The bottom of the jewelry box

October 23, 199?

            Memories are like jewelry.  The most precious we keep carefully stored and only bring out on special occasions, but most are costume pieces, things we carry with us daily and never give much thought to.  And then of course there are those that we wish we could discard but can never bring ourselves to.  These are the ‘painful pieces’ the ones kept wrapped in gauze and safely tucked away at the bottom of our jewelry box.  We rarely take these pieces out and when we do it’s usually in private, reflective moments when we can slowly unwrap them and look upon them unobserved. 

            I found my first gray hair today, a startling moment in a woman’s life but not as depressing as first discovering the tiny lines around ones eyes.  Grow old with grace and dignity, that is my goal, but do I want to grow old alone?  My children will develop their own lives, make their own homes, they aren’t mine to keep forever, I have only been allowed to care for them until they can care for themselves.  Then what?  Lisa says no one wants to be alone, but I’m not sure it matters, after all aren’t we all eternally alone inside of ourselves anyway?  No matter how much  you love someone you can’t actually be a part of them.  We all bear this aching aloneness, as if we have lost our way home.  Perhaps that is what life is all about, perhaps it is a searching, a journey to find our way home again, back to the place we were before we were born, back to the memories we lost at the moment of birth. 

            So now my therapy begins, but where do I start?  At the beginning?  Or with whatever comes to mind?  There are so many thoughts flickering inside of me as fireflies trapped inside a glass jar, each crying, “Look at me!”  So it seems impossible to choose where to begin. 

            “Once upon a time in a land far, far away there lived a little girl.  She grew up knowing that she was Special and that life held only good things for her.  But then one day the grotesque monster called Reality reared his ugly head and proclaimed her his prisoner.  Sadly she discovered there are no keys to open the door to the magic kingdom called life. 

            There’s a saying that goes something like “a bad apple never falls far from the tree.”  When I was a young girl I hated that saying, I wanted to fall far, far from the tree.  And I truly believed I could, I believed if a person only worked hard enough they could be anything they wanted to be.  But being something or becoming something is easy, like playing a part on a stage.  I have BEEN many things in my life - a mother, a waitress, a videographer, a good little girl - but they ere all just roles, parts that I have played.  But inside, nothing changed, I am still just me, the person my genes and my environment programmed me to be, there is no escape through BEING something. 

            To truly change we must change what’s inside, or at least it’s affect on us.  Because after all, if an apple fell into an orange grove, it would still be an apple.  No matter how much it might admire the bright, fragrant oranges, it would always be an apple.  No matter  what role I play nothing will change until I first change the picture inside because I will always be what my reflexes guide me to be, what my inner self see and has always seen, the child of an alcoholic. 

            Children of alcoholics often become alcoholics themselves or abusers of other substances.  They also tend to marry alcoholics or other dependent personality types, seeking perhaps to cure the parent they could not save.  Others become over achievers and workaholics, in an attempt to feel equal to their peers for they see themselves as less, not as good as, beneath others.  And still others live up to this low image of themselves by not being able to hold a job or to deal with the stress of day to day living, they drift aimlessly through life always looking for rescue.  Even if they are never substance abusers themselves, their own children are still prone to these same pitfalls, somehow having inherited the alcoholic tendencies.  Escape from the cycle if very hard and abuse can often be traced back for generation after generation after generation. 

            For most of my life I have denied the existence of these scars and pretended that I had escaped unscathed but I know that this isn’t true.  After all, I married Billy.  I know that the scars are with me and they have dictated my steps even while I refused to acknowledge them.  Now I must bring the shadows into the light, examine them, analyze them, and find a way to get beyond the fear and the pain.

Journey

Windowpanes with fingerprints

Mar a perfect view. 

Ashtrays with cigarettes,

Tell me what to do!

Time an endless carousel

Turning all the same.

Life, the soul’s carnival,

How’d you play this game?

Me, I’m just a poor dreamer,

Dream my life away. 

Done with smoke and mirrors,

All illusions anyway. 

 The grass is always greener,

Flowers, never weeds. 

My yard, it’s much meaner,

Flowers gone to seeds.

Whatever song is playing,

However old the tune.

Me, I’ll not be saying

Words to fit the mood.

Always out of sync and step,

Marching somehow wrong.

A path I haven’t found yet,

A heart that beats as strong. 

But somehow I will find it,

Without map or clue. 

And I’ll complete this journey

And give this life it’s due!!

