I'm still not out of blog rehab, but I needed to write this.  (Weird sub-note:  The first time I wrote that sentence, before proofing, I wrote "I needed to "right" this."  I have enough Freudian beliefs to find that interesting...)

There's something that I'm afraid of, and I'm not sure what it is. I've known for a while at some level, but it really hit me this morning.  Why am I afraid to heal my marriage?

My husband is a recovering alcoholic.  His dark drinking period lasted about 7 years, and ended in March of this year with his second DUI, the loss of his license for at least a year, and $5000 worth of treatment that actually "took".  He is committed to his sobriety.  I knew our relationship was not going to heal overnight, but now I'm wondering why I don't seem to want to heal it.

Now he has begun a diet, lost 10 pounds so far (goal: 50) and stopped drinking excessive caffeine and stopped smoking.  The smoking part was an accident.  He was planning to stop smoking later, after he had gotten more time into the diet and caffeine, but he left his full pack of cigarettes in a hotel room a couple of days ago, and decided to quit smoking then and there.  When he got back from the trip he was a bear and a couple of women he works with that are friends of mine mentioned it, too.  I didn't find out until later:  48 hours nicotine free.  Yeah - that'll do it!

So here I sit, with a grouchy, substance-free husband.  When we were married he was mostly substance free.  He had quit drinking for a couple of years around then.  So it's not like it's all "new" for us.  We were even vegetarians then, born-again Christians and bright-eyed ninnies.

Fast forward 13 years, and I've never been more comfortable in my own skin - so there we are again.  What am I afraid of?

This morning I was thinking about how I miss him - the friend I used to have.  And I was wondering what I should be doing.  Of course, it's obvious.  I should be reaching out.  I should be touching him, holding him, loving him.  But I'm not.  I live in his house, raise his (our) children and spend his (our?) money.  I clean and cook and redecorate/remodel.  I pay bills and plan financial strategies, choose insurance plans and manage 401ks.  I'm not a wife, I'm a business partner.  I'm a good mother (well, only fair sometimes when I'm throwing tantrums - but that's another post). Since we used to work in the same industry, when we talk, it's often work related, or kid-related.  Even discussions of philosophy, which used to bring us closer together, can be divisive for us now.  He sleeps in a room connnected to ours (mine) and has for years - he sometimes snores astonishingly loud, but won't see a doctor.  Now that he has stopped drinking, it occurs less frequently, but no more quietly.  I used to rock the bed when he would start to snore to get him to stop, and it would wake him enough to bother him, so he moved into his office and that's where he's been.  Now the children often take turns sleeping with me, further shutting him out.  I know I should ban the practice.  But I don't.  At most I've cut it back a little.

So what's holding me back?  I don't really think it has to do with him.  I think it has to do with me.  And how I'm afraid of people.  Afraid to look them in the eye.  Afraid to let them get to know me.  Afraid of what they'll see.  I was never afraid of him before.  But I think I am now.  And the problem's not him, it's me.

ps - the "pick a topics" here suck

SO MUCH TO DO AND SO LITTLE MIND...

Alas my poem that once was here

a victim of absent-minded window closings

or perhaps Loki whisked it away -

jealous of my stunning wit.

I was trying to paint a picture

of a scene that I no longer see

a color I can no longer imagine

a voice I no longer hear.

But it's gone.

And so must I.

My life is too busy for

virtual words

virtual dreams

virtual relationships.

Right?

If only I use my time better,

then surely I will acquire the

body of Madonna,

beauty of Angelina

mind of Condoleeza

insider trading skills of Martha?

Because my only limits are those

I place on myself.

No?

I once had a molten hot lover who

was unable to complete me

my pieces having been scattered

across the remnants of

somewhere I can't remember.

Answer this queston:

"What's the name for the precise moment when you've actually forgotten how it felt to make love to somebody you really liked a long time ago?" - Delerium

    & nbsp;   a.  "There isn't one." - Dream

    & nbsp;   b.  "Mercy." - Mikal Gilmore

So thus I must leave my corner of the inn.  Keep my seat warm.  I will miss you.

