we’ll find better days
‘Cause I don’t need boxes wrapped in strings
And desire and love and empty things
Just a chance that maybe we’ll find better days

So take these words
And sing out loud
‘Cause everyone is forgiven now
‘Cause tonight’s the night the world begins again

I see my brother’s lifeless body, cold and hard, laid out on a gurney at the mortuary. I’ve signed a waiver to release the mortuary of any responsibility for emotional damages or trauma I might experience. We all have. They are not comfortable that we are there. They have cleaned him well and put him back together nicely. He looks peaceful. His hair is soft. We look at him. We speak to him. We hold his hand. We whisper to him. We hug each other. We cry. We look at the bullet hole in his temple. We ask him why. We tell him that we love him, that we have always loved him. We cry. We cry more. The mortuary staff are pacing and restless. They have an appointment and want us to leave. We don’t want to go. But we have to. We look at him one more time. We tell him goodbye. We mourn. We grieve.

Too late, my time has come
Sends shivers down my spine
Body’s aching all the time
Goodbye everybody, I’ve got to go
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth
Mama, oooh ohhoo oooh (any way the wind blows)
I don’t want to die
I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all

A year ago today, he put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Grief has sent us spinning, spiralling through so many thoughts, questions, and emotions. Much is written about the stages of grief, be there five, six, or a dozen. It doesn’t matter. There’s no easy way to come through it. There are no answers.

I recently read The Five People You Meet in Heaven. If Heaven were like that, I wonder if I’d meet my brother. If he would show me the ripples I started that had an impact on him. Good or bad.

I’ve read that Guilt is one of the stages, and I find that it best describes where I am and have been. It’s the unanswered question, “Why ” Why did this happen Could I have stopped it Did I do something, somehow, that contributed to this

I don’t know how to get past these questions.

We were close, as children. He was my buddy. I was his refuge. He trusted me. I was there for him. I was his strength. There were times that I let him down. Not many, but Guilt, Guilt brings these moments into full focus and distracts my attention from everything else, from the many many good times in which we were buddies and we laughed and smiled and enjoyed being who we were –siblings, friends. It is Guilt that reminds me of my own selfishness, that tells me that I should have been paying attention to more of my surroundings. It is Guilt that shatters my confidence in any earlier understanding that all was well, that I had been forgiven for the ripples that I had caused in our youth. It is Guilt that shouts at me, “COWARD.” Coward for not wanting to face him as adults, to see him, to speak to him. Coward for not understanding him, who he was, the person he had become. Coward for being afraid to reach out. It is Guilt that yells at me, “ACCUSER.” Accuser for thinking that he might be involved with drugs. It is Guilt that screams at me, “TRAITOR.” Traitor for wanting but not being able to trust him or believe him. Traitor for not giving him the help he asked for, when I thought it was counter-productive to his health and safety. Traitor for not believing him. For not giving him the benefit of the doubt. It is Guilt that sneers at me, “WEAKLING.” Weakling, for not wanting him to be angry with me. Weakling for not being his strength when he needed strength. “COWARD!” Coward for not going to him, for not helping him. Coward. For being afraid for him. Coward. For being afraid of him.

Guilt is a demon.

There were so many dynamics in the past few years. So many things going on. So many tangles. I can’t make heads or tails of it all. I did what I could, within the confines of the weakness of being who I am. Of being human.

I am no stranger to depression, yet the inability to understand how one can reach that place where the only solution is out, and having to face the fact that that was where he was, wrenches the very fibres of my being and sends me spinning all over again.
He knew I loved him, and that I have always loved him. I think that he always loved me too, and I hope that he has forgiven me for anything and everything that needed forgiving. Today I spread dried petals from year old roses around the box that holds his remains. Today I am home alone, to honor his memory, to work through my grief, to mourn. I am so sorry. And I miss him.

Guilt remains. Guilt reigns. Beyond the guilt, there is solace in knowing that he is free, and that he is at peace.

I pray for my family. That they might be comforted from their grief and find peace in their hearts. That they find healthy ways to address their sorrows. That they be free from the demons of guilt and torment.  That they forgive each other for their own ripples.  That their hearts be bathed in love.  I pray these things for myself, as well.