            Tess slowly rose and stretched her arms over her head.  Her back and shoulders still ached after the long hours of taping and even the hot bath hadn’t helped much.  Retrieving her journal she checked the fire in the woodstove and headed down the hallway to her room, pausing first to look in on Tressa as she slept. 

            Tressa was fourteen going on twenty-five and she made Tess feel ancient.  She had been so thrilled to have a daughter but now she sometimes wondered if they would ever be close.  Tressa had been independent and rebellious even as a toddler, getting into more scrapes and mischief than either of the boys had.  She was still stubborn and independent and everything became a battle between them, from the amount of make up she wore to not being allowed to car date, she fought against every rule. 

            Tess gently smoothed the mass of dark brown curls from her face and bent to kiss her cheek, something Tess didn’t allow when she was awake.  She’d been premature and had spent several weeks in an incubator when they weren’t allowed to hold her.  Tess had often wondered if this absence of physical contact had left her with her aversion to hugs and physical displays of affection.  Her daughter was a beauty and she dreaded the next few years.  Holding her back was going to prove a real challenge. 

            Moving on to the boys room she pulled the covers over Sammy, her youngest, and kissed his freckled nose.  Sammy was everyone’s baby and even at his most mischievous he was the “good one.”  He tried never to hurt her and to always be pleasing.  This desire to please probably came from being youngest.  She could remember feeling the same way as a child, that she needed somehow to compensate for the mistakes of her older siblings. 

            Chad, her oldest was sixteen and at just over six feet tall he overflowed the bunk beds that he and Sammy shared.  In spite of his size he was just an overgrown little boy to her.  She worried about his future, he would be seventeen in the spring but he still seemed unfocused and refused to discuss college or education beyond high school.  He had worked at Pizza Hut for several months not and talked often of becoming a manager but she couldn’t see a future in pizza so she worried.  But maybe she was just pushing him to be something instead of waiting to see who he already was. 

            Uncle Grant had told her he just lacked motivation and together they had tried to instill it in him.  Grant ran the small farm where her house sat, plus he owned an accounting business that provided a range of clerical services to other businesses.  He was moderately successful and had tried to interest Chad in some aspect of his business.  Chad had been amiable but had stated he preferred dealing with the public when they were relaxed and not worried about the IRS, besides he found accounting boring and he couldn’t see doing a job he didn’t like just to make a lot of money.  Tess could see his point, she was very thankful she found her own job fun and rewarding but she had hoped he would show a sincere interest in working with Grant. 

            His bosses at the restaurant really liked him and he had already been promoted to assistant weekend shift manager which was an accomplishment for someone so young.  But pizza maker had never entered her fantasies when she thought of her son’s future.  She blamed herself for allowing him to grow up with no positive male role model, she should have been understanding of his needs, she should have tried to help him become more focused when he was younger, something, anything!  Surely she could have directed him more and done more than she had, which was just to tell herself that it would all work out, that he would grow up someday and find his place. 

            Now time was running out and she worried that he would end up like his dad, drifting from job to job with no real direction in his life.  It seemed all she could do now was be supportive and pray, surely if God could move mountains he could move 180 pound boys like Chad.  

Chapter One

Chapter One

            Tess pushed the release button on the tape compartment of the 8mm camera and waited while the tiny computer brain followed her command.  She had just finished taping a children’s wear fashion show and her neck and shoulders ached from standing with her arms in the same position for so long.  Much of the footage had been shot handheld, with the help of the steady cam, and even the small camera could quickly get heavy.  The studio owned an excellent tripod, complete with dolly, but with children often the most artistic shots came up close with camera in hand, it looked less intimidating that way and it was possible to get more relaxed, natural shots. 

            She took her work seriously and tried to tell the entire “story” from her viewfinder.  This seriousness combined with her natural creativity made her very good at what she did.  The studio had a reputation for good work and were usually booked up weeks in advance.  They probably could have doubled their staff and still stayed busy but both she and Ross liked to keep a high quality level which they both felt required personal attention to every aspect of the product they turned out. 

            Tess did all of the video camera work and the rough edits but most of the credit for the finished product had to go to Ross who personally did the final edits and assembly.  They functioned together as a team, with the use of the high quality equipment Ross purchased for the studio they produced a first class product. 