THE GIRL WHO TROD ON THE LOAF
    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   by hans christian anderson


    THERE was once a girl who trod on a loaf to avoid soiling her shoes, and the misfortunes that happened to her in consequence are well known. Her name was Inge; she was a poor child, but proud and presuming, and with a bad and cruel disposition. When quite a little child she would delight in catching flies, and tearing off their wings, so as to make creeping things of them. When older, she would take cockchafers and beetles, and stick pins through them. Then she pushed a green leaf, or a little scrap of paper towards their feet, and when the poor creatures would seize it and hold it fast, and turn over and over in their struggles to get free from the pin, she would say, "The cockchafer is reading; see how he turns over the leaf." She grew worse instead of better with years, and, unfortunately, she was pretty, which caused her to be excused, when she should have been sharply reproved.

    "Your headstrong will requires severity to conquer it," her mother often said to her. "As a little child you used to trample on my apron, but one day I fear you will trample on my heart."  And, alas! this fear was realized.

    Inge was taken to the house of some rich people, who lived at a distance, and who treated her as their own child, and dressed her so fine that her pride and arrogance increased.

    When she had been there about a year, her patroness said to her, "You ought to go, for once, and see your parents, Inge."

    So Inge started to go and visit her parents; but she only wanted to show herself in her native place, that the people might see how fine she was. She reached the entrance of the village, and saw the young laboring men and maidens standing together chatting, and her own mother amongst them. Inge's mother was sitting on a stone to rest, with a fagot of sticks lying before her, which she had picked up in the wood. Then Inge turned back; she who was so finely dressed she felt ashamed of her mother, a poorly clad woman, who picked up wood in the forest. She did not turn back out of pity for her mother's poverty, but from pride.

    Another half-year went by, and her mistress said, "you ought to go home again, and visit your parents, Inge, and I will give you a large wheaten loaf to take to them, they will be glad to see you, I am sure."

    So Inge put on her best clothes, and her new shoes, drew her dress up around her, and set out, stepping very carefully, that she might be clean and neat about the feet, and there was
nothing wrong in doing so. But when she came to the place here the footpath led across the moor, she found small pools of water, and a great deal of mud, so she threw the loaf into the mud, and trod upon it, that she might pass without wetting her feet. But as she stood with one foot on the loaf and the other lifted up to step forward, the loaf began to sink under her, lower and lower, till she disappeared altogether, and only a few bubbles on the surface of the muddy pool remained to show where she had sunk. And this is the story.

    But where did Inge go? She sank into the ground, and went down to the Marsh Woman, who is always brewing there.

    The Marsh Woman is related to the elf maidens, who are well-known, for songs are sung and pictures painted about them. But of the Marsh Woman nothing is known, excepting that when a mist arises from the meadows, in summer time, it is because she is brewing beneath them. To the Marsh Woman's brewery Inge sunk down to a place which no one can endure for long. A heap of mud is a palace compared with the Marsh Woman's brewery; and as Inge fell she shuddered in every limb, and soon became cold and stiff as marble. Her foot was still fastened to the loaf, which bowed her down as a golden ear of corn bends the stem.

    An evil spirit soon took possession of Inge, and carried her to a still worse place, in which she saw crowds of unhappy people, waiting in a state of agony for the gates of mercy to be opened to them, and in every heart was a miserable and eternal feeling of unrest. It would take too much time to describe the various tortures these people suffered, but Inge's punishment consisted in standing there as a statue, with her foot fastened to the loaf. She could move her eyes about, and see all the misery around her, but she could not
turn her head; and when she saw the people looking at her she thought they were admiring her pretty face and fine clothes, for she was still vain and proud. But she had forgotten how soiled her clothes had become while in the Marsh Woman's brewery, and that they were covered with mud; a snake had also fastened itself in her hair, and hung down her back, while from each fold in her dress a great toad peeped out and croaked like an asthmatic poodle. Worse than all was the terrible hunger that tormented her, and she could not stoop to break off a piece of the loaf on which she stood. No; her back was too stiff, and her whole body like a pillar of stone. And then came creeping over her face and eyes flies without wings; she winked and blinked, but they could not fly away, for their wings had been pulled off; this, added to the hunger she felt, was horrible torture.

    "If this lasts much longer," she said, "I shall not be able to bear it." But it did last, and she had to bear it, without being able to help herself.

This is the first complete painting I did in over 20 years.  It's an oil.  The shadows suck, but by the time I got to them, I was too tired of it to fuss.  I thought it wasn't too bad considering the long interim...

