Monday, August 24, 2015

The Simple Woman's Daybook

FOR TODAY . . . August 24, 2015

Outside my window . . . it's sunny and unusually pleasant for August in Nashville. 

I am thinking . . . how quickly order can be undone around the house. I know it won't take that long to straighten things up, but wow.

I am thankful . . . for a good weekend and many congratulations on our 30th wedding anniversary.

In the kitchen . . . pumpkin bread TWICE last week.

I am creating . . . a writing routine. I'm reading On Being a Writer by Kroeker & Craig along with Kate Motaung and her crew at heading HOME. I'm trying to keep up! 

I am going . . . to strike a bit of order around here and then head over to my bestie's house to work on Presents with a Purpose (more info to come).

I am wondering . . . about conversations and perceptions.

I am reading . . . too many books at one time! I have 5 books going at once and my brain just can't handle it. I'm going to have to cull, but I don't know how.

On Being a Writer by Kroeker & Craig
The Dark Side of Genius: The Life of Alfred Hitchcock by Donald Spoto
The Witch Of Portobello by Paulo Coelho
A Year by the Sea by Joan Anderson
A Good Life: Benedict's Guide to Everyday Joy by Robert Benson

I am looking forward to . . . a personal quiet day I have scheduled for Wednesday. The Sisters of Mercy offer individual and group retreat rates, so I am taking advantage of it and have planned a day of personal quiet and reflection.

I am hearing . . . the ticking of the clocking and the dog's gentle breathing.

Around the house . . . a bit messy with the return of both the dh and the ds. 

I am praying . . . for Harrison Waldron the young man who is in a coma from an ATV accident, and an 11-year-old boy at my daughter's church who has a brain tumor.

One of my favorite things . . . is finding new places to eat. Dh and I ate our anniversary dinner last night at Saffire. It was lovely and the manager served us complimentary champagne when we arrived.

A few plans for the rest of the week . . . all the usual suspects plus the quiet day, and hopefully a visit with a friend who's been sick for quite awhile.

Here's a picture for thought I am sharing . . .
by Mary Engelbreit


linking up with The Simple Woman

Friday, August 21, 2015

Find

I'm looking for a solution. 

I'm looking for something that got lost along the way. 

I'm looking for a promise. 

And while I look I'm holding out hope. 

Marriage is hard and wonderful. Being with someone you love and who loves you seems like it should be the easiest thing in the world. Living with someone who grew up in a different house with different expectations and experiences is one of the toughest things in the world.

I'm on a treasure hunt right now. I'm looking and hunting and hoping. Because I really, REALLY want to find what's been lost along the years and the struggle of long-term marriage. 

I want to find the joy and companionship and comfort and peace and ease that comes from being with a trusted, dear friend. 

I'm in this hunt for the long haul and I won't stop until I find all of that good stuff again.

linking up with Five Minute Friday


Tuesday, August 18, 2015

I Am a Writer

I am a writer.

I’m not sure the first time I applied that to myself. I’ve felt that I was a writer my entire life, but it seemed too lofty a title to apply to me. Writers are people like Hemingway and L’Engle. Hawthorne and Thoreau. My father was a literature professor. He taught about writers. Clearly I did not belong in that illustrious list.

But in my heart I wrote. In the third grade, I wrote a play about pilgrims that our class presented to the entire school. I have no memory of writing the play, nor do I have a copy of it, but I have a mental picture of myself dressed as a pilgrim in my black dress, white apron, and white cap. My bangs are in disarray, but I’m smiling my snaggletooth grin, as I stand front and center on the stage taking a bow as the author.

I wrote vociferously all through middle school and high school. Pouring out angst on to lined notebook paper. Writing all the things I couldn’t say aloud for fear of judgment or humiliation, and then I would rip those pages to shreds and throw them into trashcans, humiliated and embarrassed by my own self-centeredness and gall.

In later years I attempted to keep a diary, but I was so concerned with someone else finding it and reading it that I was hampered in expressing my reality. So those diaries looked more like log books of daily occurrences and “appropriate” commentary on life. It wasn’t until I began to acknowledge the abuse I suffered as a child that I began to write in my true voice, and even then I worried that I was creating – writing not my true voice, but the voice I thought I should have.  It took 9 years before I put anything out for public consumption -- a leap of terrifying faith in myself to post a blog. Who could possibly care what I had to say? Surely the world would come crashing down on me for having the nerve to share what I thought and felt.

