labelleizzy: (Default)
very quick post
as I need to breakfast and then hit the gym

it's uncomfortable to admit the difference between what I thought I was doing and what I was actually doing.
what I was trying to do and what my brain basically had me HAVE to do.

I'll be dropping bits here as I continue to read the adhd book from the library. But one thing I learned today is that the kinds of self-talk I've been slowly training myself out of? have NAMES. Like, you can categorize them into disasterizing, binary thinking... I wish I had the book here, I'll have to edit this later.

I'm kind of in the grief stage. Realizing how different things might have been if adhd in girls was something that they knew about when I was still in primary school or high school. But in the 80's, they had only just begun to recognize add/adhd as a thing.

it wasn't. It didn't. They didn't. I didn't.

it's so damn hard to see the back of your own head.

Not like all my work towards self knowledge is wasted, it's the foundation of the work I'm going to continue doing.

AND I think I may have helped my niece, who is my beloved magpie girl. She's showing all the signs and more of my own distraction, difficulty scheduling, keeping on task, good intentions and poor execution. Pile of failing progress report grades on recent reports from school, her parents are going YIKES

so I told my sister I'd been recently diagnosed with adhd and what I remembered from high school sounded like how I've observed my magpie girl when we've gotten to hang out. That her academic results, same=same. I just covered better, I think.

so my sister and my brother in law are looking into testing for my niece.
it's like, I'm over here Feeling All The Things about my own wasted opportunities but maybe? maybe Ainslee can be spared a lot of what I suffered through, all the shitty self-talk and self-blame.

so I'm feeling optimistic, and I have several courses of action laid out for me to follow, and that feels good.
labelleizzy: (Scotty)
Today's my little brother's​ deathaversary.
Mom called me a couple of minutes ago. I hadn't truthfully been thinking about it, or him, today...
I have such a good life now. This makes the ... No... TENTH anniversary. Shit. Shit.

I loved him but it feels like I barely knew him.
I don't know what to do with this right now, now it's brought to the surface. I'mma go be productive.
labelleizzy: (bunny writer)
I woke up this morning to sweet cuddles and caresses from a warm sleepy husband. Nothing more than cuddles this time, as he read his newspaper with one hand and ran the other absent mindedly over my head. I felt like a cat in a lap, warm and contented and loved. When he rose to wash up, I worked on my morning stretches. It feels so good to move the body, the First Home, to have it respond so sweetly to my requests. Bodies are wonderful, they soak up the sunlight and warmth, they feel the touch of loved ones, they can work, kiss, write, interpret for the brain. Bodies are the filters through which we experience pleasure, all the pleasures. Sex and food and running and tickling, laughter and back scratches and massage, intoxication of love or of good wine. I am in good health, able to accomplish what I set out to do of a day without more than slight pains or discomfort. Doing pretty well for a middle-aged woman whose favorite activities are writing, gardening, and cooking.
I am thankful for my body.

When I finished my stretches and my morning meditation, my husband had begun preparing breakfast. I always boil a pot of black tea for myself, as he doesn’t care for it. We had crepes with ham and cheese and apple, and a dash of maple syrup. Then he got on the computer to book hotel reservations and make other arrangements for our upcoming trip, and then we worked together on preparing the Thanksgiving duck. Last night he was working for hours, between research on a project for our house, fine tuning a home improvement project (this required a skill saw that lets him cut a tidy hole in the wall for a new electrical outlet). Before that, he had been supervising the final stages of some work being done in our yard.
I am thankful for my husband.

My life is very abundant. The loving husband and friends and chosen family and biological family are all blessings to me. Though I have never carried to term, I am a beloved auntie and sister-mom to many children, I have worked in schools with many children, I have loved many children. I am surrounded by friends who seek my company. I am surrounded by people who speak and write to me with supportive and kind words, who encourage my artistic endeavors, who inspire me with how they work and play and strive to build a better world.
I am thankful for my community, and the connections within it.

My home is colorful and comfortable. We have quilts on the beds, clothes in the closets, warm curtains against the chill. We have an outdoor space that is green and lovely, with water and earth and space to grow food. We have a kitchen and a living room with space to entertain comfortably, and food enough in the pantry and refrigerator to feed people we like and love. Our soft and lazy felines nap in the sunshine, on our laps, atop stereo speakers and under the kitchen table. They love us, rub against us, talk to us, chide us when the food is late or the box unscooped, and their antics continue to make us laugh down the years.
I am thankful for our lovely house, and for our sweet cats.