The 14th Anniversary of my marraige to my soulmate is this week.  :oD

Philosophy Monday comes to you courtesy of Shimmer http://www.tblog.com/templates/index.php?bid=shimmer&" title="http://www.tblog.com/templates/index.php?bid=shimmer&" target="_blank"http://www.tblog.com/template...;static=333391  The link to her post alone is above and beyond the requirements of Philosophy Monday.  But I also give you her words from comments over the weekend.  Feel free to chew for a while:  "Do any of us really see anything they way it is? Is there even a Truth to be had? or is that just an illusion for us to use to justify our own actions?"

Part 1 of my story took less than a day in real life, and part 2 took only a few hours.  The conclusion, however, may not have occured yet, and it has been difficult for me to proceed.  The story get's so jumbled here that it's really difficult to weave all of the threads together.  But I will try by abandoning narrative process in favor of outline:

I.  Huntington's Disease http://www.hdsa.org/" title="http://www.hdsa.org/" target="_blank"http://www.hdsa.org/ 
A heinous malady that affects adults in the prime of their life.  It's a genetic disorder that starts in your 30's or 40's.  It begins with destroying your cognitive abilities, then attacks involuntary movements, and always results in death.  When Jim was 16, his father's Huntington's disease had advanced to the point that he had to be confined to a care center in Denver.  The following is copied from the above link:  "Each child of a person with HD has a 50/50 chance of inheriting the fatal gene. Everyone who carries the gene will develop the disease. In 1993, the HD gene was isolated and a direct genetic test developed which can accurately determine whether a person carries the HD gene. The test cannot predict when symptoms will begin. However, in the absence of a cure, some individuals "at risk" elect not to take the test."

Jim could recall that before his sweet-tempered father left, he had become abusive and dangerous.  In addition, Jim was living under a possible death sentence.  This being 1978, the test did not exist.  Even if it had - would YOU have taken it?  Would you prefer to know? 

Jim had been the man of his house for a very long time.  A farmer's oldest son, and only 16 when his father was taken, he shared responsibilit y with his mother for the continued financial success of the farm.  This was no light burden.  He did most of the work, but left most of the income to his mother.  Then he moon-lighted to supplement his own share of the income.  I suppose what I am trying to tell you is:  this was no 24-year-old punk.  This was a man of character, morals and conviction.  (I see you over there, yeah you, the one in the glass house.)

II.  Small Town Culture
Also, the dynamics of our Colorado town were - well - kinda small-town. I'm not saying that all small towns are this way, but we were.   One of Jim's friends, also about 24, was married to a senior in high school.  So our relationship seemed to barely raise eyebrows.  My parents were satisfied - after all, he was a huge financial success compared to them, and clearly a responsible and upstanding man who could be counted on to do the right thing.  Keep in mind that my mother had never even talked to me about birth control by this time.  (I KNOW you're wondering what century this is...but REALLY, it was only 1978!!!)

III.  My Astonishing Promiscuity
As you know, this new sexual empowerment had come as a surprise for me.  And empty vessels are not easily filled.  I was an emotional sieve and I needed more and more affection.  Jim's overwhelming love for me was never enough.  And I knew, even then, that no matter what I did he would always forgive me.  That's not romance - it's tragedy.

IV.  Pygmalion and Galatea
It SEEMS romantic.  But aside from Bo Derek, most young intelligent women will outgrow their Svengali.  I may have been an emotional basket case, but I was also a National Merit Scholar.  Jim may not have been dumb, but he was "just" a farmer.  He wanted to marry me pretty much from day one.  We discussed it seriously, but I ALWAYS saw marriage to Jim for what it was:  a trap.  Pure and simple.  A leg iron attached to that small town that sucked my soul and left me dry and empty.  I could never take his offer seriously, no matter how much I pretended.  I knew he would never leave.  And I knew I was outgrowing him.  It was inevitable.  It couldn't have been stopped.

V.  The End
So our life was a constant drama.  Break-ups and rebounds. It seems I could never stay away from him entirely.  Even when I cheated repeatedly, had long-term affairs on the side, I knew he was always there for me.  College was the key - I went to college 8 hours away.  Too long a drive for him to just pop in on me.  I fell in love with a nice Jewish boy who was right there beside me.  He had all of the requirements to provide enough drama on his own.  I didn't need Jim anymore.  We broke up for good, and awhile later my best friend slept with him out of mercy.  She figured it was his last best connection to me.

