Solstice

Dust of Snow

-Robert Frost

The way a crow

Shook down on me

The dust of snow

From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart 

A change of mood

And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.*

The Winter Soltice is upon us and I am grateful.  Every year I long for this date.  I love winter.  I love the quiet in the cold.  And while I know it's not snowing, I'm hoping that it soon will.  My soul needs a good snow.  A white blanket of peace fallen to the Earth is exactly what my unsettled heart needs.  Welcome winter.  As the trees sleep so shall our spirits, in reflection, as we await the spring.


* Chris had to choose a poem to memorize and recite in class this week.  This is the poem he chose.  It's one of my favorites, so I was thrilled.  Though I should say that the only reason he chose it was because it's only two stanza's long and he wanted one about snow because he is wishing for snow as much as I am.   His teacher set up the classroom like a "coffeehouse" and they all snapped after each poem.  What a cool teacher!   I really wish it wasn't completely humiliating for parents to go into a middle school classroom.  I really wanted to see him recite this.  My boy, stretching his cultural limits a little more each day!

Caroling

My girl has been doing a little more confidence building this month.  She was part of the cast for A Modern Christmas Carol.  Her face shines a little more with each performance she does at the playhouse.  She truly loves being there.  I love that she has found a place to grow and build friendships.  I love that no matter what her role, she gives it her all.  I love that she wants to get there early and lingers when it's over.  After this last performance, she's officially on holiday.  (And yes, she says she's on holiday.  She's on a British kick.)  Even though she knows she needs this break, she is already excited to get back to the playhouse in the New Year.  Every time we run into one of her theater friends, they start chatting about the spring musical.  They are all ready to start auditions and rehearsals.  It's their world and there is no where else they would rather be.

I'm so proud of this girl.  She is beautiful inside and out.  

Gifts Unexpected

Even though our family is not whole most of the year, I am thankful that we have managed to come together on holidays to celebrate as a family.  Even if it means celebrating Thanksgiving a few days early.  Or answering other people's "Isn't it awkward...?"  questions about being together on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  I'm thankful that we don't find it awkward.

I'm thankful that my childrens' father knows me well enough to know how much holiday time means to me.  He knows how much I need this holiday time with these three we made.  He knows I need it down deep in the very essence of me.  It's who I am.  I'm thankful that he acknowledges that part of me by letting me be with my children on those days, often sacrificing his own time with them. (He doesn't have to do that, but he does it anyway.)  I'm thankful for Skype and Facetime that allows us to be "together" even on those days.

I'm thankful that even through our hurt and loss, we can come together for our children to show love and kindness and grace. And after all isn't that what this time of year is about?

I'm thankful for a time of year that allows us to put aside all of the other life stuff and focus on what really matters.  Family.  And I'm thankful for the countless other times throughout the year when I realize that even though our situation is far from ideal, I know (from looking at others in similar situations) that it could be so much worse.  Despite our own weaknesses, we are trying our best to make sure that the kids are raised well.  And I'm thankful for God's grace to cover the rest.

Gifts Hard Eucharisteo

There are some things in life that seem too awful to be thankful for.  To really look at your life and be thankful for where you've come from can some times seem ridiculous.  It's much easier to look forward in the light of harsh life realities.  To be thankful for the moving on.  Why be thankful for hurtfulness?  Why give credit to the pain?  We're told to be thankful in everything, yes, but I think there is something deeper to being thankful for the hard times.  Looking at those times and seeing how it's made you who you are frees you from the baggage of it, in a way.  It's not that it won't always be with you, or that you won't feel the pain of it anymore.  But thankfulness frees you from the bitterness.  And so with that in mind I write this letter.  Some of you aren't going to like it.  But that's alright.  It's honest and its where I am.

To the one who couldn't love me,

I use to lie awake at night and listen to cars go by.  I would wait for one to pull into our driveway thinking you had changed your mind and come home.  