Recently I have been writing very prolifically. The ideas and images have been flowing easily to my pen and my screen, and releasing them and arranging them has been giving me great joy. For many years now, I seek the printed word for comfort, whether reading them or writing them. I feel like I am hitting “the zone”, as runners do, as other artists do. The words are friendly and flirty and I handle them comfortably, even when they zip and zing and burn, even when they are as cold and mean as dry ice.
I am so very thankful for the words and for my muse, and for the privilege of crafting with words.
labelleizzy: (bunny writer)
Pavel stamps his feet into the too-large snow boots and wraps the warm muffler tightly around his neck. Even at seven, and small for his age, he knows better than to forget anything that will help conserve body heat out in the deep taiga forest.

Papa is waiting.

Pavel buttons up his coat (also too large) and checks for his mittens and hat in the coat pocket, taking a last deep breath of the warm air in the cabin as he fumbles for the door latch, hands eager and his heart in his throat.

Papa is taking him hunting.

The snow is crisp, crunching beneath his boots, the air sharp in his nose and throat, the light reddish and dim through the thick branches. Pavel is proud to finally be big enough for Papa to bring him here, to the family cabin, to learn what Chekovs for generations have come to the forest to learn.

Papa is huge and dark in the dim light of dawn, the old fashioned projectile rifle held loosely at his elbow, barrel pointed down.

"Always pointed down, my Pavel, always down and away from other people, until it is time to take aim at your target," rumbles Papa's deep voice in Pavel's memories.

Papa this morning is silent, but his white teeth flash bright in the dark bushy beard. Papa always grows his beard out strong and thick to be ready for the long Siberian winters. There is no ice in his beard yet, but it is only October, after all.

Papa tips his head, a glint in his eyes, and Pavel grins. Though Papa cannot see his mouth behind the warm thick muffler, eyes smile as brightly as mouths do.

Ivan and Stepan have hinted that today, words will not be necessary. Today, all day, he and Papa will watch, will walk, will eat in silence.

If the right moment comes, Papa will pass the rifle to Pavel, will help steady his aim, will brace his shoulder against the recoil of the antique weapon.

This is his most important birthday ever. Pavel is eager to do well, to make his Papa proud.

He and his Papa turn and walk toward the sun, into the deep forest. Chekovs together, silent, focused, and determined.

This is my entry for Week 15 of [ profile] therealljidol. The week's prompt was "Chekov's Gun" and yes, I went there. Sue me. =)
Link to the poll for voting will be IS HERE, please feel free to explore other entries for the week at the elegant and finely-crafted link HERE.
labelleizzy: (dealing with demons)
So that thing I just posted about feeling my feelings, and it feeling weird because I wasn't like, judging myself for feeling them?

Naamah_darling took a similar headspace several notches further. (and more completely explored, and better written than I did, but then she always does. Go read it, please.)

I *get this*. What she's saying? I get this. This makes sense. It wasn't safe to feel-feelings in my house, and especially not in front of my dad. (it's not to say we were ever physically abused... but verbally? and did we get our emotional needs met?... that'd be "yes" and "no", in order.)

that's as much as I can handle talking about tonight. Just some shit I am gonna have to think more about.
labelleizzy: (bunny writer)
Eighteen years ago yesterday, my dad breathed his last at around 3 am in a room in Kaiser's Morse Avenue branch in Sacramento. Mom and I got a phone call somewhere around 5. I figure now, that was when the shift change happened, and that's when a nurse discovered he'd passed. possible trigger warning for description of death circumstances )

I find myself using words and phrases he commonly used. It's a surprise almost every time. I'm mostly going grey like he did... very silver at the temples, though in the last couple of years I'm getting more salt-and-pepper scatters like my mom had.

Mom called me yesterday and told me again how much she loved me and appreciated the way we had each other's backs during his final illness, and how supportive I was as she transitioned from mother and wife to widow... "the start of her independence" she called it. And it was, no kidding, I mean after years of nursing him as he got weaker and crankier, she recovered a lot of her personal power. She really blossomed after we both did a bit of recovering from the shock. She got her master's degree, she researched real estate and bought a house on her own with the proceeds from the house we grew up in...

