The Dance of the Divine

As I enter the clearing at the top of the universe, I have to repeat to myself, you wanted this, you asked for it, you wanted this, you asked for it.  And yet, even in this moment, I still fear my own truth.

I love that word, not Truth as you might have expected, but the word, Still.

Still.

For I know I must sit still long enough to receive it, that which is my truth.

But sitting still is not easy for me.  I have a pattern, created very early in my years, of growing tired of things, places, people and circumstances.  My pattern is to let them go. Run Jenny Run.  Run like the wind.  Change is needed to fuel me and I am hungry for change.

Many friends, husbands, relationships, jobs, goals and dreams have succumbed to this dance of mine.  It is a ten year cycle.  For each, it is ten years - then done.  I only very recently stopped to count the number of instances in relationship to the number of years for each and I was duly startled.  It is clearly ten years. That's pretty much all I am good for.

Except for my children and a precious few who have survived, circumvented or otherwise put up with the faults known as my ten year limits.

I have always counted myself blessed with bountiful friends, more than any one person should deserve but this realization has awakened me to my truth.  I can be difficult, feisty, sometimes mean, but that is the armor I have used for all these years to drive the chafe from the wheat.

As I slide head first toward 50, I don't care for trivialities.  I don't cotton to a huggy, kissy kind of emailish, girlfriendy type of love. I need to know the people I carry with me into this last 50 years (God willing) of my life are the ones who will listen to my stories over and over again and wipe the shit off my ass-ignation when I've crossed yet another line. These people need to get me and most importantly, they need to know I get them. I've got them. I will hold them and wipe off their ass-ignations as well.

I have met or rekindled some relationships with true angels recently, and I have been awakened to the power of selfless love, sacrifice and bravery.

Robyn - meeting you in our girl's kindergarten class - how could I possibly have known you would reveal yourself to me in a time of my greatest need. You are the epitome of the belief that Australians are the nicest people on earth. Oprah said it, so it must be true and I love you - you are a divine Goddess.

Megan - strong, tough bitch, survivor, Amish in all the right ways, not Amish in all the right ways, loving and supportive. You are family and I am proud to be with you as we gather up our strength and conquer our worlds. Never lose touch with your power. Harness it and face your challenges head on but don't ever forget, I will always be here for you, as long as you let me borrow your cool jewelry.

Lacey - amazing mom, truly.  The best I have ever seen.  You let your brilliant son go off and sit with the big kids because that is where he finds his truth; yet you, like so many really good mothers, never lose sight of him. He is a challenge, just as I have experienced with my own but your calm balances him. You have risen to the top baby girl.  Stay the course. I love your man and your boys.  You have done well, your dad is proud of you too.  I can see his spirit in both of those boys.

Nick - So much to overcome but equal parts brilliant mind and loving heart to drive you through. Keep your eye or perhaps both eyes on the life you want. You are perfectly formed and made to be exactly who you are by God's own hands. So young still but so mature.  My kids all told me you reminded them of their dad's fiance's younger brother who is gay.  They don't know Ryan is gay.  Their dad would never allow them to know that. So essentially, their opinion was formed based on pure universal intuition. What that tells me is - fuck the conservative right wing, anti-gay, mostly closeted homosexual naysayers.  If kids can see it, then it is real. But you and I knew that already as does your dad.  You are loved.

Debbie - you are in my mind's eye, the utmost of the Divine Goddesses along with Betty Sue and yes, even your mom, my beloved Aunt Sarah.  I know there is bickering and a feeling that you are the one left to handle everything but I witnessed that legacy being passed down to you.  I remember your mom showing up to visit Granny every night on her way home from work. Then I remember you driving your mom to work every day and coming with her to visit Granny every night. Adding to that burden, I recall you picking me up and driving me to work at the age of 14, exposing me to the corporate environment and ensuring your employer I could run the front desk and handle the mail.  God, how I loved that summer. YOU made it all happen, you gave me the confidence at such a young age to know I could handle anything.

You have to face it, you are the one who stepped up to take responsibility when it was handed to you but you also have to remember, when it comes to those you cannot help, you need to let go. Calls from family who have gotten themselves into trouble are not your responsibility.  Don't feel as if it all falls on you because you must replace your mom. You can choose to tough love those people who may be taking advantage. Doing things that go against your judgment will make you bitter.  Helping people who struggle with addictions will only keep them addicted.  Be happy my beautiful cousin. You have done more than anyone else in our family can claim.  You have raised two children who will not go down those paths to destruction.  YOU did that. My mom always used to tell me how proud she was of you to raise your kids the way you did.

And trust me when I say, she never said that about anyone else, not even herself.

You are my hero. Yes, we have both made some bad choices in our lives, with respect to love and relationships but we seem to keep the ultimate prize in mind - that of the well being of our children.  So please be happy for all you have. Be grateful for Megan and Jeremy's goodness for that is the ultimate true test of a mom.  You have raised good people who will go on to raise good people. If you do nothing else in your life, that is enough for have broken a chain that was wrapped around your neck at birth and you have set free a new regime that will effect generation upon generation to come. As I said, my hero.

I hope you can visualize your burdens and blessings the same. My mom loved you and had a special place in her heart for you.  I obviously loved you, following you around in my childhood and cherishing every moment with you. Now I love Megan and Jeremy and I see my kids growing up to love them too. Megan opened her home to us and taught us to have conversation instead of TV.

And your son, who is preparing to welcome his first child, thought enough of us to sneak some money into my purse so I could spend a little more on the kids while in Oklahoma.  I found it, asked Megan about it, cried, made Megan cry but then believed her when she hugged me and told me how much all of you love all of us.

When I took the kids to Celebration Station, I told them this was money Jeremy gave us because he loves us, you all love us. It is hard for me to accept handouts.  I know that is why Jeremy secretly placed it in my purse, for my stubborn pride would have prevented accepting it.  He and Shelbi have a baby coming for goodness sakes. I can't believe I used to change that boy's diapers.

It is true in that the subtleties of love speak the loudest.