On those sleepless nights I would replay all of the things I would have done differently.  All of the ways I would have been better.  All of the things I would have said or done to be enough for you.  

I'd hold my breath and wish you back.  

I would have taken you back.  I shouldn't have, but I would have.

And for a time I cried, and sank, and was convinced that this was all my fault.  

Until I realized that it wasn't.    And then I got angry.  Angry with you for leaving.  Angry with myself for loving you, the one who couldn't love me.

Now, I'm not crying, but neither am I angry.  You're now just a part of my story.  A past part that I'm through writing.  Except to say this.  

I'm thankful that you left.  

In your leaving I was able to stop trying to be who I thought you needed me to be and to start discovering who I was meant to be.   In the years since you've left, I have become more confident in who I am than I ever was with you.  I have begun to open doors that I thought were forever closed to me, doors that I had convinced myself I was alright with never opening.  By leaving, you prompted growth in me.  Growth that I didn't even know that I needed.

I thought being your wife was enough.  And yet you made me feel like I was never enough.   

Without you, I have become a better mother, friend, and woman.  I'm thankful for who I'm becoming without you.  

Ironically, I think you would have liked this woman.  

We got married too young.  We both know that.  We were kids who didn't know who we would become as adults.  But I knew you were a work in progress that was far from perfect.  That our relationship was a work in progress.   You should have granted me the same. 

Though, if you had, maybe we'd still be where we are.  Maybe I'm not who you ever wanted.  Maybe who I would never have been enough.  We can't know these things.  We're left with the choices that were made.  In light of those choices, I know that  I needed this time.  Time to cry.  Time to be angry.  Time to grow.  Without you.

The End.  

Personal Movement

I CRIED over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman,
the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things
come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go,
not one lasts.

- Autumn Movement by Carl Sandburg 

An Imperfectly Beautiful Year

Drop the last year into the silent limbo of the past.  

Let it go, for it was imperfect, and thank God that it can go.

- Brooks Atkinson

The old year has gone and the new year has begun.  This past year is one that I will always remember and one I will always long to forget.  Looking back through our pictures from this year was a bit shocking.  The year has become such a blur.  I was surprised by how much has happened.  How many things have changed.  How much the children have grown.  How different our life is from what I thought it would be when we began the year last January.  Some growing up.  Some moving on.  Some heartbreak.  Some love.  It has been a very full year.

In January, snow covered the ground.  The boy was in his element.  My spunky, little sprite turned six.  The snow melted but the ice remained.  Our marriage walls came crumbling down.

In February, the kids made sweet Valentines. Steven officially moved out.  I relied on good friends and family to keep me from falling apart.  

In March, we donned green and played leprechaun.  I learned to cook for four.  Sicily discovered a love for roller skating.  The boy built a mouse-mobile and vowed to never do Odyssey of the Mind again.  We welcomed spring.

In April, we escaped to the country, we played with ducks, and went to the aquarium. We had an Easter egg hunt.  Sicily daydreamed her way through soccer.  Analiese became town commissioner for a day.  A violent storm left piles of glass around our front door and the little one hasn't slept through the night since.

In May, we picked strawberries and made jam.  Steven and I started counseling.  We stopped counseling.  I started to lose hope of my husband ever coming home.  My brother-in-law got into a horrible wreck that paused their lives and determined our summer plans.   Sicily danced through a recital and the other two presented their artistic side.

In June, the kids finished the school year with field day and ice cream.  I stepped into my thirtieth year not wearing a wedding ring.  My sweet, dramatic Analiese turned eight.  I moved into a new house with my kids but without my husband.

In July, we went to Arkansas to help my sister and her family.  We watched fireworks there. Chris turned eleven, officially a pre-teen.

In August, we went to Dallas and Legoland.  We said good-bye to summer and hello to a new adventure.  I went back to college. The first day of school arrived and Chris started his last year of elementary school.  We inherited a dog.