            Tess glanced up from packing the equipment as Ms. Kirkenbaum, the modeling coach who had hired the studio to tape the fashion show,  approached.  The tapping of her stiletto heels on the tile floor of the mall concourse could be heard even over the din of noise all around them and Tess studied the older woman as she approached.  She was a vision of perfection, from her carefully coifed hair to her neatly manicured nails and the expensive, perfectly tailored suit that she wore.  Tess smiled to herself trying to picture Ms. Kirkenbaum looking harried and frumpy as she herself seemed to spend most of her time.  It was nice to realize that she’d finally reached a point in her life where she no longer felt intimidated at events like this, as she would have been only a few years before.  She was used to being the only woman in jeans or casual slacks and flats.  It hadn’t taken her long to realize that people rarely paid attention to the person behind the camera, only to the camera itself, so she was accustomed to being part of the décor, or treated as wait staff. 

            “How’d it go?”  Ms. Kirkenbaum asked when she was within ear shot. 

“Really well, I think we have some very nice footage here,” Tess smiled as the older woman who appeared to be in her late forties, but it was hard to tell.  The skin of her face was taunt, as though it had been lifted so there were no determining age lines there.  The excellent cheekbones, which made her features striking, were genetic and it was evident that Clarrisa Kirkenbaum had been a beauty in her youth. 

            “Were you able to get good close ups of the boys?  I don’t usually get many boys to work a fashion show and I want some footage to use for portfolios for advertising work,” Ms. Kirkenbaum held herself regally, her posture picture perfect. 

            Tess felt the need to stand straighter herself as she replied to the other woman, vaguely wondering if she too had modeled before becoming a coach.  ’Every life has a story’ she thought with a smile, ‘everyone is a compilation of all that came before.‘  She assured the older woman that she had indeed gotten good  close ups of the five boys that had modeled in the show as she briefly thought about life’s path and how lives could be similar, but each was unique to the individual actually living it. 

            Hitting the replay button on the camera, she held it out for Ms. Kirkenbaum to review.  As she showed the other woman the controls her mind wondered, what was the old saying, ‘Nothing new under the sun?’  That was so true, even the abstract thought patterns that flitted through ones mind were not new, someone at some time had probably had similar thoughts, for not even an inventors creation was theirs alone, it was usually based on work that had come before or built from ideas someone else had put down. 

            Mentally giving herself a shake she apologized to Ms. Kirkenbaum, “I’m sorry, what did you ask?”

            “How long before I can view a final copy?” She repeated patiently, she was used to dealing with children so she had a great deal of patience. 

            But Tess was embarrassed to be caught wool gathering and she blushed slightly as she replied, “It will probably take a week or so, but we’ll give you a call as soon as we know for sure.  I’m not sure what Ross’ schedule is like, but I’ll get to the rough edits as soon as possible.” 

            “That’s fine, I’m just anxious . . .” Ms. Kirkenbaum stopped talking suddenly,

smiling at someone behind Tess.  “Have you met my son?” she asked.

            Tess shook her head and turned to look up at the tall handsome man that had somehow approached without her noticing.  He looked to be nearing forty, which would make his mother older than she’d thought.  He had his mother’s cheekbones and carried himself with the same poise and she briefly wondered if he too had modeled or if he’d just had lots of instruction from his mother.  Remembering her manners she wiped her hand on her jeans before reaching it out to grasp the hand that he offered.  “Tess Quinlan,” she told him as his hand closed over hers.   
            “Bob Kirkenbaum,” he smiled, revealing perfect teeth and a dimple in his left cheek.  “Mother has shown me some of your previous work.  I’m impressed.”

            Tess returned his smile, “Thank you for your compliment, but most of the credit goes to Ross.  He does the final edits and the assembly.  I’m just the camera . . . .person.”

            Bob grinned noting her slight pause before using the ‘politically correct’ term, his eyes quickly taking in her slender figure and petite build.  “You’re right, you are definitely not a cameraman.  But don’t discredit what you do, all the editing in the world can’t make something from nothing, the shots have to be there first in order to be edited in.” 

            Tess smiled again she wasn’t discrediting her work, just stating a fact.  Shooting footage was easy and she enjoyed it, it hardly seemed like work at all except for the ache in her shoulders.  It was the frustrating hours in front of the editing equipment that brought forth the polished results that the customers saw, but now hardly seemed the time to argue her point.  “Well, thank you for your vote of confidence, I enjoy my work.”  She bent down to the camera case and pulled out a business card and handed it to him.  “If you ever need our services, give us a call.  Gina handles the appointments, she’s our office ‘go-fer’ and works the front counter, although I think she prefers the term ‘girl Friday!’  She smiled, “She handles the scheduling and can get you set up.”

            He took the card slowly from her hand, a look of surprise on his face.  “Ross is a lucky man, having a dedicated employee like you.  He better hope you never go into business for yourself, you could give him some real competition.” 