This is my truth. I know who I love. I know who loves me (us). And that is all I need.

To Amanda, Meghan, Cerese, Terese, Penny, Kim, Katt and countless others I wasn't able to see on this trip, please know I love you.

Standing at the top of the universe makes it so much easier to see. I love my Burt (Bird) and precious few others for it is not quantity but quality that makes up the Dance of the Divine.

And for those of you who have known me more than ten years and continue to dance in my circle, God bless you for I know my expectations are well beyond any reasonable divine expectation.  And for those I have driven away, please know this is not about you.  It is my truth and mine alone. But we shall dance nonetheless.

Shake shake shake, shake shake shake, shake your bootie, shake your bootie.

So much more to say about my trip back to Oklahoma City last week but for now, shaking by bootie seems to be an appropriate end.

Saturday Morning Swim Switch

We walk into the steamy pool area of our local high school every Saturday morning with heavy winter gear; coats, hats, gloves, scarfs, boots and for my daughters, swim suits buried underneath those tantamount layers. It was an idea spawned from my obsessive compulsive need to make sure my girls never fear the water as I did/do. Well that, and the fact that their two best friends are competitive swimmers.

The girls are taking to it like fish in the......strike that.  Like sea bass on a hot grill waiting to be served to Oprah and Gayle. They are all in, fully invested and they make my heart skip a beat when I watch them glide along the water as I could never do.  There is a rather infamous story of me told by The Leaders of The Free World. It has been embellished over the years, I am certain of that.  And depending upon who recounts the tale, it is either told as a horrifying experience or the most hilarious thing ever witnessed at a lake house.

We had been boating and floating most of the day.  After docking the boat, we cranked up the Toby Keith tunes and sat at the edge of the water, drinking our Corona's and enjoying the sacredness of our much too infrequent reunions.  As the sun grew more intense, we all slowly drifted out into the lake, standing amongst the fish and squishy, tickly, disgusting plant life that inhabits the bottom of a lake.  I was uncomfortable at best but the conversation was getting deep and so was I.  Without realizing it, I apparently backed off a ledge of some sort and was starting to go under, grasping for my friend with one arm while carefully keeping my Corona arm safely above sea level, or lake level as the case may be.

But my girls will never know the agony of choosing to save their own life or that of a frosty cold beverage, for they will be the greatest of swimmers.  The one thing that saddens me at these Saturday morning swim sessions is witnessing the parade of divorced families using this noon hour as the drop off point for the switch from mom's house to dad's or vice versa. I see the bags packed full of weekend gear, I see the mom's giving those extra long goodbye hugs and I see the kids who don't appear bothered at all, for they have settled into this life, this routine that is comfortable and common to them.  "Don't worry, kids are resilient", they all say.

And I am reminded how ugly the face of divorce can be. I clearly remember my ex coming to pick up the kids for the first "switch day". I remember the twin whom I had guessed would be falling apart was brave and stoic, while her sister screamed and reached for me as she was carried out the door.  I could hear her screams all the way to the car.  I shut the door behind me and slid down to the floor, like a hollowed out tree, there was nothing left inside of me. I was numb.

While cleaning out some old files, I recently ran across a photo taken of Mr. Sunshine with the kids, just after our separation. It was a black and white photo used in a campaign brochure for his run at a seat in the State Assembly.  The Commando is standing next to him with his arm around his dad and a look on his face that brought me right back to that empty, hollowed out vortex I once inhabited. I looked at the innocence of a child who was being manipulated by a man terrified of losing his children.

I saw the brightness that has only recently returned to his eyes and I also saw a little guy who wanted nothing more than to please his dad.  Smile for the camera, let's tell the voting public we are a happy family, while behind the scenes, he was witnessing the unraveling of his father.  Mommy left us....mommy took the toaster so I can't make toast for breakfast, as he broke down crying in front of them for the very first time.  For years, I couldn't make toast without one of them screaming at me for taking daddy's toaster, the same toaster I had had since I first moved out on my own at the age of 19. It was only recently one of them finally opened up to me about what happened that day.  He must have been holding in all of his guilt, anger and raw emotion when the toaster's disappearance served as the catalyst for him to release it.

Eventually, as all divorced families do, we settled into our own routine; that is, until he made the decision to commit a felony fraud landing himself in a country club to serve 30 months of cooking, gardening and exercise duty while I usher the kids through this most difficult of transitions.  I've been through the unraveling of our son and I've seen him put back together again.  I am seeing more subtle signs from the girls.  Just as in that black and white photo, when they were too young to truly process their pain, they are now too strong to let this openly bother them; but the truth is there, if you look closely enough.  They are taking their emotions out on each other, as only twins could do.

Sitting through teacher conferences last week, I was told in each case, one by one, all three of these children are "gifted writers". It is up to me to nurture this in them.  I know what it is to have it, but I don't know what it is to believe in it from an early age.  We are always writing stories, or telling stories, or imagining a great title for a book or noticing humanity for the good and the bad.  Soaking it in until we realize we can internalize it, process it and then tell it in a way that is earth bending.

Watching the American Idol preliminary auditions recently, one of the girls quickly surmised a pattern.  She noticed when a contestant has a gut wrenching back story told prior to their audition, they will inevitably be a good singer.  I was amazed at how quickly she tuned into this.  As obvious as it is to us, that's some pretty heady stuff for an 8 year old.  As I tucked her into bed weeks later, she told me she had come to another realization. "Mommy, I am living my own back story right now, aren't I", she asked with an intended sad inflection and a heart-melting frowney face.

Yes, you are honey. This is a hard time, a struggle of your very own but just like those singers on Idol, you know what happens when they have a difficult back story, right?  Then with confidence, she nodded and concluded she too would be a winner.

I see these families on Saturday morning through a black and white photo lens and I wonder about their lives. Are they being good and true to their children, forsaking their own anger and bitterness to do what is best for them or are they using them as weapons in their own sick battles for power, control, money or just simply to say they won? When I can feel the tension from the top row of the bleachers, I pray for them. Then I sit back and watch my beautiful girls, who have overcome so much and I pray for them too.  One of which is currently writing her autobiography.