In September, autumn arrived.  We went to festivals.  I realized trying to go back to school full time, work part time, and be a full time mom all at the same time is an exhausting endeavor.  Sicily started gymnastics and loved it.  Analiese started piano and drama.  She found her stage.  The boy stepped up around the house, proving a maturity beyond his age.

In October, I fell apart emotionally as the loss and heartbreak really started to sink in.  Chris ran a race with his dad.  We carved pumpkins and I went trick-or-treating with Rapunzel, a hippie, and a butterfly queen.  I found out that my baby sister is going to have a baby.

In November,  the anger of the heartbreak set in and I felt the shift from holding on to letting go.  I gave thanks with family that I love, people who refuse to let me sink.

In December, I finished my first semester of school, and I finished well.  Analiese performed brilliantly as a toy soldier.  Sicily earned her first medal as a gymnast.  We celebrated Christmas as a whole family.  I realized I wasn't angry anymore and I wasn't holding on anymore either. We took a walk in the woods.  We saw family.  Winter came and with it a death of the old giving way to hope for a new future.

And now it's January 1 of a new year.

I thought today was going to be hard for me.  It's our anniversary.  The brilliance of scheduling your wedding anniversary on new years is that should it not work out, you get to start every year in a bad mood.  Unless, you don't.  Unless you wake up and surprise yourself by being OK.  Unless you wake up and realize that a year later the heart you thought was broken forever might just be on the mend.  Unless you wake up and see this new year as a chance for a new start.  Then you might just smile through the tears.

Today I'm dropping last year into the past and thanking God that I can.  I'm letting the process of moving on really begin.  I'm letting go of what I should and holding on to what I can.

I can't see what the year ahead holds.  I don't know what I'll be writing at the end of this year.  That's the fun of the adventure.  I do know that I have three beautiful children that I love, family that supports me, a new dream to work towards, and I'm going to be alright.

Happy New Years everyone.

Heartbroken Man Hate

I'm feeling a country-star approved level of heartbroken man-hate this week. My line has been crossed. I spent a lot of time wearing nice and understanding. It hasn't gotten me anywhere. I think I'll try on angry for a bit and see how that plays out.

Really, I'm not a long-term anger kind of girl. I'm the melancholy, cry it out and then" put on a good face" sort. But short-term, serious, Scotch-Irish anger, that I've got.

So today feels like a day for a little music. Heartbroken man-hater music. Don't you agree? Here's one of my current favorites. Enjoy

Purgatory

I don’t write much because you don’t want to hear what I have to say. It’s not pretty or sweet. It’s cynical and dark.

You don’t want to hear that I’m still broken and hurt. You don’t want to hear that I can’t seem to move on. That I’m stuck in emotional purgatory. Maybe it’s me that doesn’t want to hear it. It all echoes in my head.

I look in the mirror and see only the deterioration this year has caused. The dark circles under my eyes from too many sleepless, tear-filled nights. (I should just stop looking in the mirror.) When I can’t sleep I rearrange furniture. I’ve lost count of how many time I have rearranged the furniture since I moved. The rooms feel lacking. It’s amazing how much space one person can take up and how irritatingly empty the space feels when that person is gone.

The only pictures I take are of my kids. I think I may have lost my ability to see beauty in the daily. I see beauty and life in them. I want to protect them. I want to keep them in a bubble that no one can pop. I know the impossibility of that.

Don’t tell me to get over it. Don’t tell me that I’ll be fine. I get angry at people who tell me to move on. It may seem dark but this emotional mire is safe. I want to hear sad, heartbreak songs. I want to reread letters. I want to cry. Coming out of it means it’s really over.

It’s really over.

It’s almost been a year. I know that I need to figure out what it means to be without him. I have to find stable ground. I’m sick of the voices in my head telling me that waiting is worth it. That he’s worth it. What am I worth?

I’ve decided purgatory is just an upper level of hell.

