A Place To Bury Strangers Redux...Part II

A Place To Bury Strangers
The Grey Eagle, Asheville, North Carolina
October 20, 2008

There is a certain stretch of highway as one drives up the mountains that opens up the sky. You're driving along, darkened forest, and suddenly a blast of red, orange, gold blinds you as what feels like the world opens up on you offering glorious expanse of mountain and that blazing sunset. It's becoming a deja vu sight as this is the third time I've headed to Asheville for a show just in the past year. This time I went up with my friend Amber. D and H both had childcare duties...plans fell through so it was a ladies' night out. I was disappointed that the guys couldn't make it but it was great to get to now Amber better, and I felt we left each other as friends. Always a good feeling.

Now I had cut a deal with myself that I wouldn't do this show if I hadn't finished revising my thesis intro. And anyone who regularly reads my blog knows where I was on that project. When D called Sunday morning to say he couldn't make it, I felt a little relieved...like maybe I just wouldn't go. It was a torn feeling but the funk I've felt towards writing was creeping into every aspect of my life. The thought of going to see the show, even though it was APTBS, was a bit overwhelming. But when when I called Amber, she was determined to figure out a way for us to go (thank you Amber). Not one to ignore signs such as these, I surrendered to my fate.

We got there early, and Amber ate while I dealt with my ennui. But eventually the familiarity of the Grey Eagle won me over. The club is a great venue, and the people who run it, along with Matt from Harvest Records are friendly and welcoming. It's hard to not just relax once you're there. I got to talk with Matt, the owner of Harvest Records and he's great too. Knowledgeable and interesting. We talked about how APTBS has got back into all the older music we used to love. I wish, wish there was a venue like this in Charlotte but alas I guess I'll have to keep driving up to the mountains.

Opening band #1 was amazing. Initially, I was sitting in the bar area when they started. I have to admit I wasn't overly excited...I've had some disappointment with opening bands. But the moment, I heard the drums, I was there. The drummer, Jim, was fucking crazy. He pounded on those drums so hard, I kept waiting for the set to break. It was heavy, loud with the vocals rising almost ethereally over the noise. But it really was all about the drums. I like drums as much as the next girl but it's not normally an instrument I get giddy over. I was giddy. It was impossible to not move to those drums. And the drummer was compelling as well...I like live performances because I like watching the performers. Some are worth it, others make me think I'll stick with their Cds. This was a worth it performer. (Added note: H and I were talking about experience shows and APTBS was about an experience...same with this group...defintely going to be getting a lot of playtime from me). And yes I got a chance to talk to him. Great guy. Nice. And best yet they have played Charlotte, and will do again. Hurrah for me. They're called All the Saints. Go give them a listen.

Good thing is that this opening got me excited. I could start feeling myself relaxing, opening up to the music. All the shit that I've felt has dragged me down was starting to fall away. I was on longer against the wall. I was in the music, it was in me, lifting me away from all the shit that had me flattened.

I can't say the next band did that for me. They were okay. Moments when it was good, seemed like it would get better and for me just didn't. I got to meet some of Amber's friend who were very cool, relaxed and just comfortable to be around immediately. We ate sweet potato fries and fried green tomatoes...and I saw Oliver....ah...Oliver.

I hung around outside, it was freezing but I get to smoke during shows...Jim, from All Saints, came out and talked with me. We talked about music and venues. Then Oliver came out, and I went through my silly fan girl thing...should I talk to him? Should I not? I finally did, and he claimed to remember me, and I got a hug. Okay I have to admit...I do have a big crush on the guy. I just can't help myself. He was still sweet, so nice to know that touring with NIN has not turned him into a superstar.

Finally, the moment came. I staked out a spot right in front of where Oliver would play, and held my ground. I didn't mind waiting because from the first screeching wave of feedback, I was gone. I've come to the conclusion that I'm one of those people who likes to be assaulted by music. There's something about that sound slamming against me that lifts me. It's raw and hard and I like that but then APTBS does something else, something not softer but more sensual. Some of it is Oliver's voice which comes to you so indirectly under that pounding assault. Last time, I found myself wanting to hear him louder but this time, there was something so intense about hearing that voice coming through this sheer noise that left me breathless. It was such an unlikely combination but one that worked well. And his voice sounded even better this time around. And then some of it is the melody that comes through the feedback, and the screaming of wires being ripped across guitar strings. I could always make out the songs, could sing them from memory, pull them out of my head as I felt my body literally being vibrated by the sound. There was a familiarity even as Oliver and crew worked their magic creating new sounds, new ways of playing the songs, because underneath there was this core sound that I knew.I found myself thinking about floating in the ocean in Vera Cruz. I have always been a little scared of the ocean. I'm terrified of drowning anyway, and the vastness of the ocean does not make me comfortable. But in Vera Cruz I found myself floating in these warm gentle waves, being lulled by this gentle motion but even as I allowed myself to feel this embrace, I found myself always aware of the power that rocked me. It was a pleasurable moment but not a safe moment.