Come on, Vogue

My friends, The Leaders of the Free World, like to tease me about how well I photograph. I'm not sure how I figured it out but somewhere down the line, I learned how to address the camera. It's a bit of a chin tilt and suck maneuver, while making love to the camera with your eyes.  I tried to teach this to the group last weekend on our girls trip but for some reason, when they tried it, they ended up looking like confused fish who suddenly found themselves on dry land. 

Truth be told, my girlfriends photograph well without tucking and sucking. They are beautiful just as they are. I should not have attempted to mess with those natural gifts. 

However, I couldn't resist showing them that even eight year old girls can pull off the look. I snapped these today after my daughters attended a spa diva party. They like to be photographed and they love being frilly. Combine that and the result is two photogenic mini divas and no, under no circumstances did I ask them to make love to the camera with their eyes.  But really, I just wanted to show off these pictures because I'm a proud mama. Enjoy!

Night of the Iguana

We spent our first night together, sitting in a tight circle in the crowded living area of our hotel suite catching up on life, throwing down our cards and having hot flashes, one after the other, after the other. You can not cram eight menopausal women into a space like that and expect good things to happen.

Reminds me of an opening to a sick joke, eight menopausal women walk into a bar..... Consider this a creative writing challenge and offer me your conclusions in the comment section.

We generated some heat all up in there, in our air conditioned room.  Because good Lord, it was hot outside.  I had forgotten how scorching mid July can be in Oklahoma.  I can't put it any better than Kim when she said in her soft voice, "ya'll, it's a hundred and fuck out there".

Sex, parenting, ex-husbands, death, aging, grandchildren, current husbands, peace, rage, hope - we began to talk and it all came pouring out like a bag of Gardettos when you pull and pull and pull and it explodes in a shower of snack mix (sorry Lori). We came with our ugly, we brought our confused, we exposed our dumb-ass mistakes and shared our proudest moments. And there was love to be found in the midst of that steamy room. The chaotic, disorganized snack mix scattered all about the floor was picked up, piece by delicious piece.

The next day, we had breakfast and then promptly planted ourselves at the pool. We encountered a red neck chick who discovered it is not prudent to mess with the aforementioned eight menopausal women by attempting to steal one of their noticeably marked lounge chairs. Bert gave Ernie a swimming lesson, even though I didn't have my rubber ducky, and we observed a married man flirting and posing with a group of twenty-something girls who were there having a girls trip of their own.  I couldn't resist telling his friend to remind him in a few years when he is tempted to post that photo on Match.Com, it is not a good idea, no matter how hot he thinks he looks.

Sorry to interrupt this post but here are our shoes from the night before. Which one of these just doesn't belong?

We began to discuss dinner plans and as always, these lovely women defer to me. They know how much I crave Oklahoma food.  They want to see me satisfied, nay indulged.  I told them I wanted to eat at the Iguana Lounge, the new one I had driven past on my tour of the city the day before. But it was not within walking distance, we wanted to drink but there is a Deputy Sheriff, an Air Force officer and the General Counsel for the State of frickin Oklahoma in our group, plus we're all moms, so driving was out of the question.

Then it struck me. This is what I do. If something needs to happen, I can make it happen. In Milwaukee, I can generally charm my way into anything by pulling out the southern accent. Here, I am rendered useless. Here, they can detect the ever so slight Midwestern, harsher inflections in my tone and they immediately identify me as an outsider. How could I possibly use THAT to my advantage?

Suffice it to say, the Iguana Lounge sent a limo to pick us up, gave us the best table in the house, satiated us with salsa made by the fairy nymphs of cilantro and offered us up a signature sangria swirl that, by comparison, equals nothing. My contact was the executive chef/manager, a wonderful man by the name of Lee. He greeted our limo by saying, where's my Angela? When all was said and done, he paid for our ride back to the hotel, provided us  with a complimentary shot of Tequila and said to me, if you're ever back in town, come see us again. No strings. No expectations. Just pure Oklahoma hospitality.

The girls were suspicious. What in the hell did you promise that guy to get him to do that for us?  Gina insisted, "from now on you are the official group negotiator.  I am in awe of your ability to so easily talk people into doing things for you (and us). Amazing talent!! And funny as hell to watch. I bow to the master, Obi Won, please teach me your Jedi mind trick so that I too can control the Force!! :)"

I said girls, this is what I do.  I negotiate. And I had better be pretty damn good at it cause I got a lot of mouths to feed. But what was in it for him, they persisted?  Didn't he expect to come back to our hotel and get a little something for his efforts? And there it was. My chance to tell these women what they, me, we all forget at times. The Iguana Lounge hosted us because we are a formidable, powerful group of women, the fucking Leaders of the Free World. We lit that place on fire and NOT because of our hot flashes.

Lest we forget, we must raise our expectations to beckon the universe to ascend to meet our demands. Or as the Bible says, ask and you will be given, seek and you will find. Please, do not assume I am using the Holy Bible to justify a night out on the town. I am simply saying in this life, the one we are living right now, it is up to us to make the choice to live it well, to ask for what we want and to settle for nothing less. If somebody tells you no or they turn out to be something less than you expected, either walk away or negotiate your way to a better life.

At the end of the evening, we went back to our hotel and took over the breakfast area, turning it into a makeshift disco. The girls were talking the staff into anything and everything we desired.  Turn the music up, turn the ice and soda fountain back on, do you mind if we dance?

The night ended with Robin dancing for us. There is nothing, not anything you could ever fathom that is more satisfying or captivating than watching this woman dance, because she dances not for herself, but for us.

Fear not, for mother Mary was watching over us. I'm not Catholic so I'm hoping I won't be cursed or struck down for writing this but I have always believed a young woman who would be impregnated by the holy spirit as a virgin would be strong enough to understand why we, The Leaders of the Free World, do what we do.

There is power there. We may not understand it right now but one day, if we allow ourselves to believe, we too will change the world.

Last photo provided courtesy of Robin Thomas, dancing queen.