Scarred October

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,

Tears from the depth of some divine despair

Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,

In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,

And thinking of the days that are no more.

-from Princess: Tears, Idle Tears by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I was driving home today and noticed the colors of Autumn. Slight splashes of orange, red, and yellow have begun to appear in the trees along the highway I drive near blind from familiarity. They may have fallen and disappeared completely without notice if I hadn't glimpsed them. I feel that it's Fall. I feel my heart tugging at me prompting me to see, to feel. But I'm missing it.

Our life is a blur of movement. I drive, I listen to lectures, I come home, I take kids to activities, I work. If we're lucky we eat a quickly made dinner before 8pm. Then its baths and a story. Kisses and bedtime. And back downstairs to clean up and repack it all for tomorrow before I can crawl into my own bed.

We're in the process of transitioning from one chapter of life to another. I have to remind myself that transition is temporary and that, eventually, the new will become normal. But right now, as autumn swirls around me, I miss our old normal. We didn't pick apples this year. There is no apple butter. We've pressed no leaves because we've had no time to walk around collecting them. My house does not smell of freshly baked pumpkin muffins. I miss silly little normal things like that. But I also miss deeper things.

I miss having a partner. I've done transitional a lot in my life. But I've never done it alone. I miss companionship and sharing the craziness with someone. I miss going to bed with someone and waking up beside the same someone everyday. The same someone who understands the day ahead of you. Who understands the confusing emotions in the loss of the old mingled with the excitement of the new. Who understands that sometimes you just need to cry and sometimes you just need to sit down.

Maybe October isn't passing me by. Maybe I'm ignoring it. October has big heart-shaped scar right in the middle of it. A scar I'm not ready to deal with. I don't just miss having a partner. I miss my partner. I miss the normal I use to know with him.

But there's nothing I can do about that. So I'm ignoring it and transitioning.

I know I've been quiet. I'm here. Well, not here so much as somewhere. Somewhere, moving on, raising kids, and letting October fall away like the leaves that define it.

The Quiet Arrival of Autumn

autumn arrived this morning

shrouded in mist from a cool night's rain

ground still damp, and already leaf scattered.

summertime took its leave on

sweet, crisp air that carries my heart

to hushed places of reverie.

there is a quiet in autumn warmth

of peace mingled with departure

as the earth slowly curls back within itself

seeking solace for a time.

and I, with it, retreat to gentle meditation

of what was and what has come to be.

let grace fall in golds and reds

and still the ground with composure.

On Finally Turning Thirty

Most people don't know how old I am. In fact, on Sunday when people wished me "Happy Birthday" some were shocked to find out that I was only thirty. My oldest "baby" is almost eleven after all.

I'm told thirty is hard for some people. Me, I just shrugged my shoulders and went on with my day. When you start your twenties already a wife and mother, you kind of miss out on all of those typical twenty-something things that all of your peers are doing and jump right to the typical thirty-something things they all look forward to doing later. So in a way, I've felt thirty for the last ten years. That would bother some people. (In fact, I know of someone that bothers deeply to the point of crisis.) But I see it this way: I got everything I really wanted in life. Only I got it early.

That said, my twenties were full of both joy and hardship. Lots of hardship. And I'm certainly not entering my actual thirties the way my twenty-year-old self thought I would. I've been thinking a lot about that naive twenty-year-old girl. She had no idea what was coming but if you had asked her I'm sure she would have given you a picture of complete marital and parental bliss. The next decade would prove to her that bliss is overrated and possibly unachievable. Instead she would learn that life is actually more of a roller coaster of ups and downs that make it much more exciting than continual bliss.