            Tess forced a smile, “Thank you.”  She wished they would move on and leave her to her packing.  She hated small talk and his words had struck a nerve, giving her a feeling of déjà vu.  Ross often told her the same thing, that he’d be in trouble if she went into business for herself.  What neither man seemed to realize was that she just wasn’t that brave yet.  Her shoulders were carrying about as much responsibility as she could handle right now, she didn’t need to add such a major thing as running her own business. 

            Bob and his mother turned to greet some of the parents so she quickly turned back to her packing.  The parents would want copies of some of the footage as well so her four hours of taping would net a lot of profit for the studio.  She grinned thinking of Ross’ favorite saying, “Nothing happens until the sale is made.”

            As she packed Bob watched her, noting how she carefully rolled the cords and tucked each piece into their slotted carrying case.  Most people would have just tossed everything helter-skelter into the case but as tired as she must be she was still taking the time to put everything in its proper place.  He smiled, his admiration for her growing as he remembered the way she had tossed his mild flirtation back into his face by handing him a business card and instructing him to call her girl Friday for an appointment.  Here she was, all five feet nothing of her, dressed more for a day in the park while the women around her were dressed to the nines, but she was still so filled with self confidence that when a man gave her a compliment, she brushed him off with the equivalent of “don’t call us, we’ll call you.”  She reminded him of a feisty terrier, not big as a minute but very determined.  He wondered what had made her so cautious even as he thought what a formidable business partner she would make.  Tucking the thought into his mind for another day he glanced at Tess one last time before turning back to his mother.  

Far From the Tree: When you can't trust yourself . . . .

Far From the Tree: When you can't trust yourself . . . .

When you can't trust yourself . . . .

      There had been only once since Billy that Tess had lowered her guard and allowed a man to get close to her emotionally as well as physically.  She had met him at Posterity Studios where she worked as a photographer and a videographer.  He had sold her boss, Ross Mathews, some new equipment that included free set up and training.  Ross had asked her to sit in on the training since after six years of working there, she was now the assistant manager and knew almost as much about his business as he did. 

            The process had taken most of a week and the salesman, Troy, had worked in the field for many years so he truly understood the equipment as well as the field they worked in.  His training was thorough and complete and Tess was surprised to find she enjoyed working with him, as a rule, she found salesmen to be pushy and arrogant.  Troy was charming and attentive in a positive, non-threatening way and had seemed admiring of her intelligence as well as her appearance.  So few men really talked to a woman unless they were working towards the bedroom, so she had been surprised when he sought her opinion and seemed truly interested in what she had to say. 

            By the end of the training she had been as comfortable working with him as she was with Ross, so when he asked her to join him for dinner she hesitated only briefly before accepting.  Even though she had criticized herself for her bubble of excitement, she couldn’t help but hope she might be at the start of something positive in her life. 

            They had gone to one of the best restaurants in town, making her nervous and self conscious and very much aware of her old clothes and worn purse.  He had soon put her at ease, opening doors and holding her chair, as if she were decked out in the latest fashion, carrying a $500 purse instead of one of Becca’s hand-me-downs.  He had been attentive during dinner, listening when she talked and asking just the right questions to draw her out, getting her to reveal far more of herself than she ever  intended.  His replies to her questions had seemed thoughtful and he had shared opinions about life and reaching ones goals that she had always secretly believed but had never voiced for fear of ridicule.  Such as following ones heart, and removing negativity and negative people from your life. 

            They seemed so well suited that even their silences were comfortable and companionable and soon she found herself accepting a second date.  By the third date she knew she was infatuated.  It was scary and exciting all at once, so much so that when he asked her to go away with him for a private weekend she hadn’t hesitated.  Her longing for intimacy with him had surprised her, as had the eagerness she felt to have his body close to hers. 

            The sex has been even more magical than she had imagined, he had been a skilled loved and she was a more than eager pupil, so the intensity  of their love making had literally left her breathless.  By the end of their two days together she knew she was in far, far over her head and in danger of being swept away by emotions she wasn’t yet ready to identify.

            When she arrived for work on Monday Ross had teased her about the bounce in her step, and it was true, she had felt lighter than air.  At lunch time, just as a florist delivered a large bouquet of flowers from Troy the telephone had rang.  Smiling at the sweet message on the card attached to the bouquet she had absentmindedly reached for the phone, and her happiness had shattered like so much broken glass around her feet.  The caller identified herself as Troy’s wife, and that had said it all.  Troy was married and his wife assured her there would be no divorce, Troy was a player and Tess was just the latest in a long string of affairs. 