In my mind and in my heart I know that Guilt can be banished with the sword of Forgiveness. I just can’t seem to garner the strength to wield that sword. But that is what faith is for, after all. I don’t have to do this alone.

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

I was going to entitle this entry, from moustache to boobs, the transformation of my front, but thought better of it, what with google searches and all.

Slight attempts at improved curb appeal have been made of late. There was the moustache removal. Although a definite improvement, the satisfaction quickly waned, but the wildly successful median transformation project ignited sufficient inspiration to take action and further spruce up the front. However, and I should have already known this (yes, all right, I did know this, but chose to be blissfully optomistic about the prospects, as I am wont to be), things don’t always go as one would hope.  Nevertheless, a little action was taken, and this is the end result.  I can live with it.  I am living with it.  I do very much like the new maple tree and the burning bushes.  Perhaps next year we will work on the lawn.

I have been conducting some field experimentation on the nuances of communication and the resulting contribution toward conflict management. I have an unwitting gadget oriented study participant.
Scenario I:
Casual conversation. Express a vague idea: “I’d like to plant a tree and some shrubs out front.”
Theoretical Outcome I:
Interchange of words. Exploration of the idea. Examples: “What sorts of shrubs/tree ” “I’d love a sweet gum and a burning bush or two, and a heavenly bamboo and perhaps a few other hardy, low-growing evergreens.” “Do you have a time frame in mind ” “It would be nice to do something in the next few weeks, before the weather changes dramatically.” “Is there a particular place you’d like to put the tree and shrubs ” “Why, yes, I have some ideas.” “Do you have an idea of how you’d like the front to look ” “Why yes, I could draw a picture so you could see what I have in mind.”
Actual Outcome I:
“We need some topsoil. You can’t just plant a tree in the ground.” “Why not ” “Do you want to go get the plants or not ” “Well, yes, but… (we don’t have a plan, and we haven’t done any prep work and surely there is some necessary groundwork),” unsaid and unheard. “Let’s go.” Followed by a nearly silent trip to the nursery, a selection of plants, a load of topsoil. “Where do you want the tree ” “I’d like to form a slight mound near the street lamp, and center it there. I’d like to form another mound near the driveway, …” Followed by topsoil shoveled in the general area of the street lamp. And so and and so forth, and so forth and so on, with the final result being a half-ass poorly planned execution of what could have been a decent piece of landscaping. Not to mention a disgruntled and unsatisfied party, frustrated that all parties weren’t interested in developing and executing a plan, and achieving a meeting of the minds and an accord of vision. Also, said party wondering how long to wait before insisting that the job be redone, this time according to plan and design, ignoring the pick your battles phrase that’s flashing relentlessly like a stock exchange ticker symbol across her mind.
Scenario II:
Casual conversation. Express a specific idea: “I’d like to make a concrete bench, and I have the instructions in a book, but I want to slightly modify the design.”
Theoretical Outcome II:
Follow the instructions in the book. Modify the design as specified. Build a bench.
Actual Outcome II:
Modify the design as desired. Follow the instructions in the book. “Why do we have to do it this way What do they know ” “We do it this way because it’s what the instructions say. They know, because they’re the experts. That’s why they wrote the book.” And so on. Exhausting, but in the end, there is a bench, and the prize-winning remark, “That went well. We hardly argued, and you didn’t mutter anything about divorce.”

The key, therefore, is to have a concrete (ahem), detailed plan in place, prior to initiating a conversation or expressing an idea. There is much weight placed on the old addage, “Think before you speak.”

Scenario I (reprise):
Rather than insisting the job be redone, while heeding the pick your battles self-advice, gather the tools and start re-working the offending area. Alone.
Theoretical Outcome I (reprise):
Unencumbered experimentation to determine a satisfactory solution. Potential second party expression of interest and voluntary assistance.
Actual Outcome I (reprise):
Compromise and settle on a solution that, although not the original vision, is deemed acceptable.