My twenty-ninth year has given me the chance to start a whole new chapter of my life in this decade. (It's taken me a while to say given, and not "slapped me with a whole new chapter of my life".) For starters, I'm stepping into my thirtieth year not wearing a wedding ring. Certainly not something that twenty-year-old girl saw coming. In a week, I'm moving. Just me and the kids. I'm going to walk into Lowes the week after that and pick the first color that makes me happy and paint my room without the opinion of a single other soul, just because I can. I've never done that before. A week after that, I'll be registering for classes. I'm going back to school. Also something that twenty-year-old never thought would happen. I'm getting a degree in Illustration, because when I really looked at my options it's the one that makes me the most excited. Making a major decision like that on my own is also something I'm not familiar with.

I'm looking forward to this coming decade. Where my twenty-year-old self was certain of what my future held, my thirty-year-old self knows not to make such silly comments. I don't have a clue what my life will look like at forty. But I'm OK with that. There's adventure in not knowing.

One thing I do know is that I have a good life. All I have to do is look around the dinner table at my three crazy sprites to know that. We're going to be OK.

I like thirty. I think I'll wear it well.

Today

Today is not a good day
Stranded in the heartache
Watching all the world race
And pass me by
Like a wave on the ocean
Comes a flood of emotion
And it can't go unspoken
No, it can't go unspoken one more time
We fall apart just to come alive
A broken heart can shatter all the lies
A brand new start and a goodbye
We fall apart just to come alive
But this is still a good life
Standing in the Sunlight
Scattering the long line
Of fear and shame
Cause underneath the surface
There's a heart and a purpose
And I swear that it's worth it
It's not in vain
We fall apart just to come alive

We Fall Apart - Bebo Norman

Winter

The air around our house is stale with winter. So I threw open the windows to let in something fresh. As I did a petal fell from the dying roses by my bed. Small and seemingly meaningless, yet I stared at the fallen petal wondering at the symbolism.

My heart is dying from the cold of winter. I need a little spring.

I got a babysitter to come that very night and went out for the first time since he left. I've been everything around this place, alone, for nearly two months now. I needed a minute to breath. I melted into an arm chair at a friend's house and laughed and forgot for a minute my upside down world.

I came home feeling refreshed. I kissed each sleeping child on the forehead with a smile. Then I made my way to my own room and came face to face with those damn roses. Still by my bed, dying. I can't escape this winter.

A Painting For My Heart

First Kiss, Bouguereau

This painting has been above our bed since the first day we moved in together. We chose it because they fit us. He the passionately aggressive one, always trying to pull me from within myself. Me the guarded reserved one, unsure of how to give myself to him. That's who we were. We've grown up since then and this picture has begun to haunt me. It rips at my heart for the boy and the girl who were. I wonder who they would have become on a different road.

He left a few weeks ago. The split has been on the horizon for awhile now. One night as I crawled into bed alone I realized I couldn't stand to sleep beneath this picture any longer. So I took it down and turned it to the wall. It's who we were and in a twisted way it's who we are. He's still passionately aggressive but it's aimed at a place outside of me. And me, I'm just a different kind of guarded. I'm jaded. I live that reality daily, I don't need the visual reminder. But then I found myself curled up beneath a wall of nothing. I felt my heart go numb from the loss. So I moved the bed.

He came back last week. But that picture will never go back on our wall. It's not who I want to be. It's wrapped up in too much hurt. I need a new picture. The problem is I don't know which one this story will lead me to choose.

My heart wants it to be this one...

Duy Huynh

...but I fear the distance and hurdles to reach this embrace are too great.

So will it be this one?

Moment of Clarity, Duy Huynh

Walking a new road alone?

I'm waiting on the story to unfold.

Falling

I sat down to write thinking surely I had something to say. I thought for certain I would write a poem of melancholy depth that would tell you how I'm feeling. But instead I restarted and scratched out more times than I can count. None of it quiet right.

The winter has turned dark and cold and I think I'm frozen. No art today. No words. All I seem to be able to do is stare out the window at the falling snow. It's fallen all day. Big, white squares falling so fast at times I grow a bit dizzy. I just can't stop staring at it, and not a single thought in my head. The boy is sitting here with me, also staring. It's oddly mesmerizing.