            “You can keep seeing him until he tires of you if you want, but don’t think it’s ever going anywhere,” she informed Tess before hanging up. 

            Tess had slowly lowered the phone to the cradle before tossing the flowers into the trash.  One look at her face and Ross had sent her home for the day, where she’d sat in a bubble bath and cried until there were no more tears and her fingers were wrinkled, the water long since gone cold.  How could she have been so stupid?  How could she have allowed herself to fall so easily?  Her self confidence had shattered along with  her heart, after all, if you couldn’t trust yourself, who could you trust?

            Troy had called just as darkness arrived and she had silently listened to his pleadings, begging her forgiveness, swearing that his marriage was a sham.  He swore they were actually separated but she refused to let go.  “Just please give me some time,” he pleaded, but Tess had quietly hung up the phone, and then disconnected it from the wall so he couldn’t call back. 

            He had lied to her, allowed her to believe they were at the start of something, but how could he begin something new when he hadn’t yet closed the door on his past?  Maybe if he had been honest from the beginning she might have taken a chance, but by finding out this way she felt too betrayed to ever trust him openly again. 

            He had been persistent, calling so frequently she had finally gotten an unlisted phone number.  Ross prevented him from seeing her at the studio and she had returned his gifts and cards unopened until eventually he had given up.

            Slowly she had gone forward and put it behind her, or at least she was able to pretend that she had recovered, but inside her confidence was gone while her heart still ached.  It would have been better to have never known what she was missing than to taste it knowing it could never be hers.  Her heart now ached for closeness, her body too, but no longer trusting her ability to recognize the right person, she closed the door to her heart and soul and focused on her work and her kids. 

            She spent five days a week at the studio and did outside jobs on the weekends, taping weddings and photographing special events.  The extra money was welcome and it left her too busy to miss what she didn’t have, or at least it had until recently.  But lately when families came in for portraits or she went to tape a graduation or a wedding and she saw loving couples living in nice homes with all of the trappings, standing proudly with their children, children who were sheltered and loved by both parents, her heart ached.  It was hard not to be envious, why couldn’t that be her with her children?  Why was it that no man had ever wanted to “take care” of her?  She realized this was an antiquated idea, women could take care of themselves; but it would have been nice to have someone to lean on occasionally. 

            But she tried hard not to dwell on the things she didn’t have so she constantly reminded herself to look for the positive.  After all, she had chosen this course, she had opened the door and walked through and it was too late to go back and walk the path not taken or change the outcome of her decisions. 

            “I am at this moment the sum of all my past decisions,” Tess whispered to herself.  And all that she could do at this point was to continue to move forward.  She would find a way to heal the aches, the hurts, a way to fill the emptiness in her soul, a way to unlock the pain and let it all out until she felt whole again. 

The Good Life?

         Tess sighed as she closed the small fabric covered book that she had been writing in, her hand tracing the floral pattern on its back.  She had chosen it because of the pretty old fashioned look the cloth cover gave.  It looked like the sort of book a lady would choose to keep her journal in and she loved the faded yellow tint of the pages, just waiting for her pen to stroke them.  It reminded her of the diary in the novel “1984.”

            She felt better now that she had taken the first step.  It was often said that a journey of a thousand miles began with the first step, now all she had to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other until she felt whole again.  One step at a time.  This emptiness inside of her was frightening.  It felt as if she’d been carrying the “whole load” of life’s responsibilities for so long and she was tired, overwhelmingly tired, bone deep tired.  Even before her divorce from Billy six years ago she had carried the load, but never, never had she so longed for someone to share the burden as she did now. 

            The first few years after her separation from Billy had been so filled with adjustment that they had passed very swiftly.  The kids had grown from children to teens and she’d been so busy trying to make their lives better, to achieve something for their benefit that time had flown on past.  Maybe that was the root of her discontent, for in spite of all of her struggles, her determination, they still could barely make ends meet.  As the kids had grown, so had their needs and while they could work part time now and meet some of their own expenses there were still so many things she longed to give them, do for them before it was too late, before they grew up resenting her for all that she had failed to do. 

