10:03 a.m. - 2024-04-11
TOrnado brewing.
It's 10 a.m. Funny, three months ago I would not have even been up. This pup has turned things around, in good ways.
I'm sitting out on my porch, listening to my chimes and awaiting the bad weather that will soon be upon us. There is a tornado watch. I'm staying here and I'll take my chances. I am a little tired, and if this place survived 53 years, I'm thinking it will survive a lot, unless a direct hit.
I bought this little gem in 2020, still reeling from being one of my mother's caregivers for the last two months of her life. I just happened to see the ad, and loved the interior....drove down and plopped down a check for $1K. There have been some ups and downs but it's become cozy and loveable. I spend summers away, where it's cooler.
Luckily, my angel sister, Joni, lived five doors down from Mom and was able to field the needs of the last few years when Mom was no longer able to get out or drive. I told her that I would be there when she needed me, and I was.
It was a two month whirlwind of trying to be helpful and also tolerate the things that made me so distant from her for so many years. Her lack of understanding or interest in my passions, always feeling like I just didn't make the mark, or even being criticized. In her defense, she did recognize shining behavior. I almost wished she didn't because it was not unconditional love. I was treated better when I was "easy" and I was subject to a lot of dysfunction and emotional abuse when I was not. It is no wonder I was starving for acceptance, while struggling to accept myself.
The two months I spent with Mom were so essential to my wellbeing now. One of the last things she said to me was "I never hurt anyone! YOU were probably the person I hurt the most."
Ouch. She got it, at least on some level. Yes, she's probably right. I remember very specific, cruel things but overall there was mind twisting from both of my parents. I would come out of sessions with them just spinning and feeling hopeless. That's when I'd grab the pen. Daddy did this as well, to release emotion. Mom was somewhat emotionless. Just who she was, and who raised her. It was puzzling though, how the mother who didn't give her what SHE needed turned her into the same person. She just didn't know how. But as a child.....you just don't understand.
But don't get me wrong, I was no angel. What I suspect I was, was a first child to Mom and grandchild to Gigi (grandmother) and Gigi spoiled me rotten. Mom was only 20 when she had me and God only knows the circumstances that led her to marrying my father. But I didn't understand that as a child. I only knew that there was total chaos in our home. We would be roused from deep sleep to come and line the couch and listen to them argue and get borderline violent. I guess we were "props" to prevent things from going too far. It was agonizing. We would lie in the bed sometimes, covering our heads, praying this wasn't going to be a long night on the couch. Daddy had to be heard. He WOULD be heard.
I loved to talk. OR write. Any way to express my thoughts, and I had many. Report cards often indicated how bright I was but also a talker. The fourth grade writing assignments were my favorite! Other than that, I had few interests in school. Mom subjected me to piano lessons for seven years (I learned about 2 years worth, then played around) and I'm grateful for that. Even though I was no great pianist, it gave me some introduction to musical knowledge.
I was a fan of music from an early age. Two profound memories are riding in the back window of our car to a concert that my older sisters were going to and hearing Petula Clark singing DownTown on the radio. That song was magical. I also remember listening to Harry Nielsen in third grade. I loved that guy!
I had an am/fm panasonic by third grade and listened to WLS out of Chicago at night for entertainment. You could not hear it during the day. I remember vividly nestling in my bed with that little round green radio and falling asleep to it.
These things, my writing and my words, kept me sane. All through school I always felt I was trying too hard to look "right". The right hair and makeup. But I never felt like I got it right. No confidence. And I suppose a mouth to get me in trouble, then nothing to back it up!
Daddy was a talker. Mom could as well, but Mom was selective. Daddy was not, talking to anyone who showed the least bit of interest. People cringe now when I do this, but I've gotten pretty good at reading people, and enjoy the positive interactions with others it brings me. I remember Daddy stopping for anyone who broke down on the side of the road, even after it started to look like a bad idea. Daddy brought home two campers who were chihuahua breeders from Canada that he encountered at the gas station. It was a great time of connection with our neighbors to the north and we showed them around a bit.
Daddy was bad. In so many ways. But he was good in so many ways too. While some shut him off completely in memory or life, I can't. We went toe to toe more times than I could count, but I saw his heart. In my world, hearts matter. Money doesn't, except to survive. In my world, reaching out might get you embarassed once in 100 times, but the payoff is great! My mother was not this way, she held everything in and tried to be a private person. I'm sure it was horrific hiding the abuse that was worse behind doors, while raising three girls under 6 at 26. I understand why things happened, both my transgressions and theirs. I finally began sorting all this out at around 60, when I retired.
Covid speeded things up for me a bit. We all took life a little more seriously. Appreciated things more. I let the "trying" go for the most part. I met a beautiful stranger who stressed being present and letting things flow, and I'm working on it. Things that used to "stick" and run circles in my mind, now are easier to shut off. Breath.......return to the breath.
I'm listening to rock hits from the year I graduated. I've discovered lately that I can really immerse in some of these memories from the good times I experienced. I find I can really "be there" almost like a virtual jukebox of memories. It's fun. FOr so long there was so much pain and regret, I just didn't go there.
Most memories revolve around the 70's, experimentation, just having fun. The family memories are largely missing because I tried to avoid home as much as possible. Mom and Dad acquired a family business and threw themselves completely into it. It turned out to be a wonderful source of revenue for our family and we all benefitted financially. Social drinking revived demons. Our family was neglected because there just wasn't enough time to juggle all the balls, plus incredible dysfunction. I ducked out around 14 as much as I could, staying with friends. My sisters were left behind to fend for themselves.
Joni lived at the home of a lady she babysat for a while. I was out and about drinking and riding the woods. There was little to do where I was. Leta was the answer to prayer and the good child they needed at that point, she learned what to do to survive watching us. She gave Mom the reward she needed.....someone to live vicariously through. She played the piano while Leta sang, or tapped, or both. Leta has very good memories with them. Maybe they just grew up. We all suffered mentally.
I'm out here on the porch and the sky is cloudy but other than that, birds are still singing and pup is lying quietly beside me. America is playing inside. Ventura Highway. That brings back skating memories......ahhhhh Those were the days. I guess today's kids will look back on this time as "the days" too. That's sad and scary to me.