VI.  The Aftermath
When I was 23, Jim was working for the town and he was caught in an electrical explosion at the plant.  He was burned over 80% of his body.  He was flown to Denver.  My friend called me and I called the hospital and spoke to his wife.  I was worried she would resent my call.  She didn't seem to.  They had no idea if he would live.  His chances were very low.  I also sent the $800 I had owed him for over 5 years with no apparent intention to pay.  He eventually recovered - but of course the scars and limitations will always be with him.  When my mom had terminal cancer 7 years ago and I came to help her die, his wife was a godsend.  A former friend of mine until a falling out in middle-school, she astonished me with her kindness.  She babysat (my kids were 2 mo, 2mo, 2, 4, and 6 then!!) and she brought food.  I had not remembered her as having such lovely character.  I remember before they were married, and I was visiting town once.  Jim asked me what I thought of her.  They were already dating, but he had heard negative things about her -  she had had a quick marraige out of high-school and then a baby by someone else.  I told him I trusted HIS judgement - no one else's.  Maybe he had told her that.  Maybe he just knows how to polish gems.  I don't know.  He adopted her daughter shortly after they married - an act of selfless love that still impresses me.  He's 50 now.  He's never shown any symptoms of Huntington's.  His brother died of related symptoms.  He's never been tested.

Initially, I wanted to write the story of how I met my husband.  But somehow I couldn't.  Not until I had told this story first.  This was the story of my first love.  But not only that.  It's the story of how I started growing out of childhood and started becoming a woman.  It's a story I had to tell.  Thanks for listening.

After that night, a door opened up for me.  I saw a way out of my dismal, lonely adolescence.  His name was Jim, and he was 24 years old.  Ten years older than me.  Today that would be shocking, not to mention illegal.  At the time, it never even occurred to me.

The next time I saw Jim, I had walked to the grocery store.  I saw his truck parked at the auto parts store about a block away.  My stomach tensed up in that way that can only happen to the hopelessly infatuated.  I went into the grocery store and bought my items quickly, hoping his truck would still be there when I left.  It was.  As I walked slowly across the street, he came out.  I stopped dead in the middle of the street to wave to him.  He grinned like a drunken man and waved back.  He wasn't embarassed to be seen waving to me!!  Certainly, I had known he liked me, but he wasn't hiding it!  If a boy in school had liked me (I had had only one boyfriend in a singularly dismal and hopeless tale best left untold) - but if a boy in school WOULD have liked me - he most certainly would have hidden it.  Or pretended that he was just being charitable.  But Jim was a man.  And he wasn't hiding anything.  He had no reason to.  He wasn't an insecure boy afraid of what his friends might think of him if he liked the unpopular girl.  But I suppose he should have been more afraid of what could happen between him and a 14 year old girl....

Jim got into his orange and white '69 Chevy pick-up and started driving my way.  Embarrassed by my forwardness and childish stopped-in-the-middle-of- the-street waving, I had continued up the street, trying to play it cool, happy just to have earned the wave.  But then Jim cruised up to see if I and my sack of groceries could use a ride home.  Um - oh yeah, we could!  This is when I first discovered that Jim lived only 1/2 block from me.  There was a single house between us.  Jim was a two minute walk from my back door....  My destiny was sealed...

I don't remember if this was the first time I went into Jim's house, or if it was later that day.  But I do remember clearly what happened inside.  I sat down, and he sat as far away from me as possible.  We talked for quite a while - about what I can't remember - just small talk.  And everytime I got up and moved closer to where he was, it wasn't long before he moved again - farther away from me.  It wasn't an obvious game of tag, but I could tell what was going on.  He was trying to play it safe.  But I was having none of it.  I needed his affection like a starving newborn needs the breast it's never known.  And I knew he was mine for the taking.  I had neither the patience nor the discipline to wait for him to make a move that he probably never would have.  So I broke the cycle of cat & mouse.  I got up.  I sat right next to him.  I put my face close to his.  And I kissed him.  HARD

Now keep in mind that I HAD kissed before, but only a couple of young boys - and not very often.  My mouth hurt for the pain of Jim's kisses.  I found out later, so did his.  In fact, it was a few days before I learned how to kiss him softly.  In my inexperience, I hadn't known what to make of the painful kisses - I hadn't even realized that it was my own fault.  But it didn't matter.  They were worth it.