            When they were babies she had envisioned a ’typical’ middle class childhood for them, complete with braces and ballet classes, a good safe dependable car when they were old enough to drive, college educations after high school, and most of all, a father who would care about these things as well.  Sadly, reality was far removed from her visions.  They seldom heard from Billy, his child support had been sporadic over the years and it took all she earned just to feed them and keep a roof over their heads.  Sometimes she swore her old car ran on prayer and if not for Grant letting Chad drive one of the farm trucks, he wouldn't have a vehicle at all.  They existed paycheck to paycheck and she prayed each night that they all stayed healthy so that there would be no overwhelming medical bills to face. 

            It had been so long since they’d enjoyed a family dinner out, other than fast food occasionally, and she couldn't remember the last time she’d bought a new outfit for herself.  Her clothes were usually hand-me-downs from her sister Becca, or from Patty, Uncle Grant’s wife.  Tressa and Chad bought most of their own clothes now, but whenever she did have anything extra to spend, it always went to meet their needs first.  Now their childhood years were almost over, it was nearly too late, she had failed. 

            When she and Billy had first separated she had tried dating, hoping to find someone to share her life with.  Someone to help carry part of life’s load, or at least someone to listen when she talked about her troubles.  After several awkward dates ranging from dull to total disasters she’d given up on the dating scene and refused to agree to anymore blind dates from well meaning friends.  If being single was the good life, then Tess had somehow missed it.  

            From the stilted conversations of first dates to fending off sexual advances at the end of the evening, there was nothing she enjoyed about casual dating.  She didn’t believe in one night stands or in allowing herself to be picked up by a stranger.  Somehow it all made her feel like a side of beef in a meat market or a good dependable used car on a lot with shiny new sports cars.  She wasn’t a knockout, didn’t have unusually large breasts or shiny blond hair that cascaded down her back, she didn't know how to play the helpless female game and couldn’t promote herself other than honestly. 

            She’d soon learned that men weren't looking for honesty, they wanted sex appeal.  She needed friendship before sex, men just wanted sex.  She liked sincerity, intimacy on an intellectual level before advancing to intimacy on a physical level, men didn't want intimacy at all, they just wanted hot, uncomplicated sex.  She wanted fidelity, a woman shouldn't have to worry about being compared to anyone else when making love with her man.  She wanted a committed relationship, she wanted all the words men hated.  Men weren't looking for any type of relationship, they didn't want closeness and friendship, they didn't long for a soul mate, they wanted freedom, variety, the right to bed whomever they wanted whenever they wanted.  It had been hard accepting these facts at first and like so many things in life, it had come through painful experience. 

            Her only close female friend, Lisa, had recently moved away to Virginia Beach.  She was a hair dresser and they had met just after Tess and Billy had separated.  Though their personalities were complete opposites, she’d been very helpful and supportive during the complications of divorce, having just survived one herself.  Her vibrant, outgoing manner had helped Tess keep her perspective and her bawdy sense of humor had lifted many depressive days. 

            Lisa dated casually, picking up men in bars for ‘recreational’ sex, as she called it.  Tess had drawn the line at joining her on her ‘outings’ and listened in amazement at the stories Lisa shared.  She confided that about half the men she picked up were married, maybe more, but if they didn’t volunteer the information, and many did, she didn’t bother asking.  Her reasoning was that if it wasn’t her, it would be someone else, all men were scum and only good for one thing in Lisa’s opinion.  Her rationalization was that it was just sex, not love and romance. 

            After living with Billy Tess couldn’t understand Lisa’s casualness, she tried to make her see that somewhere on the other side of that one night stand was a woman who had no idea she was married to a creep who couldn’t keep his fly zipped.  Besides, how could she be so casual about something that was anything but?  It had finally become an area where they both agreed to disagree and Lisa carefully omitted certain bits of information when sharing tales of her outings after that. 

            For Tess, sex and intimacy were all tied up together inside and she couldn’t imagine one without the other, nor did she want to.  She didn’t understand how anyone could turn their emotions on and off like that.  Sex was so much more than just the physical joining of two bodies, it was the greatest possible way to say “I care” and without the emotion, the caring and the tenderness, it seemed empty and meaningless.  It seemed wrong to cheapen something so wonderful by sharing it with just anyone who said yes, no matter how great the physical need.  Nor did she believe any human being was truly programmed that way, for to do so reduced one to an animal-istic level.  No matter how much a person might deceive themselves into believing casual sex was un-involved, how could you share something so intimate and personal, so filled with pleasure, with the give and take of that pleasure, and not feel a certain amount of tenderness towards them? 

            Lisa told her that these feelings were just the afterglow of good sex, but if that were true then what a waste to share them with someone you hardly knew and cared about in only the most basic way any human being cares about another.  It all became very empty and meaningless when you looked at it that way, and all life should have meaning.  Life without meaning seemed destructive to the soul and that wasn’t for Tess, some things shouldn’t be cheapened, to do so cheapened life itself.  