I did pretty well myself. Had a job for eight years as a junior high librarian. It was good work, worthy work, with a visible end-result and an obvious positive impact. Worked there from when I was 24 till I was 32. My brother was on track to graduate college in '94, I got a good job, mom had a good job, Jenny had a good job... and it's always felt like Dad sort of waited till all of us were kind of "settled" before he let go. I'm glad of that. Bit weird taking bereavement leave after only being two months in a job.

Still struggling with some of the secrets he kept and the ways he functionally lied to us about who he was and what he felt and what he had experienced as a child. Formative stuff, you know? Stuff that influenced the fact that he barely touched us growing up, for good or for ill. I didn't know I was a huggy person for 18 years basically... having a boyfriend made it okay to ask for touch, and I didn't know I'd been touch starved ... my whole life, I think.

I don't even think I can scratch the surface of explaining the depth and quality of the hole he left in my life... not only from his dying but his inability to connect to us at a heart level. He was always distant and funny and sarcastic, and you wanted his approval SO BADLY but never could figure out how to get it. THAT messed me up until only three or four years ago... He was so smart and so many people liked, even loved him. But he was adversarial with us kids, not cooperative. And Scotty, the Only Son, was the favored child. And now Scotty's dead too. (six years and two weeks ago.)

I have all these ideas of what a father "should be", you know, like ideally? And, at 42 I'm still shocked when I see dads being affectionate in public with their kids, carrying their kids or horsing around, and dads being actually tender with their child invariably makes me cry. Dammit. *wipes face* Because we really didn't get that. At least not that I can remember. I hope someday I can sit with my sister and try to get her take on how that all went down, I just remember being unbearably lonely all the time and basically hiding in my books, on the front porch or up a tree, because dad "liked to tease"...

At this point in my processing and life, at this distance, I can say that it's certain dad was hurting for most of his life. I'm pretty sure his dad hit him, it's sort of "what was done back then" but also, my grandma divorced my grandpa, in the early 50's when You Didn't Do That... She's gone too, gone since I was eleven, I can't ask her why. I'm not very close to my aunts but I would like to ask them if they knew what was going on and why Grandma left.

At this point that's all such old news it's moldering. And I do really have to do The Work based on the Here And Now. What I have is What I have. That's it. That's depressing, but that's it.

Usually What I Have is enough. I don't have quite enough resources to do anything further with Dad at this moment, so I'm just going to lay this here and leave it. My heart feels a bit flat and stony at the moment, I know that will pass though, particularly if I let myself have a good cry and go Do Other Things Instead of Brooding. Heh.

I think it might be a night for crochet and candlelight meditation. After the yoga and the groceries.
labelleizzy: (creating yourself)
[ profile] morlith had a good piece on the 9th about manifesting what he wants in his life.

Therefore, this:

I manifest in my life a rich and vibrant social network with people who think both as I do and as I /don't/. Plenty of opportunities to be with neat people who stir me up, mentally, emotionally, and physically. Friends and acquaintances challenge me to be the best I can be. Plans, are carefully considered and laid, and are carried out with casual flair (and flexibility)... I spend more time in real life with people than I do connecting with people through a computer terminal.

I manifest in my life a healthy, inclusive attitude toward health and wellness, and I attract opportunities to help me become more fit, stronger, more flexible, while having a ton of fun!

I show my thankfulness daily for the abundance in my life, in large part by sharing the abundance I have. I have an abundance of security and an abundance of resources, and an abundance of calm and love. I draw friends and loved ones who help me develop my learning-edge places, and I accept that I won't always be comfortable or happy during the process. I trust that I can ask for what I need and have it manifest for me in some form, and I am willing to work toward those needs (and some wants) getting filled.

I find plenteous opportunities to make beautiful things manifest in the world - art, dance, jewelry, meals, hospitality, and word-creations are just the beginning, as my imagination cannot contain all the potential my future may hold!

I seek relationship with bio-family, including warm, comfortable, frequent connection. I try to do nice things for my nieces and nephew at least three times a year, including random non-birthday non-holiday things.