And yes this all came to me while Oliver was going fucking insane during "Ocean". I remember at one point, Oliver had thrown his guitar around, beat on it, tortured it with wire, and just literally messed it up, when he stopped playing. He just stood there staring into the darkness where the audience was, his eyes wide and almost crazed. He wasn't there with us anymore, and it was a disconcerting feeling to be so close to him, and yet feel so far away from wherever place he was. This was the man who was about to suck us all into that place where he was, and for a moment, I wasn't really sure if I wanted to go. I felt that same feeling as floating...this time it was with noise, sound waves, and the danger lie in the person (people really) manipulating those sounds. He played some more but it still felt like something bigger was about to come. Best part of that moment was that you got to hear very clearly the bass. JonoMofo is an amazing bassits but I often feel like the bass sounds is like a foundational sound that is almost missed if you don't listen carefully. The drums and guitar in APTBS are totally at the forefront in most of the songs but when the guitar went silent, you realized how vital the bass is for this group. It's really the sound that carries the melodies through those almost discordiant moments. Then the guitar came back but I'll never lose the bass again...and yes I was lost in the music. Waiting for that something more to come...and they left...
Just like that he left. It was too soon, and it felt like something was going to break but it didn't. Instead we were all standing there...waiting, knowing there was something more. I almost walked away, almost but luckily I was too shell shocked too move, too disorientated to even walk. I couldn't hear anything, and couldn't really see through the smoke and the strobes. I wasn't expecting an encore as they had not done one the first time we saw them...but they came back. And I'm pretty sure they played "My Weakness" which in recent weeks has become my favorite song. It was not a familiar version of the song but I thought I could detect the melody under the most intense noise they had produced all evening. At one point, Oliver was rubbing the microphone against the speakers creating the loudest, shrillest feedback I've ever encountered.

What fascinated me along with the music was the crowd. People had been dancing up until that point. They stopped. There were several with kind of horrified looks on their face. No one walked away but they stopped connecting. For me, it was the ultimate connection. It was the body meeting noise not mean to be music, and turning that sound into music, into expression, maybe not of a rational kind but it was expression. It was raw, hard, and real. It was like that moment when you feel physical pain, and everything comes into this kind of intense focus. It was those moments of clarity so brilliant it hurt to contemplate it too much. And it was painful. Physically. My ears still are not okay. If possible, they were better than when we saw them in April. I think the show was a lot more crazed, intense, and loud. I can only imagine the next show I get to see...now if I can only persuade them to play Charlotte.

I got to say goodbye to Oliver (and even get one more hug...which you all know I am not going to bitch about) and I got to get all fan girl on JonoMofo (or "I'm Jonathan"). He's nice as well as being an incredible bassist. And he totally sounds like he's from Brooklyn (a wee bit of sarcasm here).He remember me as the reviewer who thought he was "Mugging it up for the cameras." But he graciously allowed me a picture, and even invited Amber and I to the party at the bar later (can I even began to describe my disappointment in not being able to go?

Why oh why can't I take a decent picture? I look so dreadful. Smug, and bloated or something. Dreadful. I so wanted this picture....sigh, at least he looks good.

And yeah I needed that show. Amber said her friends call her a music whore, and I'm afraid that what's I'm becoming. I love the shows, the music, the whole experience really. Going last night, inspired me, made me feel like I was a part of something wildly creative and exciting. I came home and was ready to write...write not just this review which had to be good (they deserve nothing less no?) but to write all the stuff that has been building within me for months. All those stories I have to tell but have been too afraid to write. It's going to be alright you know? And I woke up to this life, made my kids' lunches drove them to school with all that music inside of me.

Guys, if you read this, play Charlotte so I can go drink with you. Please?

Up Against the Wall

For the last two weeks, I have held onto an introduction. An introduction critiqued. An introduction that was written nearly a year ago...revised once already. My new improved adviser assured me I wasn't in left filed over this one. I thought hearing that it was still workable would some compel me to start working on the damn thing.

But here it is two weeks later, and I am nearly paralyzed with fear. I have tried to read the damn thing and I can't even get past the opening quote. I've tried to analyze the fear. I've dismissed the fear, decided it was boredom, beat myself up for being uncommitted. I misplaced the fear. Past issues with old adviser were surfacing. I was terrified of facing the old comments, what I had felt pressured into writing.

Maybe it's just the fall...you know depression time. I hate the fall sometimes. It feels so hard to get moving. There days when I feel like I can barely function. Right now it's hard to just get the kids to school. When I get home from walking, I often go to bed. Sometimes I motivate myself to clean the house. I do the work for my class but pushing myself for the thesis...nope.

And yeah I am depressed. But that's not what's really keeping me from revising. It's the writing. I am terrified. And this is why I can't write here. I try but I end up either not publishing or deleting what I wrote. How is that something I love so much terrifies me? And why? Is the fear that it will just suck?

No. I think it's a bit deeper than that....I think it's the fear that writing always stirs in me. Even academic writing. There is the fear that I will just not be good enough. An intense fear that nothing that I write is making any sense. It's more than just being good; it's about conveying. Deep inside there is a fear that nothing I write will be interpreted in any kind of sensible way...as if the words that form in my mind are not finding their way onto the computer screen. I imagine there is this disconnect between my thoughts and my hands. I am two separate entities, and they do not seem to be communicating lately.

Mexican Food

Yes, E, it was there first taste of Mexican street food!

A Place To Bury Strangers...Redux Part I

Remember this?
Well, it's happening again. In what will no doubt be a serious case of deja vu, I am going to the Grey Eagle on Sunday to see APTBS. Way excited as those of you know my obsession can imagine. This time I might go all fan girl on JM if I can find him that is....

Postscript: Why is that when I title a post "A Place to Bury Strangers" I get a larger number of hits than normal? This could lead to some fun fun experimentation...

A Picture for E

Roxy

First Day Pictures

First day of school. We were still staying with my mom. No Piper wasn't going to school but she had to have a lunch bag too:)

First day going to school from our new home.


At school...notice Camille already to go in!

Thursday

This is one reason why I am not sure if I can stomach the debate on Thursday.

Joke of the Week...after E

Too funny...almost as good as the real thing...

Autumn Equinox

I know I've written a bit my struggles with religion on a personal level. It's been difficult for me to figure out how and what I want to worship, I think, because of what I study. I know that I have a desire for religion in my life and I was very clear about what was out (any kind of Christian Evangelicalism). What I really wanted was to go back in time to Neopaganism but alas we can only simulate time machines not actually be them. I couldn't go back to practicing Neopaganism the way I had when I was twenty. However, I'm finding that I can work Neopaganism into the person I am now. It is of course taking a little trial and error.