Time Passages

         Over the years I have been a mother lion protecting her cubs, feeling their hurts and their slights, their sadness and successes as deeply as my own.  Gradually, painfully, I have started to let go, to allow them to fight their own battles, to make their own choices.  It hasn’t been easy.  As I watch them grow through their adolescent years and beyond I realize how dependent I have become on their need of me and how lost I feel without them.  For nearly twenty years all of my struggles have been to give them happy memories of childhood and somewhere in all of this struggle, I have lost me.  I have forgotten what it means to be anyone except Mommie. 

            When I think about it, I realize that for the past several years, both before and after my divorce from Billy, in the good times and the bad, it has been as if I held my breath . . .waiting . . . .just waiting . . . .but for what?  For something wondrous and magical to life me up, to rescue me, ease my burden, ease the weight of the struggle, to take care of me and change my life into all that I had dreamed it would ever be.  Sadly, I have to face the dawn and remind myself that there are no knights on white horses, no heroes to come and save a dreamer like me. 

            Whoever I am, whatever I have or have not become rests solely on my shoulders.  If fulfillment or contentment have escaped me then perhaps it is because there is an emptiness inside of me, a void that only I can fill.  Without clearly understanding who I am, how I became this person and what caused this void, it seems there is no way to go forward.  So I have decided to go back, into my past, and discover what has shaped this person I call self.  You little book, are to be my time machine.  I once read that a journal is a good form of self healing, and oh how I need to be healed!  There is an ache inside of me, a tenderness that won’t go away.  I have kept diaries and journals off and on over the years, but they were always of the present, you will be a combination of past and present, just like me.  Perhaps together we can find the little girl again and try to recapture the dreams she cherished. 

            The words of the song, “Time Passages” slip through my mind . . . .”Buy me a ticket on the last train out tonight.”  I can hear the wheels of the train - clickity-clack; clickity-clack - going round and round inside of my head until the sounds blend to become the ticking of a clock, marking the passage of time and I think, ‘Time passes, is passing, every moment, of every day.’  And I realize that whether we choose to take the necessary steps to reach our goals or we sit back and wait for rescue it will continue to pass, for time waits for no man, or woman.  Each season will continue to merge with the next, as gently, as surely as a river flows to the sea; this great river of life that flows into the sea of humanity; and whether we choose to ride the rapids or stay in the shallows, it flows ever forward carrying us along, however reluctantly.  

Choices

            Life is a matter of choices, of left and right turns.  A journey for which there is no map and the clues given are subtle warnings that are seldom heeded.  Most think their lives will be somehow different from those that came before, so patterns are repeated over and over again, like the pattern woven into a bolt of fabric, repetitiously, again and again.  The threads may be of a different color, the shade slightly changed, but the pattern is the same. 

            I sometimes wonder what might have been had my choices been different, but I never allow the thoughts to linger for a wise man once said, “Be careful what you wish for.”  So I silently cross myself to ward off evil, for I would never trade parenthood and my three babies for any path not taken, nor any door unopened.  But in that brief moment that I do allow these thoughts to pass through my mind, I wonder if it wouldn’t have been wiser to have earned a BA before learning about diaper rash and baby shots, Little League and girl scout cookie sales, teacher conferences and Christmas pageants.  Would that have made me a better parent?  Probably not, but maybe it would have given me more confidence to have learned about ME before I relinquished my identity to become a Mommie. 

            Motherhood is all consuming, you surrender your own wants and needs to contend with the totally selfish demands of an infant and loose yourself in caring for this tiny person who is solely dependent upon you.  I recall one of my first lonely 2:00 a.m. feedings, as I looked down into the tiny face of my newborn, I was suddenly overwhelmed at the awesome, eternal responsibility of parenthood!  A feeling of desperation washed over me as I had never felt before as I truly realized for the first time what nine months of pregnancy had not prepared me for - PARENTING IS FOREVER!!  Unlike  anything else we choose to do in life, it truly is forever.  When we marry we promise to love, honor and cherish until death do us part, but as so many of us know, there are ways out of that, but you can’t divorce yourself from parenthood or decide to drop out because it’s not for you after all.  Oh, I know there’s always adoption but some how I feel that once a mother has looked upon a tiny newborn face, or felt the thrusts of tiny limbs within her womb, motherhood is with her forever.  Somewhere deep inside you change and even is someone else raises the child, you always know that somewhere out there is a speck of humanity, a breath of life that you are responsible for creating.  Creation, what a wondrous, overwhelming, marvelous thing!  So simplistically beautiful that we take it fore granted, and yet it is so awesomely miraculous! 

