Iguana Dreams

I don't like reptiles, but this post gets its title from the iguana because it changes colors to blend in with its surroundings for survival. Dreams are the stuff of both sleep and waking imaginings that keep a person moving forward. They are the big and little aspirations that futures are made of. When I was a girl, I dreamt of being a world class tennis player. As a teenager, to get through college, as a college student, to be smart and have fun, as a waitress, to not have to work at Sambo's on the graveyard shift and as an assembly line worker, to do something besides move my hands and arms in the same motion from 8am till 4:30pm as I listened to my mostly hispanic co-workers tell off-color jokes that I didn't understand as they also dreamt about their weekly paychecks, getting new carpeting and having better cars.

After I finished college, I dreamt of getting a good job and marrying for love. I wanted to enjoy the spoils of summers spent waitressing to help my dad pay for books and tuition that my scholarships didn't cover. I married for love and got a job with a good company and a less than satisfying role for the more creative sides of me.

For three years, I spent my days authorizing payments to people who had injured themselves on the job; some were malingerers and others had devastating lifelong conditions that limited their abilities to fulfill great aspirations. Money was their compensation, but I'm not sure it ever made up for the physical limitations that affected their lives. How can 500.00 replace a baby finger and 2,000. make up for the loss of a thumb?, or 200,000. make up for genitals lost in a farm machine accident and permanent loss of consortium with one's wife? I spent those days in an orange cubicle with large file folders, a telephone recording device to secure an account of how injuries happened and a ten thousand dollar settlement authority to make people I'd never seen face to face go away when the company had met its obligations under California law.

I dipped my toes into legal depositions, court trials, property losses and gin and tonic lunches with attorneys who represented our company. I considered going to law school at the time, but the sides of the law I had seen were full of delays, "sub rosa" contracts (private investigators with video cameras spying on people claiming injuries) and a kind of proffering that didn't sit well with me.

I learned a lot, but wholeheartedly disliked the workplace and all but a few people I worked with. Nobody "dreams" of working for an insurance company. I think everybody that ended up there did so out of chance and opportunity. The culture of my unit was cohesive to the extent that claims adjusters would clock out precisely at 11:30 to go to lunch and be back minutes before 12:30. These excursions were often to the Pizza Cookery where they served hot rolls made out of pizza dough till our salads came. My mid-life female companions used to fight over who was taking too much butter. That was one of many clues that I might want a change of course. We were salaried employees, but bound to ticking clocks, productivity numbers, unpaid overtime because we were salaried, three weeks of required training and company dress policy (if you go to the "home office" in San Francisco, suits are required, and only in gray, navy or black; no brown allowed).

My husband and I had our first child my second year into that job. I was nearly grateful I had delivered her by c-section because I got twelve weeks to be home with her before letting her infant self experience "day care." If I had delivered "naturally," I would have only gotten to be home for six weeks. In my marriage I was expected to bring income into the household. We placed her into the home of what seemed like a good woman and nice family for about three weeks until I witnessed the seven year old carrying her around, only to seat her on their big dog as if riding a horse. Frantic at that sight and other things that concerned me, my maternal instincts snatched that beloved child out of that home, breaking our contract while keeping my commitment to this beloved child to ensure her a loving and safe environment.

I am fairly certain that God and fate intervened with Sirvart, a middle-aged Albanian woman who was expensive, but only took children ages two and under. My daughter received her first "socialization" in a gated room empty of furniture, full of learning toys and five little friends. She had regular naptimes and diaper changes, and when ready, healthy natural lunches made of delicious vegetable and chicken stews Sirvart served lovingly to the babies lined up across her kitchen in six little high chairs. There is something about "knowing" one's child is okay that makes it less excruciating to work away from home, despite the unpeaceful rumblings in a mother's heart that go with handing any child over. I never liked it and felt pangs of worry and self-consternation that continue to this day.

A set of circumstances converged to change that course and give me relief, radical clarity and newfound happiness. The company was "downsizing" and rumors spread like a game of telephone in our office of roughly 200 people. Line managers who had spent nearly 25 years with the company were to be let go. My line manager was pregnant in her late thirties with her first child and worked up till the day before her child was born and returned to work only two weeks afterward. Two male line managers who were married with families got wind of the layoffs; one of them drove his car off the cliffs at Mugu Rock into the Pacific ocean, and another shot himself in the chest on a weekend in the office building attached to ours. No job is worth taking your own life. And no job is worth sitting at your desk until labor starts. As remarkable as this all sounds, it is true and this diabolical cluster of "adult" decision making gave me the permission slip I needed four months into a pregnancy with my second child to leave without so much as a glance back. I would be home with my first daughter for several months before my second was born, and I would be free of the dark energies in that place that consumed people's vitality and hope.