A Word About Oklahoma

In spite of the excellent Mexican food, the last time I visited Oklahoma, I left with a bad taste in my mouth. It was last Thanksgiving and I was letting go of family. I felt disconnected and uncomfortable there and I couldn't wait to get home, here to Milwaukee, because this is my home now.

Or so I thought.

Spending this past weekend in Oklahoma City was like being in recovery. I submitted myself to the city and to my friends and family to let them heal me. I will be writing detailed posts about the friends and family part; but for now, let me tell you a little something about my home town.  For we have mended our fences.

It is amazing what a little oil money can do for a town. Do you know of any other downtown in the United States that is currently building a 50 floor skyscraper? I saw the cranes in action with my very own eyes. New retail developments are popping up like daisies. The Oklahoma City Thunder is the most beloved team in all of the NBA and a homeless man waved at me while crossing the street because even the homeless people are friendly in Oklahoma. Here's what the tower will look like when completed.

Or how about a $140 million dollar redesign of the downtown streets, plazas, sidewalks and parks?  They are even moving a part of I-40 to create a gateway to downtown via a large boulevard. If a major east to west thoroughfare is in your way, no problem, let's move it.  Is a river walk in a restored warehouse area enough for you?

The girls and I floated by Toby Keith's I Love This Bar & Grill, saw old Doc Blues singing on a patio, snapped a photo of Sonic's corporate headquarters, skipped right past Coyote Ugly, because well, you know we wouldn't have been able to keep Tina off the counters, and saw the most beautiful mosaic and waterfalls along the banks of the river walk.

Or perhaps sailing, rowing or kayaking is more your speed. Imagine a river so dry it had to be mowed twice a year. Dam it up, develop the hell out of it and viola, you have this.

 

Or you can drift away on Lake Hefner, found in the middle of the city with fully developed harbor frontage, restaurants, office buildings, walking trails and sail boats galore.

Did I mention housing is incredibly cheap, taxes are ridiculously low and the people are darn friendly? Oh and they have recently completed construction on not one but two state of the art Proton Therapy cancer treatment centers. Too bad they don't have a state of the art heartburn treatment center because here's an Oklahoma classic, chicken fried steak with fried okra, courtesy of Mr. Toby Keith. Pay no attention to the boob in the picture. It was there for proportion but it wasn't big enough so she had to use her hand as well.

My girlfriend Dolores escorted me on this whirlwind tour of all that Oklahoma City has to offer.  We drove around in her Saab convertible so I could pop up and snap photos. We stopped at this place and had a quick beer, which was free because, did I mention, people in Oklahoma are friendly.

We ended our morning at Big Truck Tacos where their motto is, "saving the world, one taco at time." It was so packed, they had to hang signs to remind people to be friendly. It can get a little pushy when a hungry mob is jonesing for one of those things. It was like Taco Crack or the best thing I've had in my mouth since, well since the last time I was in Oklahoma. Thank you Dolores for a wonderful morning; one that might very well change the course and direction of my life.

I guess it's safe to say I'm leaving this time around with only good tastes in my mouth. And good feelings for my hometown. My home. Where friends and family are plentiful and even the politicians aren't afraid to let it all hang out. Literally.

This did not leave a good taste in my mouth.  Sorry, had to go there, you knew I would.

Here's a little tease for my upcoming posts.  The Leaders of the Free World were in rare form during our "Night of the Iguana".

Bye for now ya'll.

Soak me in the Water Until I am Drenched

I am leaving on a jet plane later today my little lipscheins. For those of you that know me well enough to have been quite worried for me lately and for those of you who don't know me at all, trust me when I say, this girl needs her girls and I need them now. I'm Jonesing for the love and affection I receive from these particular 7 women who have shaped my life and who continue to prop me back up each time I stray off the path of the ordinary, expected life.

Come to think of it, I spend a lot of time there on that road less traveled.  So much so, one might be able to say it is my ordinary.

I fly in a day early to meet with another group of powerful women from my OKC days. We're having dinner, lots to catch up on, then I will stay with one them for the night. We will stay up late and drink red wine with really decadent chocolates. In the morning, she's going to show me all the wonderful new developments in my city. She's going to make me want to move back there, I can just feel it.

I will leave her around noon to have lunch with four of the most beautiful souls I know - my three nieces and my nephew. I'm forcing them to eat at my favorite Mexican food restaurant because you just can't get that shit here. Sayonara, or should I say hasta luego to Ms. Jenny Craig for the weekend because it's against vacation policy to diet when you're in the midst of the pure ecstasy that is Ted's.  Yes, it's a Mexican food restaurant named Ted's.  You got a problem with that?

After lunch with the young'ns, I'm off to the airport to pick up the Canadian doctor. She has flashy blond hair, will probably be wearing some killer stilettos and toting around an ostentatiously large piece of luggage to house all the well thought out ensembles she will don over the weekend. Erstwhile, I will be wearing my trademark flip flops and either a black or white tank top because I didn't want to have to think to hard to coordinate colors.

I told her I was going to pull up to the curb, roll down the window and yell, "Bitch, get your ass in the car before LeRoy catches you here again". She's cool with that.  It doesn't matter how big her bags are because she dropped the biggest piece of abusive pile of shit husband of hers and is on her way to living free of his maniacal control for the first time in decades.

Then one by one they will all arrive at our prestigious "Bricktown" hotel.  There's Babe, who is also known as Bert (the Bert to my Ernie) who will be responsible for at least three of us spontaneously peeing our pants within the first two hours of our stay. Sparkle will be there, also known as Sweetie Pie. She just lost her Memory so we have to be gentle and apply a little extra love to her. I think Gina and Lori are driving together and more importantly, bringing the booze. Gina is in charge of security for the weekend. Lori will be in charge of quietly observing us for a bit. Memorizing all of our fast talking rants then opening her mouth to say the most profound thing we've ever heard, rendering us all silent as we fall at her feet and beg for her to tell us more.