I’ve been writing regularly for nearly 6 years. I write something almost every day. I don’t need someone else to validate it, but it’s nice when that happens. I write because that’s the best way for me to stay connected with my own voice. Sure I write for other people, and I always hope that my words help someone else in some way, but mostly I write because I want to, because I love it. I love doing it and having done it and having evidence of what goes on in my brain.

linking up with On Being a Writer and Yeah Write





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Monday, August 17, 2015

The Simple Woman's Daybook

FOR TODAY . . . August 17, 2015

Outside my window . . . it's cloudy and raining. We've had a rainy August. I'm not complaining as the rain does help keep the temperatures down, even if the humidity is still very high.

I am thinking . . . difficult conversations. How is it that 2 intelligent adults can have discussions with so much effort and thought, and still not be able to see eye to eye?

I am thankful . . . for good friends and a pleasant brunch on Saturday with The Fun Girls, e.g. Linda, Caroline, Sandra, and Keith (honorary title).

In the kitchen . . . fresh banana bread yesterday. Dh asked for something sweet, and I told him I could do apple cake or banana bread as I had apples and bananas that needed to be cooked.

I am creating . . . still working on the new prayer shawl and looking at some sewing projects that have piqued my interest --

this sturdy fabric basket


I am going . . . to my bestie's house today to help her with some projects. She got a new sewing machine and we're going to play with it! 

I am wondering . . . about dreams. I woke up with classical music playing in my head today. I have no idea what the piece was or what I dreamed that led to it. Of course, there are worse ways to wake up.

I am reading . . . The Keeper of Lost Causes (Afdeling Q #1) by Jussi Adler-Olsen

I am looking forward to . . . getting a massage on Friday!

I am hearing . . . the sound of the rain hitting the vent pipe. The clicking of the keys on the computer. The ticking of my clock.

Around the house . . . things are straight, and that makes me happy.

I am praying . . . a friend's son-in-law who was severely injured in an ATV accident over the weekend. Will you pray for healing for Harrison, too?

One of my favorite things . . . is Hitchcock films. I've been watching some of them lately and am reminded of what a craftsman he was.

A few plans for the rest of the week . . . to LB's today, a couple of annual doctors' appointments. Ds comes home from his week of climbing out west. Dh has a seminar Thursday through Saturday, and Sunday will be our 30th wedding anniversary. We are going out to eat and trying to plan something else to do that night, but we haven't come up with anything just yet.

Here's a picture for thought I am sharing . . .
I found this drawing a clothing catalog,
and I really liked it so it tore it out to keep




linking up with The Simple Woman

Friday, August 14, 2015

: : Learn

I learn every day whether I acknowledge it or not. I learn to trust. To obey. To believe. To have faith. To be brave. 

It's a constant in my life. I learn something new most days. Some days I learn the same lesson over and over again. 

I used to believe that if I had to learn a lesson more than once it proved I was stupid or stubborn. Now I see those repeated episodes as reminders, reinforcements. I learn on a deeper level as I grow and mature. I learn different levels as I have new experiences. I learn nuance from new people in my life. I learn a new perspective because learning must never be stagnant. It's organic -- like life. Ever changing. Ever moving. To learn is to grow.

And I want to keep growing because if I ever stop, I'll die.

linking up with Five Minute Friday


Thursday, August 13, 2015

Word of the Day

cheap
a:  of inferior quality or worth:  tawdry, sleazy <cheap workmanship>
b:  contemptible because of lack of any fine, lofty, or redeeming qualities <feeling cheap>

A word I learned early on to hate. 

I couldn't define it, but I knew what it meant. People who were cheap were valueless. Worthless. A waste of space and time. There was no fixing "cheap". It was a degenerative character analysis to be avoided at all cost.

But here's the thing about terms like "cheap", they're relative. One man's trash is another man's treasure. And that applies to people as well as things. So while the abusers in my life saw me as cheap, tawdry, sleazy, irredeemable, even contemptible, that didn't make any of those definitions permanent or even accurate. 

For years, I've fought to discover my value as a person. Is it determined by how much money I make annually? By how productive I am in a given time period? By my weight or my car or my house or my husband or my kids or how many "good works" I do?