I’ve recently been thinking that I want to attempt to embrace myself for who I am, rather than chastising or loathing myself for not being a supermodel.  This was before I saw myself on film, after reviewing some of the footage that the kind Mr. Gadget shot during my sister’s wedding, after which the loathing and disgust was renewed and rekindled.  I’m working on suppressing it, though, and along those lines, I thought I might buy myself a trendy and fashionable outfit.  So I ventured forth.  To the mall.

First.  Why is the mall parking lot crowded at 11 a.m. on a week day   Where do these people come from   Where do they get the money to shop   How do they find time to go to the mall in the middle of the day   These questions perplex me.  Surely they didn’t all leave work early because they were on the verge of another anxiety attack and they didn’t want to be in front of people they knew when the tears started falling unexpectedly and with no explanation.

I sauntered in to Nordstrom with full confidence, looking for a specific style of Merrell shoes.  They didn’t have them.  I tried on a few other styles.  They tried to sell me on the virtues of Dansko, but I tried some recently and didn’t like the feel.  Orthopedically endorsed or not, I am much more comfortable in my Keens.  If only they had some dressier styles.

Next, I wandered in to Lane Bryant, where they carry fashions for people of my stature (yet they still display them on skinny mannequins).  I saw some jeans that I fancied, until I noted the price tag.  A hundred bucks for a pair of jeans.  Good gravy, who pays that kind of money for a pair of jeans   Granted, they were fashionable, with fun stitching and decorations, but a hundred dollars   And why would I want to draw attention to my already unattractive back side by advertising with a splay of rhinestones   I browsed the rest of the store and noted that cargo pants are aplenty.  For fifty bucks a pair.  Since I recently acquired three pairs of cargo pants at Costco, for about fifty bucks TOTAL, I’m somewhat satisfied that I am possibly actually on the verge of being de la mode (and hopefully I didn’t just say I’m on the verge of being topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, although, that could be nice in certain situations).  Ahem.

I returned home empty handed, too busily muttering to myself about how I dislike malls and retail shopping, to realize that my fuel light had come on.  So I headed back out, to familiar and comfortable territory.  Costco.  Gas was $2.29 a gallon — the lowest it’s been in donkey’s years.  For under $200 I got two footed sleeper jammies for my Boo Boy, two blankets, a set of night lights, a bottle of magnesium supplements (supposedly magnesium is beneficial in thwarting anxiety), 3 lbs of broccoli florets, a huge bag of celery hearts, 10lbs of onions, a set of stainless travel mugs, 144 diapers, a case of green beans (yes, I know, fresh is better, followed by frozen, but the Boo Boy, he loves them), a huge jug of picante sauce, and a big beautiful cook book from America’s Test Kitchen.  These things are much more satisfying than 1 and 3/4 pair of fashion jeans.

Sigh.  See how much I can write while I am waiting for tech support   If I haven’t mentioned lately how much I despise (yet love) technology, let it be said.  The problem of the moment is ‘datasource not found’.  None of them.  On all my sites.  (My ColdFusion sites.)  How annoying.  I know they are there.  I see them in my control panel.  Somebody’s been messing with the servers or something, because they’re not seeing the databases.  Grrrrrrrr.  And I thought I might actually take a nap or something this afternoon.  As if.

I’ve had five days off.  Five!  Sadly, I feel as though I need many many more.  The first was necessarily spent cleaning in a sanity-restoring fervor.  Errands, preparations for a wedding, a road trip, a wedding, and a return trip consumed the next three.  The last day I wasted, mainly on the computer, although I did run some errands.  In retrospect, I should have relaxed and regrouped.  But I didn’t, and today, it’s back to the grind.  I managed well for most of the day, but the anxiety wormed its way back in, temporarily.  Luckily, it didn’t take hold.  I’ve kept it at bay, but am distraught that it could so swiftly rear its ugly head.  I wonder if I’m on the verge of a mid-life crisis, or in the midst of one, or if I’m simply tumbling on the waves of hormones gone awry.  Perhaps I’m just full up.  Tired.  I need to find more restorative things to do.  A schedule.  A plan.  Order.  I feel better when there is order in my universe.