We are going to get to wrap our arms around Ms. P, not the Mrs. P we had last seen. She is free from a horrible man who tried to break her spirit. But you can't keep this woman down. I am excited at the thought of her new life and cannot wait to soak it all in while we sit poolside drinking cocktails. I love her laugh. I can hear it in my head right now.

Last but ever so entirely not least in any way is the person who has become our team cheerleader, tell it like it is sassy, happier than all get out, Tina Sue. She makes us smile each and every day and splatters us with love like a Jackson Pollock paintbrush. She flings it all over us until we lie back and realize we are masterpieces in her eyes. Then she will give each and everyone of us her personal smushing. It's her word.

And me, I have purchased a one-way ticket for a very large piece of me to remain behind there in that hotel room. I will cry it out. I will soak up strength from these women the way the spring thaw in Wisconsin soaks up twenty inches of snow. No more worries over ex husbands and jail.....I got it handled. No more broken heart....I am ready to start fresh. No more Jerry Maguire moral epiphanies where I seek to call into question the mission statement of the people who allow me to feed my children. I will reign all that in because by cup will runneth over and this gaping hole in my stomach will be filled with unconditional love, acceptance and really fucking good Mexican food made by a guy named Ted.

The Leaders of the Free World Unite

In just a few short weeks, I will be spending two days with a group of girls, most of which, I have known since kindergarten. Within our group we have a college professor, a dentist, a lawyer, two teachers, a deputy sheriff, a retired Air Force officer, a Physicians Assistant, an office manager, a barrel racer and a state champion baton twirler.

We are all mothers with 13 kids to watch over, most of which are mine. One of us has endured the loss of a child. We have all been married, some divorced, some divorced more than once - well, okay so only I have been divorced more than once but whose counting really. Damn, I counted.  There are thirteen current and ex husbands in our lives and again, most of those are mine.

We didn't think we would see each other this year though we do stay in touch on a near daily basis. Some of us have buried our mothers, fathers and brothers (spoiler alert: yes, most are mine) and one of us is presently watching over her mama as death has been lurking about, taking its time and taking its toll, as it always does.

Two of these women have recently broken free from long term marriages to 1) a crack head and 2) a crack pot. They are both doing well and we are awestruck as we watch their old spirit come back to us - the girls we remember from high school. All of their love and beauty popping back out like the first tulip of spring. We didn't stop loving them when they were in the midst of all that chaos and ugliness. We loved them right through it but we also told them exactly how we felt about it. See, when you have as much history as we do, we can say things like, "what the fuck are you still doing there?"

We are fiercely protective of each other, willing to cut a bitch who might dare to hurt one of us. And most importantly, we are all going through this thing called menopause - time and distance may vary - but we all feel it. We all understand what is happening to our bodies as we age. We joke about going through "the change". Exactly what are we changing into?

So the stars lined up for us, doors were opened that had previously been slammed shut and all eight of us will be there to laugh and cry, to expose our outer beauty and our inner demons. If you feel the earth shift a bit in mid-July, don't worry, it's just Tina giving everyone a good hard mushing.

I need these women like a horny dog needs a leg to hump. I want to grab on and never let go (figuratively of course). Don't worry girls, I'm not planning to hump your legs, that is, unless you ask.

If Not For Our Addictions - Part Two

As far as alcohol goes, this should have been enough for me - right? We all survived, we didn't get caught with the whole underage drinking thing and we, or at least I, certainly had been subjected to an all night barrage of compelling reasons why drinking can suck, or more appropriately.... blow.

I didn't drink with any significance again for many years. Oh sure, we had our parties in high school as the Leaders of the Free World will tell you. Those parties have become legend, the parties at Shelley's house, the raiding of our hotel room on a band trip in Daytona Beach, my surprise 18th birthday party at the Holiday Inn banquet room.  I drank beer with the best of 'em. But I never really enjoyed alcohol. That is, until I moved to Milwaukee, where required drinking may be a city ordinance.

I'm pretty sure if one can find a silver lining to the fact that I removed myself from my friends in order to obsess over my high school boyfriend who would later become my husband, the gambler and murderer, it would be this.  I never drank much during those years. I skipped the college parties in favor of Mr. Personality who was much too busy with all his other addictions to involve alcohol. Plus, it was part of his sociopathic disorder to maintain a squeaky clean persona in order to perpetrate his many crimes. He would flash that beautiful smile of his and proudly denounce drug and alcohol use while simultaneously betting our home and belongings on college basketball games.

We all have our addictions, i.e., that which makes us feel high or numbs our pain. Some can be healthy like an addiction to tennis while others can destroy our lives and devastate our loved ones. I spent some time with a girlfriend earlier this week who has recently divorced after a ten year marriage to an alcoholic. She shared some of her more shocking stories with me. Like the time her husband showed up after a night of drinking looking like Telly Savalas. Someone had shaved his head completely bald, then threw in the eyebrows for good measure.

Or there's the man who traded in a twenty plus year marriage, a blessed life with a beautiful woman and two successful young boys for a crystal meth addiction. His life now consists of double wide trailers, a real life crack whore and what will ultimately end up being an early death or jail.  Oh, and did I mention, he's a small town doctor?

Tobacco, alcohol, drugs and gambling used to be the primary scourges of modern society. Now there is much attention directed at sex and porn addicts, shopaholics, tv-internet-video game addicts, success junkies and risk jockies who get their fix through life threatening pursuits. Many times, we carry more than one of these monkeys on our backs. For example, the eyebrow missing man mentioned earlier also gambled away $100,000 during the early years of their marriage.

Then there's the food addict. The addiction to that which also happens to keep you alive. Tell me those people on The Biggest Loser didn't get there because food was their drug of choice.  Go ahead, tell me.  I dare you.

I've been gaining weight as I get older. Yes, it's partly a function of slowed metabolism but primarily, at least in my case, it's more a matter of comfort. Attack of the perimenopause hormones? No problem, make a large chocolate sheet cake, insert fork and viola - you can fall into a sugar coma and wake up hating yourself for doing it, but now if you cry, it will be because you have a valid reason to do so.