I continue the welcome trend of playful, respectful, romantic connection in my love life and I am patient, (PATIENT I TELL YOU) about new adventures unfolding as they need to. I prioritize healthy over titillating and friendship over fucking (mostly). =) New relationships need to nourish brain and spirit as well as connecting to astrality, and will come with good interpersonal boundaries and priorities. New partners will understand their own responsibility to their own selves and will be wanting to develop communication skills and real, deep honest vulnerability (if those skills don't already come in their toolbox).

I manifest in my life a variety of chances to do meaningful work. I manifest the opportunity to explore the world and a myriad of its joys and challenges. I manifest heart-connected sincere relationships with people who matter and who want to build connection with me.
labelleizzy: (Default)
Had another odd thought tonight:

My dad would've LOVED smartphones. All the maps you could ever need?
All the possible strategy games? Probably download a bunch of chess apps...
And of course, he would have learned as much as he could about how things worked so he could be like all "expert" and teach other people about them...

haven't thought about him in that way ... probably since he died.
labelleizzy: (Default)
I did Two Hard Things That Were Hard today.

One was to wake up after a night of almost no sleep to initiate an emotionally difficult conversation.

Two was to keep my mouth shut at a time later on when responding as my first impulse demanded, would've made things worse.

Here is where I say the thing that may get me in trouble : I fucking DO want a cookie. After doing Hard Things That are Hard? Yes, I want to hear a "good job" or a "thank you" or "I appreciate your efforts" BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT I NEVER GOT AS A KID.

Similarly I will never get tired of hearing someone I respect tell me I'm pretty, they love me, they're proud of me, I said something that made them think or laugh, BECAUSE THAT also IS WHAT I NEVER GOT AS A KID.


I give myself EXPLICIT PERMISSION to want that cookie. Explicit permission to attract that cookie, to find safe people whom I might ask for a cookie, to feel my sadness and my rage about growing up without any fucking cookies.

Because also I was taught growing up, both directly and by example, that there Are. No. Cookies! for you, and no matter how hard you try to be worthy of one, to work for one, to ask or to suffer because you want (or need!) a 'cookie'? You get NOTHING.

Fuck that shit.
I'm in charge. Y'all, I grew up, and now I make a choice.

I make cookies every fucking day, you know? and I give them out to friends and lovers and strangers I have just met. I make them by the bushel. There ARE enough cookies.

Sometimes I make cookies just because i can. I have what i need to make them and i just do it. Other times i know I am wanting to please people because I still crave approval and a smile is as good as a cookie. I'm okay with that.

And sometimes? Sometimes, (I am *such* a subversive! ) sometimes I *actually* make cookies that are just for me. Exactly what I want and need in that moment.

And then I have what I need.

Some days I run out of cookie ingredients altogether. Days like that suck horribly because it's scary and flattening. I'd say I'm lucky because that happens pretty rarely, after 11 years of learning how to make and share and ask for a cookie. I have good cookie makers around me all the time now. There's a reason for that.

I. Am. Allowed. To. Want. A. Cookie.

So, for that matter, are you.

Here endeth the lesson.

Posted via LjBeetle
labelleizzy: (good deeds)
I had to be reminded that today is September 11.

I'm okay with that, but via [ profile] dakini_grl I was reminded to go here to [ profile] yarnaddict's journal and I thought I had something to say about that.

Thanks, Jeff (my cousin) for serving in the US army.
Thanks, Bill (his brother) for serving in the US army.
Thanks, Rob (my cousin on another side) for serving 4 years submarine duty in the US navy.
Thanks, Ethan S. for serving in the reserves, for going to Bosnia and to Iraq, and for going to divinity school afterward.
Thanks, Melinda (another cousin, Rob's sister) for serving, (I think she's still in the reserves, I've fallen out of touch).
Thanks, [ profile] tigman for serving. I'm glad you are happy where you are and more glad for your wife and two babies and that you still manage to get on Livejournal from time to time and keep us updated.

Thanks to any of my other friends who I'm not remembering if they served; thanks to their dads or moms or sisters or brothers or other family members who served; thanks to the people who make those fabric or paper Flanders Field poppies;

thanks for your dedication, your sacrifice of time, life, health, ...

I'm not being very coherent.

I'll leave this here. If anyone wants to comment with thanks to other veterans or loved ones, feel welcome.
labelleizzy: (sad)
I'ma digress for a moment before getting to my point - heh, like that surprises anyone but me...