Having purchased Star Hawk's book Circle Round, I was giddy with plans to introduce my children to Goddess' rituals. This has not been the case. I bought the book in March and have yet to implement any of the rituals into our lives. We've talked a lot about goddesses, Wicca, etc but haven't really done anything. Right now it just seems like a lot of work with everything else going on in my life. Since I'm a perfectionist I want everything to go according to this model inside my head. This means having just the right material, doing the perfect circle, etc. When I don't have the things I feel like I need, I scrap everything.

I knew Autumn Equinox was coming so I just decided this was going to be our first official ritual. I made plans and a list of things I needed. And naturally the weekend up just being entirely too hectic for me to get what I needed. I didn't have an altar and really had no idea what was going to be the altar. I didn't have the right color candles, no gourds to decorate with, etc. So when Monday came, i felt really bummed out. I talked to the kids throughout the day about autumn, and we talked about what we liked and didn't like about the season changing. We made plans for some for fun fall things to do (apple picking, picking out pumpkins, etc). As I was handing out candy caramels for dessert after lunch, I suddenly realized my kids had never made caramel apples. What a perfect "fall" thing to do. I didn't see it as a ritual really until my friend Amber said "That's what it's all about." And I realized how right she was.

Getting wrapped up in having all the right material was way too much like my formal religion days. What had attracted me to Wicca was that it was the complete opposite in so many ways of formal church. Rituals could be fun or serious. They could be about simple things like making candy apples, or working through some anger. The group I was in certainly had formal rituals complete with candles, altars, and ceremony but in my private devotion things were not always so formal. I found that just being open to different things could turn something as ordinary as a walk into a sacred moment. And really that was one i wanted from religion. Despite my family's grand talk of religion being everyday, and blah blah, most of them practice Xianity on Sunday. And the rest of the week was totally devalued of any kind of sacredness. They might pray everyday but there was no religion in simple movements through life. What I want for my children is that they appreciate the sacred in being together and in the small things that make life breathtaking wonderful even if only for a moment.

Obama Rally

More on politics later. I want to write a thoughtful post but have loads of correcting and reading to do. Bottom line: we went to an Obama rally today. Umberto is crazy about Obama and we had a chance to see and hear him talk so we went. Here's some of the pictures:

This is about half of the line at 10:30 (they started letting people into the rally area at 11).

Us walking...the line is still three blocks away!

Waiting in line...initially they were awesome and excited;P

Some other participants walking to the end (very far away) of the line.

'Cause you know that Obama supporters are all going to hell. I figure vote for Obama to annoy the Jesus people. Of course this is nothing on them later when they hauled their "aborted baby" pictures out and yelled "Obama serves Satan!" H and I are planning a protest when McCain/Palin come...pictures of dead children from U.S. bombs along with photos of the animals killed and skinned by Palin. H thinks we should chant "McCain serves Satan!"
Dragons for Obama!


The crowd...we were right in the middle so we couldn't see crap but it was cool to be around so many excited, energized people. Umberto in the crowd...waiting not so patiently for Obama.

Camille cheering with the crowd.

Umberto's picture of the man. This picture has such a cool story. I was holding up Umberto but I was still too short to get Umberto over the heads of the crowd. Add to this that the kid weights like 60 something pounds, and we weren't having much luck. I kept having to put him down . One tall guy was holding up his teenage daughter, and when done, turned to me: "Does he want to see Obama?" I said yes, and he lifted up Umberto , and then the guy next to me helped him so that Umberto was basically sitting on their hands. They held him up until he got his picture. Umberto was glowing!

The line as we were LEAVING the rally. It was still about a mile long, and he was half way into his speech.

Oven Mitted Life

Edited: I wrote this a few years ago....didn't realize it had posted as yesterday.

For the last twenty three years, I've been depressed off and on. There were temporary breaks. These breaks were almost painful. They were moments of lucidity in an otherwise murky world. I remember the first break came the second time I did acid. I remember thinking to myself over and over..."This is what pure joy feels like." It only happened once on drugs even though I spent some time trying to recapture that moment. Reality was bitingly harsh after that moment. I felt happy sometimes but it was like there was damper over everything I did....that black cloud. Another break came when I meet Horacio, and we were falling love. The moment is captured for me the day we were having a water gun fight...silliness but joy. But it was fleeting that joy, and even though I have known more happiness with him than anyone, I still felt that damper.

I have spent my life seeking out an intensity of emotion that out weighs the depression. Usually it was sex and/or falling in love again and again. I suspect my friends thought I was slightly nuts at the easiness in which I fell in love but you see those first few months of love were intense...just intense enough to ease the cover off of my emotions. To bring a bit of light into the darkness to use a cliche. But of course it was always so disastrous as falling in love at the drop of a hat can be. I used to think I could fall in love with just about anyone. It was desperation but not really desperation for love. I realize now that my life has been blessed with love: the love of friends, my family (no matter how fucked up they may be). No my desperation was for intensity and emotion.

Two years ago I had a summer that was pure joy. I don't know what it was about that summer but it was beautiful. I can still remember how the simplest things made me want to dance or laugh. I remember how the smell of the sun on my children's hair sent me swooning. The days were lazy and spontaneous--parks and pools, bookstores and eating out. For the first time, I felt that my love for Horacio and my children was unbarred. There was nothing dampening the emotion. And then it ended.

Have you ever tried to do anything with one of those mitten like oven mitts? They're a useful tool for handling hot pans but they make doing anything else nearly impossible. You lose all fine motor control. You can't handle anything with delicate precision. All you can do is fumble through the big things. That's my life.