Stressed out over work, kids, money, ex-husbands going to jail? That can all go away with a large plate of Mexican food or a fat burger smothered with bleu cheese and fried onions. If that doesn't work, then I pull out the big guns -  some good ol' southern deep fried soul food.  I swear fried okra can cure what ails you. Unfortunately, it can also get you a stern warning pertaining to the potential onset of hypertension, which I received yesterday while at the doctor for a nasty sinus infection.

I have a friend who has the opposite relationship with food.  During times of high stress, she cannot eat.  She has to will herself or literally be reminded to eat. She has been under an enormous amount of stress lately.  At the peak of it, we were all begging her to eat. But secretly, I was wishing I had her particular brand of coping mechanism instead of my own. 

Sometimes I feel like Elizabeth Gilbert in the first section of her book, Eat Pray and Love. She had come to Italy "pinched and thin", in desperate need of sustenance to feed her body and her soul. She immersed herself for four months in two things - Italian language and Italian food. In the end, she recognized that she had put on weight but not just in terms of numbers on a scale. She had expanded and magnified her life. She grew to love herself just a bit more. She allowed the pure pleasure of a decadent slice of pizza paired with the perfect bottle of wine to minister to her; yet, she also recognized one cannot live like that forever. There must be balance. In all things, there must be balance.  And there's the rub.

At present, I feel as if I am stuck at the bottom end of the big yellow teeter totter from the playground of my youth. I am holding myself here with food, wine, stress, uncertainty and to a certain degree, comfort. I am expanding my body to keep it down here because I know this place. I am afraid of what will happen if I push hard against the earth and rise up from the ground.  What if I push too hard and I end up at the top? What if the top of the teeter totter is in reality, the full manifestation of my addictions?  Or what if I'm not on the teeter totter at all.  What if I'm really on the rainbow colored merry-go-round, spinning out of control in a viscous circle of self destruction?

Hello, my name is fear.

I have to find a way to push up from within, to find that center place where I can remain because the other half of my life is holding me flush, perpendicular to the ground, not too high or too low but happy to be suspended in the middle with my legs dangling in frivolous freedom, trusting my journey while perched in this peaceful place of purpose.

Meanwhile, what is that siting on the other side of the teeter totter and why is it looking at me that way?

(To be continued.....)

I Am Enough

And just like that, in the blink of an eye, Zen Mama is back. I wanted to stay angry, to bathe underneath a waterfall of anguish and dive into a pool of pity. I wanted to swim in it until I could no longer feel anything. No pain, no worries; just a cool, dead, numbness.

But I’m not dead.

I am alive and I am enough.

I received this cute little package in the middle of my swim in the pity pool. It came from one of my dearest friends, Robin.  She’s the Bert to my Ernie, the yin to my yang, the sister I never had.  She’s creatively gifted, a non-stop virtual well spring of talent. The things those delicate little hands craft are nothing short of breathtaking.

Throughout my recent struggles, she has been the little birdie in my ear, softly chirping three words to me - “You are Enough”. Over and over and over again, she comes back with it each time I doubt myself, each time I express fear or worry or expose my anger. She comes back with it, those three words.

I suppose I didn’t really believe her or more appropriately, I chose not to believe her because I was safely wrapped up in my anger.



Not one to give up on getting a point across, she took matters into her crafty little hands and sent me this box. My girls wanted to hold it so they could show Robin how excited they were to see it. They know of her talent, it is practically legend in my household.   They love her dolls and her knits and they love that mommy has a friend like that.  A friend that had apparently picked up a new talent – soldering metal and cutting straight through my anger…..

 
…….slicing directly into my heart. I cried when I opened it. Then I had to explain to the girls that it had special meaning. That Robin was sending me a message and mommy finally got it. A rush of emotion flooded my heart and I emerged from the ugly, anger infested waters feeling clean, alive, whole and ready to take on anything that comes my way.



On that day in April when I was notified of a suspicious lump in my breast, Robin had sent me a text message. She told me she knew it was going to turn out okay because she had envisioned a picture of me with lovely roses covering my breast. As I waited for the results of the biopsy, she reminded me of her vision. She was, of course, correct about everything.  On the flip side of her pendant, she gifted me with this charming lady who, like me, is calm and clean of anger, delicate and perhaps even soft spoken but wearing her battle proven armor, a breast plate of roses.

And with that, just like that – I am enough.

And This I Pray....

My eyes opened this morning and my heart hurt. Before the day began, before my feet touched the floor, I felt the excruciating pain of loss. I must have slept that way.
 
Spring did not return to me yesterday; in fact the temperature dropped to 38 degrees and there were snow flurries. Last week, I was enveloped in 84 degrees of daffodil blooming spring and yesterday I faced a stone-cold, unbending, bitterly cold day. The snow was light but angry. So much anger. It makes me cry, not a PMS cry but a broken heart cry. I needed spring to understand my vulnerabilities and to wrap me up in it's warmth. But it was unable to yield, unable to give, unable to express even the slightest amount of compassion.

My day continued to unfold with a tearful call from my girlfriend, telling me her friend Paul is nearing the end of his battle with cancer. She's going to fly out to Florida for a memorial next week. It was this very week in April four, or maybe five years ago when Paul hosted us for a long weekend in Fort Myers. He was bigger than life then, treating us to yachts and limos and a hotel right on the beach. And today, he is preparing to take his final breath here in this life. I will pray for him and all who knew him.

I had planned to spend this weekend with good friends at their lake house. I have described my girlfriend Vicki, many times as walking sunshine because you always feel such warmth in her presence. Her essense is positive energy. She is exactly what I needed today with my broken heart. The next call I took was from her. She and her brother are flying out to Utah first thing tomorrow as her mom, who has been in hospice care, has taken a turn for the worse. She, like Paul, is nearing the end. I will pray for her as well.

My little birdie friend is caring for her dying mother while navigating her way through all that comes with that. I've been there, I know what she's going through. She's reaching out to The Leaders of the Free World for encouragement. She usually sinks deep down into her pain and removes herself from us until she feels whole again. This time, she is calling for us and I want to be with her more than I want sunshine.