There's this book I decided to leave on my work-desk, called "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff, and it's all Small stuff." It's like this collection of short essays about stress, philosophy, relaxing, doing the things in your life that you value?


so the almost first essay makes this point. which is, like that old story about how nobody, on their deathbeds, wishes they'd spent more time in the office... but this author phrases it differently... "your inbox will never be empty"... he says. that's the point of an inbox. and how if you get sick, leave that job, retire, die, whatever, that inbox will always have stuff in it, and it's like near-madness to expect that you will ever... have a perfectly clean kitchen 24/7 when you have an infant, or a perfectly clear desk as an english teacher...

on the way home from work today I took care of my late fines at the video store and picked up my favorite "fairy tale". Ladyhawke. So you could say I took 2 things out of my inbox and did them, since I'll show some pieces of Ladyhawke tomorrow to show the drama kids a "fractured fairy tale."

was going to take a nap when I got home, but my husband said, "you have to listen to the message on the machine. I think you also have a message on the cellphone. I think it's important."

so I do. and it's my mom, and she sounds a little worried-frazzled-upset from the get-go...
and my cousin Jeff, the Nice Guy, big ol' bear of a dude who I always liked, and there really was never a reason NOT to call him and hang out, I just never did... there were complications after his surgery for testicular cancer...

mom says he was great, upbeat, perky for several days after the most recent surgery, but that I think yesterday, he started to experience breathing problems. She doesn't know if it was maybe a blood clot in the lung or what, but he's gone now.

My inbox isn't empty. It won't be.
his inbox isn't empty.

that doesn't help.


I'm glad I have a movie to show for tomorrow.
labelleizzy: (bridge)
got to have a lovely bbq with [ profile] starfinn, [ profile] blackbeard88, [ profile] kandykizz (sp?) and [ profile] felinasm, with other nice non-LJ using friends and family...

and to get there, I got to drive over the NEW BENICIA BRIDGE. **SQUEE!!!**

so nice, so quick, so smooth, and dedicated fastrak lanes that just DON'T SLOW DOWN at all!


it will be easier and less stressful now to go visit my mom, my friends on the other side of the benicia straits, Davis folk, and all.

*happy dance*


May. 21st, 2007 06:35 am
labelleizzy: (happy family)
Happy Birthday, Scotty.

I love you.


Apr. 29th, 2007 10:27 pm
labelleizzy: (growth is inevitable)
I've decided that from now on, April is my Month-o-Self-Care-n-Checkups.

it just makes sense.

No more putting it all off.

which reminds me, I have to book a flight and get a substitute again for Friday's Southern Cal memorial for Scotty. And make sure it's ok with my boss. (I'm pretty sure it will be.)
labelleizzy: (happy family)
for anyone wanting to send a remembrance or a donation... )
My mom said that Scotty will be cremated, per his wishes. I don't know yet what Sarah will be doing with his ashes.

thanks for all the love and support, people. it does help.

(as does a cat who insists on lying on my arm & keyboard while I'm trying to type. I have to keep craning my neck to see the letters.)
labelleizzy: (happy family)
My brother died this Sunday. Yes, while I was in Japan.

I'm dealing. Work is helping me sort stuff out so I don't have to try and teach when I'm, um. Upset.

My brother's, um, widow. *handkerchief*
is doing a college fund for Aubrey Faith, in lieu of flowers.

So let me know if you'd like to contribute, eh? You could contribute anytime. And prayers and kind thoughts/energies are always welcome.

and if you want to help, you can ask me how I am when you see me. I posted to Barbarians list about this but haven't um. tried to read the messages yet. thanks for people's support so far.

If there's an upside to this, aside from Scotty not hurting anymore *handkerchief*
it's that compared to April 28, 1994, when my dad died (yeah, my mom gets two deathaversaries in the same month now...) I'm actually grieving. Took me like 6 or 7 YEARS to move out of cotton-wool-stuffed denial and irrational anger about my dad's going.

So I guess that's something. Stuff is moving.

Better get going.
labelleizzy: (Default)
A favorite poem of mine since age 11. )

I used to agree with what Ogden Nash said in this poem.
Used to feel certain that I was alone in my life, that I was a freak and destined for the solitary life, that I'd never have a boyfriend, never fall in love, never know connection or the cessation of loneliness.