How can I explain this if you have not felt it?  Or have you?  Has everyone?  Been an empty vessel for so long, and not even known what you were??  Not know that your purpose was to be full?  For me to say that this man loved me from the moment of that kiss on - no from even before that - this was no exaggeration.  My friends from that town say he loves me to this day.  They tell me that he would leave his wife if I were to show up and ask.  I do not believe them.  And I have no interest in testing their theory.  I don't believe them because I think that he has too much character to do such a heinous thing.  But I do believe he still loves me.  And strangely, I love him, too.  But only there.  In that time.  In that place.  He has no place in my life now, nor I in his.  I only write this now to explain the deluge that overtook us both at that time.  It seemed beyond our control.  And it changed my life forever...  to be continued...

An article in today's paper discussed the fact that some people are "fixers".  They like to go around righting wrongs.  These self-described superheroes have a problem however.  Most of them have a hard time making friends.  Think about it.  Who wants to be told how to be better all of the time?  At the same time, you're being told that you're not good enough the way you are.

Coincidentally, the column under that one was an advice column.  A newly converted health and exercise nut was asking how best to evangelize her new religion of diet and exercise.  The advice was succinct:  "Don't".  It's OK to answer questions or pleas for help.  But that's all.  Just because someone is complaining about how fat they are doesn't give you the right to tell them to "Step away from the double latte!"

Those of you who read me know that I also read you regularly.  I noticed that after an initial surge of readership after the GrrlPower/SoMe posts that my readership narrowed considerably and dropped to some regulars .  The regulars are most often people I truely adore.  Some of them are much younger than me - people that I think I can help.  But I began to realize that my soapboxing, well, wasn't really the best way to relate to people all the time.

Sure, when Ana says "What should I have done?", it's OK to say, "Well, here's what I think." - but sometimes people (like you, Montana) aren't always asking for advice.  And sometimes advice isn't welcome, period.

I wrote in someone else's post comments recently, about a sociologist who's seminar I attended several years ago.  His discussion was about how people treat others pretty much about the same as they treat themselves.  In other words, the bitter, critical person is his own worst, most bitter critic.

Well, I'm not bitter, but I am critical.  And I often follow the advice "If you don't have anything to say, then don't say anything..."  OH!  Did I forget to include the word "good" in there.  Uh, yeah....  That seems to be the problem, doesn't it?

Maybe I should stop trying to lead and learn how to follow.  Learn how to open my heart and close my mouth.  It could happen....

And it's time to pull out the orange-down-jacket encased DVD, pour a hot mug of cocoa with Baileys, and settle down into Season 1....

I was a little surprised at the comments to my last post.  I was expecting something more along the lines of:

• I'd go back to school to become a _______, or


• I'd start my own business doing ________, or even


• If money were NO object, I'd start/run a foundation to help people who need _________.

I got a couple of "travel the worlds" (oh yeah!) and a few "buy houses for my family".  But buying houses really only addresses what you do with money - NOT what you do with your LIFE (time).  The travel the world is negotiable.  I do know some people who dedicate their life to travel and manage to make a lifestyle or a career out of it.  So I suppose it might answer the question, but I fear that what most meant really was what they would do with the money (take a REALLY long vacation - but it's still a vacation, not a life).

I'm not trying to pick on anyone here.  In fact, the biggest reason I asked that question is I am having a hard time answering it, myself.  But I was actually quite surprised when I realized that everyone had a hard time answering it.

So, I'm askin' you ONE MORE TIME... what would you do with your LIFE, if you had no LIMITATIONS (such as lack of funding, debts, or other strings, (or fears???))?

Today is supposed to be Philosophy Monday, but I'm tired.  Busy weekend, Halloween and all.  I'm starting my little holiday job tomorrow.  Last year I put the money toward my daughter's trip to Australia.  This year, I guess it's just "Christmas money".  I enjoy the work, but I'm not looking forward to working.  It requires so much more planning to get everything done.

So - this isn't a philosophical question per se, but you can put a lot of thought to answering it if you want:

If you could do ANYTHING with the rest of your life, and money were no object - WHAT WOULD YOU DO?