Is my value based on how healthy I am (another variable definition)? What I choose to do for relaxation? What I eat or drink, or don't eat or don't drink?

The recurring answer I hear when I let myself relax and listen is this, I am not cheap. I am valuable because I am a person. A being made in the image of God. I exist because God has a purpose for me. I may never know or understand that purpose, but that doesn't change the fact of its existence. 

Lately, I've been praying a series of rules or daily offices or prayers (whatever you want to call them) and this line keeps standing out to me

Fulfill now, O Lord our desires and petitions as may be best for us,
     granting us in this world the knowledge of Your truth . . . 

I have chosen to trust in God's knowledge of me. I have chosen to trust that He knows what is best for me, regardless of what I ask. I believe God has much better things to do than worry about cheap people or stuff. If His desire is to hear from me and grant me the knowledge of His truth, then there's no way I'm cheap.


linking up with Writer's Workshop





Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Movies, Marriage, and Mirrors

A hundred years ago I sat down on a Saturday night to watch the movie Marnie on network television. Understand this was the dawning of the age of VCRs. No Blockbuster. No Hollywood Video. No TiVo. No Netflix.

I'd never seen the movie before. I was in the basement of my parents' house watching on a portable black and white TV with adjustable rabbit ears. There were COMMERCIALS! I was in college dating the man I would ultimately marry. The phone rang. There was no caller ID. I don't think we even had an answering machine. 

It was my future husband. I explained that I was watching a movie and I'd call him back as soon as it was over. I really wanted to see how the film ended. Hitchcock, you know? You can't just walk away in the middle of it.

Thus began a lengthy discussion about my lack of love for him. Was he not more important than some old movie? Didn't I want to know how his shift at work had gone? Personal relationships are the bedrock of society. Television was destroying the world.

I argued. I cried. I swore my undying love. I begged, for the love of all that is holy, let me see what happens to Tippi Hedren!

By the time I disengaged from this ridiculous conversation, the movie was over. 

Fast forward to yesterday. I checked out a copy of Marnie from the library, and after my counseling session I sat down with my lunch to finally watch it all the way through. Oh my gosh! There's a reason I needed to see this movie to its conclusion. In many ways, the movie was trying to tell me my own story.

Let me tell you a little about me. I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. I didn't know that at the time. I had repressed most of the experiences, and the one I did remember I couldn't label as abuse. My boyfriend was quirky, but he was a lot better than where I'd been, so I didn't hang up on him or tell him to take a flying leap. I just rode it out the best way I knew how. Twisting and turning emotionally trying to figure out how this had escalated from watching a movie to the depth of my devotion to him. 

"Mark marries Marnie although she is a habitual thief and has serious psychological problems, and tries to help her confront and resolve them." That's how iMDb summarizes the plot. Barely scrapes the top layer. 

Marnie is suffering from repressed memories, undiagnosed PTSD, flashbacks, and molestation among other things. She is frigid and can't bear to be touched by a man. She spouts religious rhetoric and acts out impulsively to deal with her unexplained issues. Mark is a cold fish who is a widower with an interest in zoological behavior. He suspects Marnie is up to something, but rather than confront her he lets the whole thing play out before he blackmails her into his loving (?) arms. And it just grows from there.

It's a masterpiece of a film, and it's no wonder it wasn't well received in 1964. A psychologically taut piece that was far ahead of its time. Nobody knew about PTSD and dissociation. Mark was trying to be a 1960s man and handle his woman. A firm hand, that's what she needed. Both Mark and Marnie are flawed characters aching for redemption.

I didn't have Marnie's coping mechanisms, and my future husband didn't have Mark's exact issues, but we had our own weird methods that were mirrored in the movie. My husband pushed me into therapy after years and years of digging at my psyche. He pushed and pushed and pushed until I finally broke down and went. And then he wanted a play by play of every session. That was nearly 15 years ago. In a couple of weeks, we will celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary. I wonder if Mark and Marnie lasted that long?

By the time I finished the movie, I had a better understanding of what that argument had really been about all those years ago. I also had a pounding headache, upset stomach, and massive anxiety. After some medicine and relaxation, I realized how glad I was that I'd watched the movie all the way to the end this time. 


linking up with Yeah#226Write.Me