So yesterday I finally called the school health clinic. I have avoided drugs for this my whole life. Over the last few months, I have come to realize how much depression cripples me. It is not a creative outlet like I used to imagine. Depression destroys my ability to function. I sleep during the day because it is the only thing I feel like I can do. I can't write. I can't read. I can't play with my children. I can't feel anything. I feel crushed and destroyed. Every moment is a moment waiting for it to all come apart. So I picked up the phone and made an appointment. I need to see the psychiatrist. I am depressed.

Snapshots of Home

Pumpkin Spice Latte

Chilly morning air under gray sky but no rain. Only a taste of autumn because tomorrow it's going to be 80 again. Sometimes she misses New England with its crisp guarantee of cool fall weather and glorious leaves. Sometimes she misses feeling this seasonal melancholy while walking through leaves. But mostly she realizes that the restlessness feels the same whether here or there. It's not a place feeling. It's a wandering feeling that goes travels with you.

Today she sits, pondering why she always loses weight in the winter when she should be storing fat for the cold. She can hear children laughing and playing across the road. Her own child sleeps, curled like a cat on a sofa pillow. She knows this absurd thought process only masks the stirrings of something deep within her...something scary and a bit primitive. She tries to keep it at bay through silly thoughts, useless actions, domestic chores. She wonders if all women feel this calling...like a calling from Lilith not Eve with her goody goody Adam, falling for the oldest trick in the book, sweet talk from a snake.

"Maybe," she thinks, "I'll get a pumpkin spice latte on my way to scoop up the other children."

More Surfacing

Still not unpacked. I lost my energy sometime midweek, and while I managed to clear all but one box out of the dining room everything else is a mess. I manage to keep my kitchen clean and clothes washed but everything else just feels like its too much. And my insomnia has returned. I finally get into my own home, a nice bed, and I can't sleep. Go figure.

The autumn is a time of restless for me. I distinctly remember not only feeling restless but writing about it last year about this same time. Perhaps it's just that I feel so dreadfully overwhelmed by life. At this time, it all too often feels like everything is coming apart. This is the time when I began to second guess my whole life (minus H and children, I'm still pretty ok about them). This year it's felt like the support I had at school has fallen away. Couple this with just feeling like the whole MA in Religious Studies feels amazingly self-indulgent. But there is still a part of me that loves what I do and wonders if I'd love anything else as much. Plus there's that stupid thesis...written and hidden away on my hard drive. The thesis I literally have not looked at in almost six months. I know I need to face that demon.

And this is all just making me feel like I want to run away. But it's awfully hard to run away when you're a grown up.

I am feeling like writing again but I have no time. Until I have time, I'm going to post pictures of Mexico. I'll start with the beginning of our journey...a step backwards into memory.

Ginger...electric

After a long summer, I am finally really connected to the Internet. And I am in my own space with utilities! Right now there are still many boxes piled in the dining room but most of our stuff is out. Books are definitely out and on the shelves. My kitchen was the first room done because it is vital for me to have a fully functional kitchen. The kids' room was next as it seemed important for them to have some stability. Our room will be done this weekend, and the attic rooms are covered in toys but hopefully will be organized by Sunday. I am still in love though, and being in this space only makes me feel more like I am finally home. Of course I have these acute moments when I feel totally out of place as if I am only playing at house. For some reason these feelings are stronger in this place. I am not dealing well with being a grown up:)

And mingled with all this joy of having space finally, and making that space more and more us, I am stressed. I still have a thesis to write. I am teaching my own class this semester. H finds totally submerged into this job. The kids are in school yes but this means lots of volunteering, running them back and forth, and dealing with a very lonely Piper. I'm afraid my blog is becoming a casualty of this stress.

But things will calm down. I have faith. There is so much to write about...stories from my past, notes from my reading, and of course, the political situation in the U.S.

Right now I find myself deeply disappointed in the political situation. I was listening on NPR to a woman who had once supported H. Clinton rallying for Palin, and I felt sick to my stomach. Having a vagina does not make one a feminist. Palin is a far right conservative, who supports taking choice away from woman, bans books from libraries, and use cronyism to fire people she doesn't like. She has very little experience, to the point where she has never left the country. Her own support of abstinence in sex education obviously didn't work so hot in her own family. I'm just stunned that McCain would pick someone that totally alienates anyone with a liberal bent. While I wasn't so hot on Obama's choice of Biden, I could totally see that it was a choice towards the middle.

But right now I have to shower, load kids up in the car, and head to school where I'll be energized by singing silly songs with Mr. Artie.

Universe...Smiling

Sometimes, I think the universe likes me.

The last two weeks have been like living in hell...aka minivan hell. Now I'm not going to lie, I love my "new" van. I'm not really thrilled about the gas mileage the thing gets (it's a 4 cylinder as opposed to a six like most vans) but I love being so far away from screaming and hitting children. And it is more comfortable for them despite the above hinted at incidents of sibling abuse. But this week I've experienced the suburban mom nightmare called transporting. All week I've been toting kids back and forth to school (charter school=no buses), and in addition, have been toting Piper to work with me. Add to this having to meet up with H at my school to do the kid exchange...well, hell. The van already looks like we live in it.

But let's not forget the "morning hell." This entails forcing tired and all too often grumpy children from their beds. I fight to get on clothes, fight to comb hair, fight to brush teeth, fight to actually move three tiny little asses out the door. And all that being so not a morning person. Of course Camille usually tops off this lovely experience with a full, on the floor, screaming tantrum right outside the door to her school's cafeteria. After five minutes of such embarrassing behavior, she skips into the room, and begins to sing like a cherub with the world's best music teacher.

Oh and have I mentioned homework hell? Trying to get homework done when you're lucky if you roll in at ten as been shall we say interesting. School is not a break for me, and if one more person asks how I"m enjoying my "free time" I may punch them in the face.