I've always found it interesting how the same word can have two immensely different meanings. I'm a writer so I pay attention to words and meaning; yet, I can write a post with one thing in mind and have it read by another who interprets it exactly contrary to my intent. For example, I was asking him to stay but he thought I was telling him to go.

It reminds me of the expression, a lump in your oatmeal is okay but a lump in your breast is not. I finish my day today and I wish for many things. I wish the radiologist hadn't told me he didn't like the look of the lump in my breast this morning. I wish I would not be facing another surgery. I wish my mom hadn't died of breast cancer. I've been through this three times now, each time has been okay, no cancer, just necessary precautions. Now I have a lump in my throat as well. 

I want to to take the pain away from all of us who are suffering these losses and I want to run away to a place where there are no ex-husbands going to jail, no painful break-ups and no lumps in my breast.  I want to get in my car and drive south until I find a spring that is real, a spring that is committed to stay. Then I want to get out of my car and lie in the grass on the side of the road for a while.

It's moments like these when I scream to the universe to take me away and soak me in your warm water with glistening bubbles and floral scent. Let me stay there until I'm ready to face this ugly world, where pain is inevitable.

Then the universe answers back when one of my friends reminds me not to get my cape wet. Suffering is optional.

You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, the encountering may be the very experience which creates the vitality and the power to endure ~Maya Angelou.

I will pray today, often and well. It's really all I can do.

The Good Man Project - Behind Every Good Man.....

Isn't he yummy, Cary Grant? Much sexier than Clooney, Pitt or any other movie star icon from today. Cary symbolized suave and seemingly seeped charisma from his very pores. His screen personalities could joust with the strongest female characters of the time and eventually convince them to just stop all their fussing and fall helplessly and hopelessly into his arms forever. He took on Katharine Hepburn, Maureen O'Hara, Grace Kelly, Doris Day, Sophia Loren and even Mae West. All feisty, all independent, strong-willed women, all eventually succumbed to his devilish charm.  In the movies that is.

His real life, born as Archibald Leach, was marred with rumors of being gay or bi-sexual. He married five times. This is why the focus of my blog post today will be on the real-life Cary Grant's I know, not the Archibald Leach's of the world, a few of which I met and married.  Make sense? Let's get started then.

I had a frustrating lunch with two of my girlfriends last week. One of them seemed to have arrived at a place in her life where she felt she needed a man for one thing, and one thing only, and it's not to make repairs around the house. After an hour or so of trying to convince her otherwise, I figuratively threw my hands in the air and gave up; yet, I knew deep down, she was wrong.

All of my girlfriends are strong, focused, successful women. Some of them selected an Archibald in their youth, before they knew any better, then were able to enjoy the fruits of meeting their Cary Grant later in life. These are good guys who can appreciate a gutsy, determined, intelligent, opinionated woman while still being a man who knows when to wrap them up (reference helplessly above) in his arms and allow them to cry.

There's Larry#1 who married a single mom and built her a castle (literally). He helps her care for her ailing mother and her 16 year old daughter with a gentle spirit representing what a man should be.

Mark #1 married my friend T and restored her belief in love after she endured abuse at the hands of an alcoholic and the death of her baby boy. He now insists upon taking care of her daughter who just graduated from college, saying he wants to help her out financially for a bit so she can build a nest egg to start her new life.

Russ fell in love with K right before my eyes.  I was there at the precise moment they met. He runs an international company in Chicago, commuting by train everyday from Milwaukee so he can come home to his wife and young son. His daughter was fully grown, he was finished with the parental aspect of his life; yet, you should see the twinkle in his eyes when he speaks of this little boy who is now very much his own.

Mark #2 travels back and forth from Oklahoma City to Houston to be at his sister's bedside while she is undergoing cancer treatment at MD Anderson. He comes home to K and their gorgeous daughter and devotes the same attention to them, never seeming to give much thought to his own needs.

My friend V was lucky enough to have experienced two good men in her life.  I think that's because she is like walking sunshine, you feel warm in her presence.  After losing her first husband, she eventually met Dave. He stirs excitement and exudes the same inner warmth and depth, creating a life together full of adventure with plenty of room to always welcome friends.

Larrry #2 found my single mom friend S, whose two children had been exposed to an alcoholic father. He helped her complete the child rearing and now enjoys time with their grand kids at their serene lake cabin getaway.

Doug buried his wife after complications she suffered from the OKC bombing. He was unsure about marriage to my friend D but a trip to Ireland convinced him to come home and literally sweep her off her feet. They married in Hawaii and seem to be almost custom made for each other.

My bright, beautiful friend J met Alan after being single for many years. She had buried her husband (again, from alcoholism), was raising two sons and was determined to put herself through school. This slightly younger, charming man didn't try to tame the feisty blond; instead he grabbed on for the ride of his life. They are unique in that they have some distinctly different points of view but at the end of the day, they celebrate their love and share their good fortune with everyone lucky enough to be a part of their lives.

Three of my girlfriends married right out of high school and are still married today.  Boone, Randy and Steve all have one thing in common. There is a calmness to them, a sense they can be counted on for anything and an unwavering belief in doing the right thing. Plus, it doesn't hurt when one of them just celebrated their 27th wedding anniversary and they love to have sex standing up!

The lesson here is hope.  There is hope for my girlfriend who seemed on the verge of giving up last week. She sent me a quick message on Monday to tell me I was right. She does want someone in her life after all.  She has been wasting a lot of time with Archibald-types, especially the one who was most likely gay. My other two girlfriends who are just leaving lengthy marriages; one with a meth addicted doctor and one with a narcissistic, "Sleeping with the Enemy" control freak will all find their way if they simply allow themselves to believe their Cary Grant awaits.  But more importantly, they have to know how lucky he will be to have found them.

My dear friend, set your heart free, release the fear that resides within you and allow it to fly away like a gentle dove on the winds of change. Give it time to coast and glide along these winds of destiny until it is able to circle around and come back to you, fully open and ready to embrace what the universe will provide. You won't recognize him until you can see this within your own soul.