On a more positive note, what a beautiful wedding!  The bride arrived by horse drawn carriage.

  The ever-faithful ring bearer stole the show. 

Solemn vows were made.  The bride was a vision in cream fairy tale silk.  The groom emanated love for his bride.

A dapper young man was mostly well-behaved.  For a one and three quarter year old on a beautiful fall day.

There was dancing     and champagne.

A fabulous time was had by all.  My youngest sister.  Married.  It’s a beautiful thing.

I decided to make a new theme, to remind me of happy blue skies.  I’m still working on it, but it’s a nice change of pace and I can switch back to the old standard at any time.  This is a swanky theme by some smart dude in Germany, with a scheme/skin that I made to go along with it.  His link is in the footer.  Now I’ve got ideas for more schemes, but they’re so time consuming, and of course, we all know, I’ve got plenty of that.

NOT!!!

And DRAT!  Now I see that it produces javascript errors in IE.  So much for designing in FireFox and assuming it would work correctly in IE.  Another day.  I haven’t the time to figure it out today.  Double Drat!!

The tough stay home. Or, in my case, take a sick day. Yesterday revealed to me that I had not actually dealt with the anxiety from days prior, and I found myself once again unable to breathe, and finally ended up sobbing, silently, in the bathroom at work. Not good. And so not me. I know better than to let others and things get to me, yet I don’t do better. Anxiety is a killer. I live with a great deal of stress anyway, but the shortness of breath and sensations of being trapped or caged are new to me. I had to take a day off, to take care of ME. Otherwise, I was heading for an explosion. Regular exercise is an avenue of release that I am desperately in need of. However, an alternate release is… …for me… …a clean house. I’ve spent the last six hours cleaning house. Dusting, sweeping, mopping, swabbing, scouring, polishing, vacuuming, scrubbing, washing, laundering. Although I’m not so fond of the actual cleaning part, I absolutely revel in the results. Clean and orderly surroundings are good for my soul. They soothe me. They comfort me. They help me feel at home. Grounded. Centered. Strong. At peace. Like the old me. Rock on.

Some people want to forget the eighties, but for me, those were the days of vivacity; the days of unstoppable youth! I never was a rock star, but it was fun to dress up and pretend.

…by idiots…

Sometimes I get that desperate caged feeling where my stomach feels like it’s risen to my throat and it’s hard to catch my breath.  It’s a reaction to frustration.  Or a manifestation thereof.  Either that, or it’s the physical realization of the mental exercise of biting my tongue and heeding my words, reigning in my thoughts so that they don’t explode with the words that I want to express.

It could be ego.  Or ruffled feelings   If I take the initiative to get something started that can potentially help quite a few people, do some extensive research and produce a fairly detailed working draft or prototype, and I coordinate with another who has a little experience in the matter, to seek his review and perspective as to whether I’ve missed anything important, should I take offense when I realize that he has scurried off to the bosses (how does one possessive-pluralize a word ending in double-s, anyway ) office to discuss his thoughts on what I’ve come up with so far   Rather than discussing matters with me   Is that not what coordination is   I am offended.  I gather that he wants to do things his way.  I wouldn’t have a problem with that if I hadn’t already invested the effort I’ve given.  I have deep objections to duplication of effort, and I don’t like to waste my time.  I don’t do my work for glory and fame.  I don’t insist that things be done my way, but if it so happens that the way I’ve proposed is logical and considerate to and for the many over the few, why not   I maintain that it’s not an ego trip, to fight for my way.  My goal is optimization. I want to find the best way.  Not for me, but for all.  For the situation.  I try to keep that in mind when I do what I do.  Whatever it is that I do.  So.  When I realize that the insufferable chatter across the cubicle wall is about me and my work, I get ruffled.  I’ve been down this road before.  I don’t have much tolerance for this weasly behind my back behavior.  No.  Instead, I put on my headphones and turn up the volume so that I can no longer hear my surroundings.  It’s so hard to interact with unreasonable people, and harder yet to muster up any sort of respect for them.  I can’t stomach the thoughts that arise, and I find myself boxed in.

Bah.