But this is more stressful because we don't have a home. We have been doing all the above things with the added pressure of looking for a place to live. At some point, we gave up trying to find the perfect home. We figured there was no way we would have the time as we were both starting teaching the same week. It was sad, and I felt a tad depressed. We've been compromising homespace ever since we moved here, and I was hoping for once to find something I loved.

Physical space is very important to me. Despite being able to pick up and move at a moment's notice, I do care a great deal about being surrounded by a space that works for me. When I view a new home, I want to be able to walk and instantly imagine that space as my home. I haven't been able to do that with any of the places we've lived in since we had Umberto. These places were more homey with our things around but there was still this disconnect for me. They had no personality...just big white boxes divided into box like rooms.

So once we had given up, we saw it. A little house, newly renovated, fenced in front and back yard, in a district we love. We parked, walked around, peered in windows, and as I stood underneath the tree in the front yard, I felt peace. This was the place. When we finally saw the inside, I wanted to sing, dance, and just stamp myself all over the place. It was cozy, old, filled with personality. Upstairs there were two attic rooms, perfect for a nice little TV room and a playroom. I could imagine us sitting up there on rainy nights watching movies while we listened to the rain pour down on the roof. I saw the kids' new little beds lined up against the wall. I imagined H and I blogging at night in front of the fireplace. I saw the yard decorated for Halloween.

And then the hell that involved getting the application started. The woman had not brought an application. For some reason, the fax machine at my office was not receiving what she was sending. I didn't fill out the application until yesterday. I was a mess, exhausted, discouraged, and so sad that I might not get to live in such a beautiful home. And then I got the call today...it's ours! At these moments, I think maybe, just maybe there is karma.

I miss you all so much. I miss my blog but hopefully we will have wireless, fast Internet soon...or maybe that's just asking too much of the universe.

The Wrong Side of Thirty

Time for the annual birthday posts! Of course I think this is only the second one[actually my third but hey who's counting?]...but I have kept a journal most of my life and I always write on my birthdays. I wrote on my 25th birthday that for me birthdays felt like the real New Year. On my birthdays, I always ponder where I have gone, and where I plan to go. I am never one to make hard plans or even resolutions but there is something about my birthday that makes me reflect on my life.

This year, I am 36. And it was a much harder number for me than any of my previous ones. Forty is looming, and I know it's not old but I feel somehow like maybe I should be more grown up by 40. You know a job, a house that I actually own, etc. But that voice is easily stilled when I think about damn content I am in my life right now. I told my mom that I used to yearn to be a published writer but now...my blog makes me happy with the readership I have, and I love school (minus adviser issues). Plus the real achievements are my greatest loves: H, Umberto, Camille, and Piper. With them there is so little to want...just the world for them...but for me? I don't know how it could really be any better, cooler, or more wonderful. Okay a million dollars wouldn't hurt.

And I suppose that some of this sadness over the approaching 40 comes from looking back. It's hard to believe that it was almost 20 years ago I was a gothe girl who didn't imagine making it to 40. I often have a hard time reconciling that girl with the woman I am now. And there is a bit of mourning over that lost spirit. Complicating that whole mourning are the multiple wrongs not made right, the things not ended, etc. There is a whole chunk of my life that is still this gaping wound. Don't get me wrong, it's a much smaller wound but it's still a wound. I just sometimes wish it would finally heal.

But anyway...today is my birthday. It didn't get much notice in the "real world" but I was overjoyed to see so many greetings on my facebook. It touched me that so many people all around the world took the time to wish me a good one. And a whole year has gone by again..a whole year full of drama, joy, and travel. A year of many changes...some occurring only in the last few days but a great year. New friends, closer friends, and a whole years worth of blogging under my belt. I hope that next year is as exciting although I am going to wish for a little more sleep.

Chatty, Little Update

My time on the computer is limited so I've been saving all "my deep thought" posts for when I finally have my beloved laptop, and DSL connection back. But I do have a bit of time to just update on us. I don't want anyone to think we've dropped off the face of the Earth.


Right now we are living with my mom. I had hoped that we would be moving out this weekend but due to my screwy brain, I thought classes started for me next week when they don't in fact start until the 25th. Likely we will be here until the end of the month which means a crazy week of driving much too far for everything. Have I mentioned how much I detest commuting? And of course there is just the exhaustion of living with other people. We haven't had a home of our own since the beginning of June, and the wear is starting to show. But I'm thankful that we have family to care of us when we need them to and of course I love Mexico. But now I just want my own home. We're looking at houses! With backyards! And three bedrooms!

On the school front...Umberto and Camille were accepted into the Community Charter School. I signed them up today. The assistant principal is from England and has a lovely accent. And she's nice and comfortable to be around. She assured me they have lots of ex homeschoolers in the school meaning they are quite used to working with that population. The classes are open. Students set their own paces, and move around the room using various centers. They classes are also multi graded so Umberto will be a first/second. I'm very excited and of course nervous about how Umberto will do. He is thrilled as his best friend K goes to the same school. And he's also looking forward to meeting new friends. Camille can't wait as well, and burst into tears today when we didn't stay for "school." I think we'll like the parents there as they seem pretty funky and alternative like us and of course we're good friends with K's parents!

I have to confess to feeling a bit of relief at sending them to school. I spent my uncomputer time drawing up lesson plans for Umberto. It was overwhelming and then I realized I had to do it for Camille as well. Really homeschooling is just too much for me. I am not willing to give up school or a career, and while I have no doubt many would think this selfish, I honestly believe that staying home full time would not make me happy. I think that a mother's happiness in her choices profoundly effects her children. And my kids are ready to go. If Umberto hated the thought, I may have tried to work it out but both of them are ready. Now I have only Piper and while that will be challenging as she is used to having her brother and sister always there, it will give me more time to finish this master's program.

And that's our little update. I'll keep trying to get some more stuff up. I have a whole journal with stuff for the blog.