Let it go and let it come.

The Good Man Project - Coach Carter

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Ask and You Shall Receive

This is me. This is me and my big ass glass of wine on New Year's Eve 2009/10. I've just enjoyed the worst meal in recent memory but I am with my boyfriend at the cusp of a new decade and we are quite simply giddy.

The significance of ringing in a new decade is ironic since it's been at least a decade since I last went out to celebrate a new year, choosing long ago to avoid the drunks, me being one of them. But this year was different. We wanted to go out. This was our first new year together, having met last March.

We thought it best to stick close to home instead of driving to the trendy east side of Milwaukee.  That way, we could ostensibly enjoy a much shorter drive with the drunks. We stayed in our little suburban downtown and opted to patronize a fairly recent development, The Black Trumpet.

Rest easy, this is not a blog posing as a restaurant review. As with all things here on Stalking Sunsets, we must delve into much deeper concerns, find meaning and interpret the signs given us along the way. While there are many quaint, well developed and thriving small town main street USA's here in southeastern Wisconsin, my chosen town is not one of them. We affectionately refer to it as the "Shaw".

We were thrilled when we noticed a former crack house being restored into a boutique hotel with a high end restaurant. This is what we need.  This is going to ignite the city and provide us with that certain something that will bring other developers.  If you build it, they will come. The mayor agreed. He gave them a cool two million in TIF dollars to make it so.  With a few minor setbacks, they opened behind schedule and almost simultaneously, seemingly at the precise moment when the American economy was collapsing and the brutal Wisconsin winter was arriving.

It was like the little hotel/restaurant that could. Only this time, it couldn't.  With very few details and even less fanfare, it was reported last summer a new operator had been procured and the developer was out. The conservatives were in an uproar, as usual. "How could the mayor have wasted all of our money?"

What? They preferred the crack house?

The little development that could is still operating; albeit based on the food and service received, it would seem it may be drawing closer to its inevitable final breathe. Perhaps a change of use may be in order. It would still be better than the small town urban blight it represented before.

Being the hometown champions we are, my boyfriend and I didn't utter a word of complaint. We choked down  that over-cooked steak, laughed when I launched a carrot across the room while trying to wrestle the toughened lobster from its shell, waited patiently when we asked three times for a cup of coffee and even felt sorry enough for the young water who couldn't properly poor a glass of wine to give him the full 20% gratuity. He looked exactly like Chandler, from Friends.  Who could resist?

Then we nestled ourselves into the cozy chairs surrounding the bar, ordered a drink and began to ponder what we should do next.  We still had plenty of time to find some new digs before the ball dropped. Should we stay or should we go? Should we stay or should we go now? If we go there will be trouble.  If we stay.....you get the point.  My delectable man looked deeply into my eyes and said, "Baby, tell me - what do you really want to do right now at this very moment?"

I looked over and saw a woman setting up her keyboard. She was cute in a young, hip, yet  messy kind of way. She seemed to bring in a crowd of followers. She was preparing to entertain us but we were cocooned  in our little corner at a table too low to see anything.  Further, our lovely wing back chairs prevented us from scootching close together to sickeningly cuddle in the new year.

I declared my intentions right then and there. "What I want is for the couple sitting closest to the singer to leave so we can have the best seats in the house, then I want to be blown away by this talented young woman and I want us to stay here and celebrate our first new year together in the little restaurant that maybe possibly still could right here in the heart of the Shaw."

And with that, it was done.  To my amazement, the couple got up to leave.  I jumped out of my seat, nearly knocking them down, planting myself before they could even get their coats off the chairs. I asked them why they were leaving so early. They said they weren't comfortable anymore. They didn't want to be so close to the singer. Hmmmm, you don't say? I pointed them in the direction of our cushy, wing-backed nest in the corner where more than one dream was fulfilled that night.

Of course, I immediately proceeded to proclaim 2010 to be the year in which I will receive anything and everything I ask for. I began to imagine the possibilities - out loud of course, with my boyfriend, who has grown strangely accustomed to me going off on these tangents.   

My suspicions about the singer were correct.  She had a voice like Joss Stone or Patty Griffin. She could hammer out the oldies, fly to the moon with Sinatra and rock the house with hip hop and pop while occasionally joining the crowd for a dance.  We Old Lang Syned, we kissed and we kept our hearts close to home where a new year and a new decade of possibilities unfolded at our feet.

I don't think it's too late to say, happy new year to you. Ask and you shall receive, but only if you're crazy enough, like me, to actually believe this shit.

Random Thoughts from a Feverish Mind

I have been sick with the flu. I forgot how much a fucking fever hurts.

I read my last post and realized it was quite a downer. I sound like a woman waiting for someone to come into my life and rescue me from household chores. This most assuredly is not the case. My girlfriend Robin explains the malady this way, "PMS Squared (perimenopausal syndrome, pre-menstrual syndrome, bastards)".

I don't wish to frighten the young women who regularly read my blog, perhaps by the time you reach the perimenopausal time of life, they will have found a cure for the random bouts of insanity.

The uncontrollable loss of sensible thought and ability to reason worsens in your late forties. It seems to be God's way of torturing us one last time before we are permanently released from the curse - as if cramping, bloating, bleeding and child birth weren't enough.

The Leaders of the Free World have confirmed this for me. Thank you sweet Jesus for girlfriends.

I have a wonderful boyfriend. He's okay with meeting a new, less confident, more emotionally volatile girlfriend each month. Angela is not here right now, I'd like you to meet my alternate personality. I call her the Mistress of the Damned.

He said he can handle it because I warned him about it in advance. Men can be so wonderfully simple and logical. Their minds don't seem to be as cluttered as ours. I think he may be charting my monthly cycle.

In all honesty, PMS Squared might be worse than the painful aching, sweating, shivering, delusional fever I've had for the past few days. It's a toss up.

Bottom line, I can handle the raking of leaves, thank you very much (except for this annoying blister on my right thumb).