>*introspective navel-gazing ensues* )
labelleizzy: (Default)
Bit pensive today. It's quiet, just the laundry thumping round, and I've got lots and lots to do or that I should be doing, but... But.

I wonder what home is.

Part of this has to do with the fact that I am indeed, technically homeless.
I mean, god bless Laura for taking me in. But it's not MY home. It's hers.

Is home some random apartment I don't yet have possession of?
Is home a domicile at all, or is it as large as a city I know my way around... and am comfortable travelling thru?
Is home the Starry Plough, or the Fair Oaks Tudor Faire?
Is home the living room of a dear friend who's having me over for dinner and a heart-to-heart talk?

One former lover and still dear friend talked about places wrapped around people. For me, Aberystwyth is more than a medieval Welsh town, it's Spiky John and Pete, Big John and Andrew, Shasta and Rachael, Sarah, Stephen, the girls in the dorm, my teachers and the shopkeepers, the other students we'd play billiards with, go to the pub or the football club/dance hall.

Berkeley is still Kevin and Ammy, though neither of them has lived there in over 2 years (?).

Sacramento is my mom (and dad, though he's dead), my sister and her husband and my nephew, my high-school friends, and many of my pagan friends and Faire friends.

I'm in this weird limbo-space. Or a weird gypsy space, perhaps.
Heather Alexander's CD, "A Gypsy's Home" has a title song with the lyrics
Don't tell a gypsy she has no home...
My road is wide and my sky is tall
And before I die I will see it all...

At the moment, I don't feel like I'm supposed to put down permanent roots.
I feel like those plants my mom keeps in vases and glasses for YEARS before she puts them in dirt, if ever.

The potential of my current life is strange and wonderful. There is no fixed horizon, no concrete path.
It's a beautiful, terrifying thing.
But I won't "settle," not ever again.


Jul. 8th, 2003 08:18 pm
labelleizzy: (sad)
Just got notified about the sudden death of a dear friend's father.
I don't know what to do, aside from letting him know I'm here for him, as I know (from his other blog) at least a dozen people have already said.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep.

And yet, and yet...

Brings me back to the death of my own father. We knew it was coming, it was not sudden, and yet it was still a shock.

Missing him grew less fierce eventually, the anger and frustration has moderated and matured into something mellower, yet still with a tang to it.

I've been there, it's been 9 years and 2 months since I passed through this door, and I still don't have any idea what to say to my friend.

Isn't the consolation about getting older the conceit that with experience comes wisdom? Shouldn't there be some point at which common experience allows me to comfort and perhaps even help such an old and close friend with his pain?

Words fail me. Words fail most of us at this time in someone else's life. Which was exactly what I found most frustrating, at the time of my own rite of passage. Nobody would talk about my father to me, nobody was willing to share happier memories.

It was like there was a conspiracy of avoidance, of silence. What I desperately needed to know was WHY all these people were at the memorial, why my father was important. In detail. Did he make them laugh, do a favor for them, was he just a great guy, did he ever make them mad?

We define ourselves in part through our parents. We discover too late the parts which are influenced or imprinted by "dad", by "mom", by "grandma" or the "favorite uncle". We define ourselves by our denial or rejection of parts of our parents which we find objectionable, only to discover later that those very traits are often hard-wired, and that we can't deactivate them.

Sometimes this hardwiring is like that of some kind of clock - helpful in maintaining a working, livable rhythm.
Sometimes, it's more like that of a landmine or pipe bomb.

I hope to the gods that K. has found his programming agreeable and that it helps him through this difficult time.

So, I suppose I'm feeling a touch cynical, referring to parenting as programming... Parents out there, please forgive me.

I love my parents, I just find it hard to forgive their mistakes sometimes.

Work in progress...
labelleizzy: (Default)
I wrote the following for the Writer's Circle Mario started up this year. I had some trouble moving out of autobiographical writing style (too many years journalling, I guess) and into fiction.
Technically, it's untitled, but it's saved as,
"His ashes are still in a box..."

Read more... )
more anon. Still waiting to hear about when the SN&R is publishing that poem o' mine.


labelleizzy: (Default)

September 2017

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