Becoming One, Becoming Two

Our children are so much like us, we look at their faces and see bits of ourselves reflected back. They often act like us, the way that Camille holds a crayon reminds me of the way I hold a pen. And herein lies the great difficulty of parenting. They are not us but it is so hard to draw that line of where us ends and you begins. The intensity of my relationship to my children is a bond that makes it clear to me that the idea of separate bodies can be difficult to grasp. The notion of the individual is too often lost when I lay on the bed holding Piper's chubby little body. And there is great pain in this intensity, in this bonding, in this becoming one because the child does struggle against you as they seek to assert their I into your world. And there is pain because what happens to your child's body has an immediacy that is hard to put into words.

Umberto still can't read. He's having a lot of problems on the most basic level. My mom is freaking out, and her freak has sent tiny shots of panic through me. Does he have a learning disability? Is he just not smart? Is this my fault for the bad way I took care of my body while pregnant? Did I harm him by pulling him out of school? All of this stuff slams into me as I try to sort out what to do next. My mom is pushing for public school even though I know she must be aware that all too often kids with learning disabilities are not often serviced well by the public schools. She's pushing and pushing because she thinks that if he doesn't get identified by nine then it's all over. And of course the chances of him getting identified by nine are small. This process usually takes a year. Of course I feel like she thinks it is my fault for homeschooling.

The pain of letting down Umberto is doubled with my own pain. My own struggles in school haunt me...not being able to read until I was nearly eight, never being able to do Math, and taking Algebra I three times, my total lack of aptitude with foreign languages (there's a reason why I don't speak Spanish people), and my total horrible spelling and verbal skills issues. I remember clearly, likely because I feel like this often even now, feeling like a total failure. I always felt so dumb in comparison to those around me. My successes were so lopsided, and there was always that nagging feeling that being good in one area really did not make someone smart. My mother excelled at both reading and math and pointed that out all too often while I struggled through high school. I always have this sneaking suspicion that in reality I'm quite dumb but that no one wants to tell me.

And now all this blends with my concern for Umberto. I don't want my precious boy to feel this way. I want him to be confident. But I worry that putting in school will do just the opposite. On the other hand I worry that being homeschooled will ruin any chances he has for learning...that I can not give him the help he needs. As I try to make a decision I have to sort through what's my own fears from the past mixing with concern for Umberto's future.

This separating of the us from the I is difficult.

Tagged

There's not many people I'll do these for (I think I burnt out on them when I first joined email groups) but for Jessica? Of course. And I need to put up something new...and I'm just having a real funk when it comes to writing.



1. Last Movie I Saw In A Movie Theater?

Journey to the Center of the Earth (when did Brandon Frasher get so bloated?)



2. What Book Are You Reading?

Argh this is so embarrassing...a cozy mystery called "Getting Old is Murder." In my defense, I have to start school soon and it's really, really funny.



3. Favorite Board Game?

Not much of a board game person....now cards is a whole other story...Uno, Skippo, Hearts. And U got a bean game from French that I might try...every adult who has played it so far has become addicted.



4. Favorite Magazine?

Harper's and the Atlantic Monthly.



5. Favorite Smells?

Mexico D. F. after the rain, fresh cut watermelon, my kids after bathing, H at anytime, jasmine.



6. Favorite Sounds?

thunder, the kids' laughing, my music.



7. Worst Feeling In The World?

Disappointment



8. First Thing You Think of When You Wake?

Coffee





9. Favorite Fast Food Place?
Right now it's Five Guys' Burgers.



10. Future Child's Name?

There are totally no children in my future. But if there were Liam Blake.



11. Finish This Statement—“If I Had a Lot of Money, I'd......

go to Europe, buy an apartment in Mexico City, pay off my bills, buy a very big house in the country.



12. Do You Drive Fast?

If the kids aren't with me? Oh yeah.



13. Do You Sleep With a Stuffed Animal?

Yes her name is Piper.



14. Storms—Cool or Scary?

Cool unless it's a tornado which is only cool on t.v.



15. What Was Your First Car?

Toyota Camry (which I bet many of my Farmington friends remember....)



16. Favorite Drink?Alcoholic: margaritas, wine nonalcoholic: coffee and Mexican Cokes.



17. Finish This Statement—“If I Had the Time, I Would…... really perfect my knitting.



18. Do You Eat the Stems on Broccoli?

Gag.



19. If You could Dye your Hair Any Other Color, What Would It Be?

Blue.


20. Name All the Different Cities In Which You Have Lived
This could take forever...I'll just list the big ones:)
Skowhegan, Maine
Waterville, Maine
Rochester, New York
Vienna, Maine
Farmington, Maine
Fayetville, NC
Mexico City
Charlotte, NC




21. Favorite Sport to Watch?
Football (not as in American...)



22. One Nice Thing About The Person Who Sent This To You.
Jessica is one of those people you never want to lose contact with.

23. What’s Under Your Bed?
What bed, we're still nomads.

24. Would You Like to Be Born As Yourself Again?
Totally.

25. Morning Person or Night Owl?
I have a vampire nature.

26. Over Easy or Sunny Side Up?
Scrambled.

27. Favorite Place to Relax?
Home.

28. Favorite Ice Cream Flavor?
This varies. Right now it's Edy's Ice Cream Sandwich.

29. Of All the People You Have Tagged, Who Is the Most Likely to Respond First?
I'll be stunned in anyone does it all.

I tag: H, E, Lolabola.

Good Bye Mexico

Yesterday it hit. We are actually leaving. As we made one final trip to the market, our friend Gabriel in tow, I suddenly felt this panic. There were so many things we didn´t get to see, so many people I didn´t get to meet. I felt this overwelming urge to just sob, there in public, to sob and maybe draw the city into me.