The only person who wasn't happy about my decision was my husband, who worked overtime tending bar to pay the bills. He never said too much to me about it, but grew more angry with each passing former payday. He was under substantial pressure to provide for us and was probably too tired and dumbstruck about what to do about it that he simmered through the birth of our second child and my neediness for adult company when he came home. Ironically, I loved that time with my babies.

They did new things every day, cracked me up and made every second worth it when they smiled. I bathed and powdered them, dressed them in adorable clothes, handed them over to their grandpa when he popped by allegedly to see me (only I knew better!), enjoyed their naptimes, mealtimes, new discoveries, imaginations, speech learning, first steps and endless hours with Runaway Bunny, Dr. Seuss and the "B" book that I think I have memorized to this day.

My first born loved men, strangers, friends, relatives and talked it up with all of them. She was also Daddy's girl; he called her "pea pod" and held her in the crook of his big arm as she found comfort in feeling his five-o'clock shadow, playing with his ears and hair and testing her leg strength on his leg. She moved quickly and constantly, watered my carpet through the open sliding glass door with a water hose, checked for a moon every night, changed shoes and clothes several times a day and paid attention to every detail of everything around her. She noticed ants, pill bugs, fresh paint and curling irons. She wanted to see and touch it ALL.

Baby sister posed new challenges and lessons in parenting. She didn't like everyone and made that clear when someone she didn't know entered the room. She loved sitting in one place and arranging things--a farm house with animals, magnetic alphabet letters on the refrigerator, and doing things carefully with sustained concentration. She, too, loved the crook of her Daddy's arm as they sat quietly, in harmony with each others' character and style. She was quiet except when she chose to exercise her lungs and vocal power. She knew how to walk well before she showed anyone she could and when she began to speak, it wasn't in the garbled language of her own, but in clearly pronounced words or full sentences others could understand. She accepted the frequent hugs and direction of her older sister, knowing that they were companions at bathtime, mealtime, bedtime and naptime.

I lived a dream in those days, full of familial love and intention. I could have continued living that way for a very long time, but an earthquake of magnificent proportions created a time for new dreams and practical solutions to be conjured, leading in new and unexpected directions that would change all of our lives forever.

Rooted Spirituality Without Walls

I work at a midwest Jesuit, Catholic institution. I came here from Salt Lake City, Utah, famous for its Temple, Tabernacle Choir and a child to adult population ratio among Mormons that rivals marginally developed nations. I grew up near the Southern California coastline, which is dotted north and south with Spanish style Catholic missions settled earlier by Father Serra's peace seeking Franciscan monks.

My childhood church life was spread between Trinity Presbyterian in Camarillo and several Southern Baptist places of worship in California's Central Valley. Presbyterians are muted, sedate and reserved in their worship. The minister reads from the Bible and speaks in metaphors, informed by book learning and life's experience. Southern Baptists sing with every decibel of vocal power inspired by a hymn's messages, people file to the front of the church to surrender to their faith in God and and publicly ask for grace. And Preachers dunk the most faithful, fully dressed, dolled up followers head to toe in clean, blessed water. I'm fairly certain Aunt Bea, Aunt Nea, Aunt Wanny, Aunt Chick and Aunt Gay had their sins washed away at some time in their lives, but I can't think of anything they had ever done that was sinful. Whichever way it goes, I have never heard voices so loud in praise or song as my beloved aunties.

When I went to church with Mom, I remember three things--that she looked pretty, I sat between my brother and sister, and we had trouble keeping ourselves from laughing--mom included. I know more than that happened, but those experiences connected faith to putting your best foot forward, being surrounded by people I love and laughter.(Dad didn't go because he was watching "game films" or believed he had enough church during his youth to last a whole life).

When I went to church with my aunties, I was delighted for their attention and embarrassed by the way that everyone could hear my Aunt Wanny's baritone "Amaaaazing Graaace. . ." above every other pew's chorus members' and the preacher with the microphone. There, too I had trouble keeping myself from laughing, though I know and respect that for "insiders" it was then and is now serious business.

These experiences shaped me as a "person of faith". I joined the Presbyterian church sometime between the age of ten and thirteen--much too early to know what or how much I was committing--yet I still identify with that church and Presbyterianism. I identify with my aunties and Granny through their deep faith in God's principles and lived devotion to them. I do not believe it is any accident that in my work life I have landed in places where faith and spirituality are supported.

In rare instances, strangers and family members alike have tried to influence me into some kind of religious "conversion". Yet in eighteen years at a Jesuit-Catholic institution, no one has ever offered to convert me or tried to. Despite that, I have been invited to mass, spiritual retreats and an immersion trip in Mexico, all of which helped me connect my work to faith. I am fully accepted, in fact, welcomed lovingly here and do not feel pressure to make any kind of conversion. I wouldn't if I did, anyway. I am a person of great faith in God--the One who belongs to everybody--not only "true believers". I pray all the time, especially when I have an issue that's twisting me up. I know that in due time, that prayer will be heard and answered in a way that will only make sense in retrospect. I feel like I receive God's grace all the time. I am contented in this universe of spirituality without walls, weighted in place with lessons of love, devotion, song, humility before God, patience, laughter and unreserved acceptance.