            So yes, parenthood is forever, beyond the terrible twos and the first day of school.  Beyond prom night and drivers ed, beyond the birth of your first grandchild even, you are always the parent, the elder generation.  It spirals off into the future, the unknown, just as the past spirals back into the darkness, to the beginning.  Each generation, each parent and child a part of the one that came before, merging, blending one into the other.  Flowing backward, margining into the sea of faces, of humanity, all a part of the great sea of life.  While we may search eternally for the meaning of life, still we procreate for in spite of our knowledge, our ability to splice genes and toy with genetics, to send rockets soaring into space and satellites to photograph other planets, we are still driven by instinct and hormones, by the age old need to blend those genes into new life and thus somehow feel we have gained a bit of eternity. 

            I have never believed that anyone is a ‘natural born parent’ although I suppose for some it comes easier than for others, but like learning the self control to stop a bad habit, it comes with time and effort.  I truly love being a mother but I won’t say it came easily.  I was very intimidated by my first newborn.  I read manuals and studied books and asked for advice wherever I could find it, weeding through the information to find the truly helpful tidbits.  It took awhile for me to realize that there is no one Right Way, in the end we must choose the way that seems best to us, what feels right, the most natural for us. 

Rotten Apple (opening)

Rotten Apple

            As I look back over the years of my past I see them unfold as spirals winding back into infinity.  In some years the seasons blend rapidly, the coils fitted snugly, one upon the other, like a tightly wound spring.  While in other years the coils stretch widely and flow loosely, one onto the next, like a ribbon just fallen from someone’s hair.  This marks the slowness with which they passed, for they are the years filled with sorrow and sadness, when time itself seemed to stand still and all the world moved around me, while I merely existed inside of myself.  A shell performing a daily routine so ingrained, so much a habit, that the only thing that really stands out in my memories of this time is the loneliness, the sadness of the empty ache inside. 

            Moving back along my ribbon of memories I reach a time when gaps begin to appear, spaces of emptiness along the spirals.  At first they are only short gaps, marking small sections of time, but the farther back I travel the larger the gaps, until entire seasons unfold with nothing to mark their passing, and while I know that I lived and that I WAS during these times, there are no memories to give acknowledgment of my existence.  I cannot help but wonder what is perhaps stored in my subconscious of this time.  

            The strongest memories call out to me, those of birthdays and holidays, the days of my children’s births.  There are of course also special memories that I pause to linger over - my wedding day, my graduation, even the day that I at last received my drivers license.  Then there are the private memories, such as my first kiss, or the first time I felt true sexual excitement, the fear and embarrassment associated with my first period, which is such a bittersweet time for a young girl.  All the seasons of my past, the waterfall and sunshine that has produced the garden of my life, and I think, ‘Where has it all gone?’  All of the dreams and plans, so carefully made, and then somewhere among life’s daily toils, so easily forgotten. 

            I was always going to BE and DO something important.  I grew up as women came of age and I believed there was nothing I could not do or be or conquer.  I learned to be outspoken and that a woman did not have to be subservient to a man or pretend to be less intelligent in order to win a provider, they could be the provider, could be equal.  However, I was looking for a utopian world, a world where men saw women for their abilities and their intelligence and not just their bodies.  Where women stood united and didn’t base their own self worth  on looks alone.  I was also foolish enough to believe that true love existed and that love based on mutual respect and common interests could withstand the tests of time. 

            How naïve I was!!  I didn’t realize what a truly large roll sex plays in the real world, selling everything from a movie ticket to beer and automobiles.  Nor had I any idea how hard a woman must work to be judged for who she is and what she is capable of instead of on whether she’s built like a Barbie doll.  I thought by speaking my mind I was showing my equality, instead I have been labeled with titles like opinionated, bossy, and even Bitch!  So, somehow, in spite of all of my ideals, my determination, my certainty of success, I never became anyone or anything but myself. 

“Footfalls echo in the memory

Down the passage we did not take

Towards the door we never open

Into the rose garden .   .  .  .

T.S. Elliott

Welcome to my blog.  My blog is actually a story, a story about growing up as the child of an alcoholic. . . .about survival and facing the truth about our pasts and our present.  I hope you'll follow along as I start to explore my own roots and the scars left in my personality by my past.