This visit was filled with lots of ambigiuity. On side of the line, I love the D.F. I love the plazas, the springing up of life, the buildings, etc, etc. But then I hate the traffice. I truely loathe being stuck in a car for hours and hours to only go a few miles. I hate how snotty many middle class Mexicans are (H and I were literally harassed the other day at a mall by security guards). I also have a very hard time with the way private life and public life are played out here. Plus I realized that H and I have made a home for ourselves in Charlotte, and I hadn´t realized how strong that home was until we came here. And of course there was just the usual ¨This is not the vacation I imagined!¨

But now as I sit surrounded by our bags, I feel sad that we are leaving this place. I have to keep telling myself, as I tell the kids, ¨You have two homes.¨

Last night, we were surrounded by H´s siblings and their significant others, our friend Gabriel and his girlfriend. We spent the evening eating Happy´s pizza one last time, sharing our photos from memory cards, drinking (of course it´s Mexico!), and chasing the kids around. It was a warm moment, filled with love, and joy... a wonderful send off even if I am a bit blurry eyed this morning.

Memory

A few days ago, we stepped out for a moment to buy candy for the kids (Mexican M & Ms). The sun, for once, was shining. The air was bright, painful after the dark hallway. It was brisk but not cold. Cars sped by us. Horns, people shouting their wares, and the clangs from the garage down the road surrounded us. I stood there, lost for a moment in time. Something about the smell, chorline and pollution, and the feel of that cool air on my bare skin, sent me back into time. For the briefest of seconds, I was once again, 29, with a baby Umberto in his stroller, walking to buy a cigarette from Oscar, and the News from the local newspaper stand. And then just as suddenly, I was 35, with three children, walking to buy Mexican M & Ms.

Travels In Mexico

Sorry for the long silence. We´ve been exploring Mexico City and beyond for the last few weeks. I have many more thoughtful posts about what I see in Mexico, culture, etc but I´m a bti wiped and a little bit sick so they´ll likely have to wait until we return. And when we return there will be lots and lots of pictures to add.

I´ve been able to get out a couple of times for drinks. We went first to a bar where I discovered I possessed the wrong accent. Our friend Gabriel has a new haunt based on an old haunt. H and Gabriel use to frequent a bar called Milan in the Colonia Juarez. A former customer of Milan, a British lad, inspired by Milan created a bar called the Black Horse in Condesa. There many, many Brits and a few Scots so I felt even more outplace with my accent. But it was a good time, loud, good beer, and good company. A few nights later we went out with the kids and found a neat little bar called Mestizo in Colonia Rosa. We ended up there the next with Horacio´s brother and sister. Again, a nice bar but unforuntely H´s dad´s car was vandalized.

Even more exciting is that while at a cafe called Gaby´s in the Zona Rosa, a woman approached us. She knew our names, and for a moment we were puzzled until she introduced herself as the famous Rebeka. We were very excited at this unexpected suprise, and a bit amazed at such a chance encounter in so big a city. We do plan to meet up with her again before we leave the city on Tuesday.

Last weekend was spent in Cuernavaca in an amazing private home that was more like a hotel. H´s parents´friends graciously offered us the use of their famlies summer residence for the weekend. We had a great time swimming, drinking with H´s siblings and Gabriel (who really is like another brother). Camille was thrilled as she has a bit of crush on Gabriel who I think would adobt her if he could. We also got to explore the little plaza in the center of the town. On Monday we went to the town of Tetoztlan hoping to see some of its famous aliens. We didn´t find any much to Umberto´s disappointment.

Today we went to Teotihuacan to see the pyramids. The kids were total awe for only about a few mintues and then they wanted to climb. And climb they did. All of them made it to the top although Piper had some help from H. I´m always in total awe as we walk around this vast city abandoned thousands of years ago. I started to read Jared Diamond´s ¨Collaspe¨(I¨ve resisted his books for awhile) and was struck by the stories he tells of the ¨lost cities¨ as I walked around. What happened to the people who built such vast temples?

Tomorrow it´s back to the market to buy gifts for our loved ones, and maybe a witches´market if I can persudae H to bring me!

Needs

Food, or more precisely compusive eating, has served as an armor for me. Food was, for a long time, the one thing that I felt never let me down. Food comforted me when I was sad, lonely, angry, etc. Food was the one area where I felt that I could let go of the rigid control with which I´ve ruled my life. And when I got fat, I dieted, exerting that rigid control over the food. But I always turned back to food when my emotions got to be too much or when I felt hurt by other people. The last 25 years have been spenting riding a dieting and binging wave.

You see as a child, I didn´t often feel like my needs were meet. As I mentioned, I learned very early that the only one you could count on was yourself. I´ve always been loud, and as a child, I expressed my needs in a loud way. But the repsonses I recieved made me feel selfish. It wasn´t okay to ask for things. One had to wait quietly until they were given. Of course in my life due to poverty, mental illness, and just sheer irresponability, my needs were usually ignored. I´ve spent my life fluxing between feeling selfish and angry. I no longer recognize when a need is reasonable. And I never learned to be that quiet little girl. Instead I became angry and too oftne turned that anger inward on myself.

Food became the easiet way to take care of my self a child. My grandmother could usually be counted on for an ice cream if I was sad. My various aunts and uncles would give me a bit of money which could be used to get a candy bar to satisify various hungers. It´s hard, I think, for a child to express love for themselves. As a child we want the physical feeling of arms around us. But that didn´t often happen in my family, and food became a fine substitute for that affection. Food also provided the additional benefit of numbing me beyond feeling. If you eat enough, you just cease to feel (I stopped eating when I went through a state of cutting myself). And coupled with this compulsion was the very uncertainly that food might not be aviable. Let´s face it, I was a walking eating disorder from about the age of six.