To be continued. . .

So I have resolved to find ways to fill the void I inherited through life's natural seasons. I went to Jamaica three times this year to be alone and escape being lonely. I love the beach, sunshine and people of the island, but did not expect to find anything but a good book, clear ocean swims, a rum drink now and then and time. I needed days without a watch, car, cell phone, dean's attire, helicopter parents, young people with unreasonable expectations and faculty who act like the young people they are supposed to be mentoring. I needed a temporary "retirement" to allow what I have lived work its way through my heart and muscles and under-fit body. I discovered that Jamaican men love a round woman like me. Neville the chef discovered me and became a magical distraction from everything that hurts with a red motorbike, fresh air and solitary Jamaican roads into hilly areas of Negril. We lost ourselves in reggae blasting pool halls, a clear and isolated waterfall, salted fish, beef patties, fresh fruit, plantains, rum drinks, red stripe and laughter.

I lost myself in the rhythms of his Jamaican expressions, "good vibe," "what's up, sweetie," the speed of his movement and speech, and my own need to be myself for no one but me. I'm not very good at it yet. I have spent decades setting aside want-to's

for have-to's, though my mother would probably disagree. I am spent with restraint, delayed gratification, shame from my own failings and others' deep cruelties endured. I have run myself into this wooden fence of brokeness because I have not allowed the time or space in my life to feel it all. There is no singular source of this shattering, but splinters of motherhood, diabetes, professional demands, broken promises, gut twisting betrayals and genuine misunderstandings. In e

ach of these splinters, dreams were lost and new ones were conjured. God and my cigarettes have carried me through, but I only want to let go of the latter. I haven't quite found anger or forgiveness because I don't know the places they should be directed. All of that said, I have lived as fully as a woman could possibly live. I have had happiness beyond measure, and loved and been loved in ways I cannot imagine doing anything with but cherishing. I have my "place" in this world and yet I do not feel it. I want to be a presence for myself and only then can I be the kind of presence for someone else that I would like to be someday.

A New Day!

Just when I think I will never feel well again my old, tired bod surprises me. I survived the chills, fatigue, hours of sleep and basic crappy feeling. Also made it through an appointment with an orthopaedic surgeon that I needed to see about my knee. The word orthopaedic doesn't scare me, but the word surgeon does. I held out as long as possible, but escaped with a prescription for six weeks of physical therapy and a good prognosis. These things just take time. So I took my 25.00 off coupon to the shoe store and bought a couple pair of flats. I have to "dress" for work and I've been seriously limited lately. I have one pair of "flat" work shoes and they're black and white plaid. They can only go so far. . ha!

So. . .dear ones, this will be short; it is late, I need to go to bed and Dana Carvey is on the Tonite Show. He's so funny it's difficult to focus. And it's a good way to let my brain rest before the morning comes. TGIF tomorrow! Back to life, philosophy and blazing a new trail another day.

Blecch. . .

I am a very bad invalid. I have been down with a flu for four days. I am weak, cranky and worried because despite the rest I've been getting, my knee is still not getting better. Ortho's office tomorrow and back to work Thursday. I have been living on shredded wheat and soup through this clamminess, fatigue and sensitive stomach despite my faithful use of vitamins and gallons of liquids. I hope I am getting to the other side and just don't know it yet. ick. Better days ahead, so do not worry dear daughters:) Love, Ma

Going Back to Go On

When I got married, I was absolutely, totally and completely in love. Both of my daughters were born out of that love. I know I married the right man for me and for them at the time and still believe that now. It is possible (however sad) that I never remarried because when I took those vows, I only expected to take them once in my life in front of God and the rest of the world. Things change, people change and it's ancient history and almost irrelevant what happened to separate us from each other emotionally and physically.

However, divorce is costly in so many other ways. Nobody wins, but when it needs to happen there is no question and no other choice. I've had friends on the verge of divorce at times and I've always said, "if you don't know 'for sure', then don't. If you need to do so, you will know it without question". But the fallout is huge. Everybody loses something, and it is not limited to the couple that finds they need to separate from each other. I "lost" a family that I considered to be mine for a very long time--not out of any loss of love for them all, but out of respect for their need to support their son and not to interfere with their loyalties. They have never been anything but kind to me. They and my family have a strong connection. Both of our parents lost each other for awhile. I never really thought about it till now, but he lost my family in a similar way, and they "lost" him out of a need to support me, yet they love him as the father of my children, and my dad lost a really fun companion. My mother lost bragging rights to her handsome and personable son-in-law.

Yet the children had us all, and we all nurtured the kids from our respective places in their lives with our best efforts. They still "lost" from that separation, but survived the differences and (I believe) are now able to give equal weight to both families and both parents. Despite the inevitability of their confusion, suffering or divided self-understandings, our daughters in adulthood have come to the best outcomes possible.

The only happy surprise (and it's a monumental one) is that the children borne of that marriage have kept us linked in the most important way. My husband and I both did stupid things out of immaturity, limited problem solving skills and very real differences in our life paths and personalities that neither of us probably fully understood until we reached ages that guided us toward our most important passions.

I believe in retrospect that we could not have succeeded in following those paths together in mutual support and understanding. We have done it side by side at a distance, coming together thirty years later with mutual respect and not having done more damage to each other along the way. I am very grateful to him for that and proud of myself. This may never have happened if we had not had our children, and that may have been a loss I wouldn't have known about if it weren't so. The kids are the "glue" that has reunited our families with great joy, genuine care and lack of resentment (as far as I know).

Thirty years gives a person time to reflect, gain perspective and a more mature understanding of others' lives. I did and said stupid things during that thirty years, but looking back I am grateful that none of it in relation to their father or his family was so damaging and/or unforgivable that it hurt the kids.

My daughters lived through my badly stretched responsibilites and our household of three where one child was bound to always feel as if they were not getting the love or kind of attention and understanding they deserved. In some instances that was a fact of their lives, and I don't know for sure, but possibly a fact of the life of every child, even in a two-parent household. There is no way to change it now except to hope in thirty years they may understand better.

At times I have been riddled with guilt for having brought them into a world of a two parent home and then we changed the rules. I also probably overcompensated at times for that guilt and subsequent choices made because I had to make a living somehow. I did not take an easy road, and they had no choice in the matter except to ride along with me. Paradoxically, I did it all for them--so I could make a living that allowed time to attend parent teacher conferences, concerts, swim meets and plays, and so they could live with a mother who came home happy from her work life. I was able to do those things and am proud of that. They also had a mother that grew stronger, more confident, self sufficient and probably a little less healthy than I would otherwise be because of the consistent, long lived strain. I know for a fact there were periods of time in my daughters' lives where I was overoccupied, too stressed and stretched beyond the confines of what one mother could possibly do. Now, I can only hope and plead and beg that they have learned something positive from my limitations and failings that affected them.

Time and life have shown me that no child grows up in a perfect home and no parents are perfect. Perhaps the greatest cost to children of divorce is an instability and longing experienced that parents who stay together don't impose on their young lives. The reward for those children may be a kind of self-sufficiency and resourcefulness learned out of necessity in addition to the extra effort dedicated to them out of parental guilt.

I needed to go back "here" now because I don't know how to go forward. I have given my whole life to kids and work, trying to create some stability in an unstable situation. For better and worse, I managed to do it. But now I live alone; I began living alone for the first time in my life at age 45. I think I spent the first five years of that experience in shock and awe, replacing that emptiness with work and sleep as my body began to show the costs to my health that the prior 25 years had engendered. So I spent time organizing my linen cabinet and experienced great surprise when all the towels were as I had left them. I spent time riding my bicycle because my kids had given it to me. I spent time adjusting to "visits" where I was no longer able to say much about comings, goings or curfews. I spent time being a more conscientious auntie because I had the time to remember every Halloween, Valentine's Day, Christmas, birthday and significant event in my niece and nephews' lives. I spent time hanging out with my parents, loving their company and having them get to know me "alone". When I brought the kids, I got to be wallpaper, as is generally the case (and much appreciated) with proud grandparents.

So here I am. When I got ready to start "living" again, I think I overdid it because of the pace I had been used to. I am looking forward to my first five consecutive days off that have not been spent traveling. The only time I have taken away from work, I have been ill or lugging a suitcase and boarding a plane to escape. It is probably time to sit still with myself long enough to "be" because no matter what, "wherever you go, there you are". I am here on this page, revisiting this woman-child who needs abundance, joy, connection, love and companionship. Those are the most meaningful and fulfilling experiences in life. I get them at work, but don't want to make 51 East Pearson my only place. I need my daughters more than they know because as much as I love my work, I will always love them more. Yet they both need at this time in their lives to have a primary connection with their husbands and my grandaughter. I don't mind riding in a backseat to give them every opportunity to make their lives work and thrive. Yet I am faithfully, always and will be forever their mother. And whatever and whomever they add to their lives, they will always and forever be my greatest, most abundant joy. They are a product of my love for their father, so any companionship I find will have the richness of that experience missing. I am open to new and different kinds of experiences, but when a ship has passed, the bounty of its vision and presence is forever, no matter how dim its shadows on the distant horizon.