As I grew older, food came to be that which would never let me down as well as the enemy. My teen and young adult years became a rollar coaster ride. I was desperate for love, desperate to be taken care of, despereat to have my feelings and need validated. Relationship after bloody relationship left me bitter and disappointed....and fat. Feelings and needs, even when expressed, are not alwyas validated. There was this little girl inside me who hated this lack of validation--who just wanted someone to hear her and to maybe meet those needs. When this didn´t happen, I feed that little girl sweet, chocolaty things, because it was the only way I knew how care for her pain.

When I was alone I always lost weight. I hated being lonely but there was an element of control in my life that I lost when I was in relationships. When I was alone I was fully responible for meeting my needs. If I failed, there was only me to blame (and I was great at blaming myself). The only one to disappoint me was myself. I didn´t have to turn to food as often.

Despite being in the best, and certainly most healthy relationship of my life, I find myself falling into the same patterns. This weekend a situtation arose which normally would send me into an epic binge. I expressed my needs and feelings in a calm way but the decision made still went against what I wished to happen. I felt angry, hurt, and invalidated. I felt like the little girl I once was crying so loud but not having anyone hear her. I wanted to eat, to withdraw, to leave.

Saturday morning was the roughest. I felt very raw. I sat at the kitchen tabe with my coffee paralyzed with fear. I didn´t dare eat--afraid that any kind of food in my mouth would lead to a binge. I wrote a list of ways that I could pratice self-care without binging. I called my mom. I wrote bitchy emails to my friends, I blogged here (yes I erased the post). By the afternoon, I felt stable enough to eat, and managed to feed my body without feeing my emotions. But more imporatntly, I came to some important realizations about needs and feelings being validated.

What I came to realize is that feelings and needs do not need to be meet in order to be validated. H recognized, accepted, and acknowledged my feelings but he was also juggling others´feelings and needs. Just because he didn´t give what I wanted didn´t mean that he didn´t hear me or even that he didn´t want to meet my wants. Rather it meant that sometimes others´needs or wants might win out. I´m not gong to say that I am happy about that, or even that I was unresonable in my demands. I wasn´t but I do understand that the choice H made doesn´t meanm that he doesn´t hear me or that he won´t ever meet my needs again.

See, in my past relationships, I hooked up with people who were as dagmaged as I was...scared from the childhoods filled with unmeet needs. When we were together we were so busy crying inside, crying out for recognition that we were unable to hear each other. This time around I´m with someone who meets my needs 98% of the time, and when he can´t he listens to me and validates my feelings. He hears me! And I´m starting to learn that sometimes I need to stop crying long enough to listen as well. Dysfunction often leads to an unintentional selfishness. When no one in youre life has ever meet your needs, it´s very easy to become intensely wrapped up in yourself.

I´m starting to believe, really believe that the little girl inside of me, has found a home, and that maybe just maybe it is not food that will hold her, believe in her, or keep her safte. Maybe it will be okay to let go once in a while and let H hold me up.

Waiting

The last time my dad walked out on our family, I was eight. Despite his having left numerous times before, it was still a shock. After he married my mom, I figured he´d stick around. There was lots of evidence that he wouldn´t but I was eight, and at the time didn´t recognize those signs. When he first left, I would wait. Every Friday night for three months, I would pull a kitchen chair up to the big window in the living room and wait. This drove my mom nuts, and she would ususally end up sitting in the rocking chair, wrapped up in a blanket, sobbing, begging me to just stop. By ten, she would forcefully remove from the window and send me to my room. Even then I would wait. Lying in my bed, the room dark, I would wait for the sound of my father´s boots clomping across the kitchen floor. I would wait for my door to creak open, to see the siloutte of his face in the doorway.

During this waiting I would plan what I would I do when he returned. Initally, my plan was to run into his arms and sit on his lap. I would snuggle against him smelling his sweat and the oil from the chiansaws he ran all day. He would smooth down my hair and call me "Pumpkin". But as the weeks turned into months, my fantasies began to reflect my anger. My plans shifted. I would refuse him love. I would yell insults at hin. How dare he abandoned me to this world of despair? I would make him realize how much he needed my love.

Eventually I stopped waiting.

In June, about six months after he left, I learned that I had recieved a scholarship to attend a Girl Scout camp. I was very excited as I had never been to a summer camp. Girl Scouts was new to me, and through it I had a made a few friends. This camp gave us some bonding time as we made lists plotting what we would bring for clothes to what we would do each day. My friend, Cindy, loaned me clothes and my grandmother promised me suitcase (I sometimes think the only suitcase in the family as everyone used it for the rare trips we took). Thoughts of the camp crowded out thoughts of my father but sometimes late at night I felt a familiar longing to hear his boots against the floor.

About a week before camp, my dad called my grandmother. He wanted me to spend the summer with him and his new family. I was overjoyed until I found out he planned to pick me up the night before I was to leave for camp. I felt torn. My mother left the decision up to me but made it clear that she thought camp was a better option. She pointed that my father often did not pick me up when he said. But camp seemed pale in the warm glow of the feeling that my father wanted me. I choice him. I spent the rest of the week in a golden bubble where I was speical, loved and wanted. I stubbornly pushed away all thoughts that he might not come. I felt like a princess in a faity tale waiting for her prince charming. I envisioned a summer where no one existed for my dad but me.

Friday came slowly--slow in the way that anticipated waiting makes time freeze. Finally the time came to go to my grandmother´s house. My mom, my brothers and I walked over, holding grocery bags with my clothes. At my grandmothers, I packed my few clothes into the big blue suitcase. I ate supper with my grandfather, and then pulled a chair up to the window. I watched a slow summer sunset give way to increasing black. Every breath I drew took hours to fill my chest and escape again. Finally my mother walked me home. She refrained from I told you so but even at eight I could feel the words vibrating in her anger.

As I laid awake, I imgained my friends all at Cindy´s house for the night, anxiously awaiting their first week long camp. They would rise early to pile into a van. I would rise early to wait for yet another day.