We built a snowman earlier. One of the neighborhood kids ran through him though and he's gone. It was kind of a mean and selfish thing to do after all of the time we put into it. Maybe we'll build another. I think we need the distraction. We're both a little lonely and grey.

Cheers To An End and A Beginning

For last year's words belong to last year's language.
And next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.

~T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"

I wouldn't say this year has been bad. I wouldn't say this year has been good either. I would say this year has been challenging. It has been a year of growth. And of growing up. It has been a year of set backs. It has been a year to reevaluate. And reevaluate. And reevaluate. It has been a year of heartache. It has been a year of deep sacrificial love.

This was the year the baby bird flew the nest. The year she took off to a new world outside of our home. The year she started kindergarten. This was the year she found her best friends. (A feisty mess of sprites they be.) This was her year for independence. And the year her independence left her needing a lot of mama snuggle time. This was the year she learned to ride a bike. This was the year she learned she likes having wheels to exert that independence. This was the year the ocean didn't scare her. This was the year she started learning to read and add and write her name. This was her year for growth.

This was the year the middle one was pushed, maybe too hard. This was a year of tears. This was the year she drew on, sculpted, and built with at least 200 cardboard boxes. This was a year of fairy magic and nature appreciation. This was the year she learned to ride a bike. This was the year she learned that she doesn't really like riding a bike. This was her year to need shelter and comfort. This was the year she got her ears pierced. This was the year she soothed her soul with the ocean. This was the year her best friend moved away. The year she made a new best friend. This was the year she read A Little Princess. This was her year for challenges.

This was the year that marked a decade for the boy. The year he heard the phrases "be respectful" and "be nice" and "go to your room" more than he cared to. This was the year he found his creativity. This was the year he sculpted a dragon and filled a sketch book with drawings. This was the year he read novel after novel after novel. This was the year he watched Princess Bride and liked it (something his mom thinks is key to be a well rounded person). This was the year he was put in the honors class. This was the year he learned that while honors may mean extra privileges , it also means extra work. This was the year he rose to the occasion. This was the year he grew into the same shoe size and T-shirt as his mom. This was the year seeing his mom cry made him pre-teen moody face soften. This was the year he learned that doing that right thing can leave him feeling left out with his friends. This was the year he needed more wisdom from dad than care from mom. This was the year he started growing up.

This was the year that Steven and I...well I don't know what to say about us. This was the year we reevaluated everything. Everything. This was the year we went bankrupt. The year we learned our family could not only make it, but thrive on very little. This was the year we fought hard. This was the year we loved hard. This was the year Steven excelled at work. This was the year he really knew he had found his niche, his calling. This was the year he worked three jobs to make the income from that calling livable. This was the year he sold his motorcycle. This was the year my last baby went to school. This was the year I started to accept that she is really my last baby. This was the year I learned to make strawberry jam. This was the year I let the ocean soothe my soul. This was the year I needed a lot of soul soothing. This was our year of set backs and break-through. This was our year of heartbreak and deep sacrificial love.

I'm ready for the new year. And yet with each new year I want to slow down time. I'll turn thirty this coming year and my son will officially be a pre-teen in the coming year. It's cliche, but childhood does go by far too quickly. As does life. I have many resolutions for this new year but that's for another day.

For now, let me just say "Cheers!". Cheers to the new year. To new opportunities. To new beginnings. To new growth. To new joys.

And thank you. Thank you for reading, for commenting, for supporting this somewhat melancholy, sometimes muddled woman. For loving our beautiful mess.

Happy New Year.

I Like Him

" The course of true love never did run smooth."
- Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

We went out this weekend to celebrate twelve years. My date almost fell asleep in his etouffee. He's been working so hard lately. Have I told you that he's working three jobs to help make ends meet? We cut the date short and came home so that he could crash. I wasn't upset. It made me laugh. He is a good man. And even if we don't get as much time together as we'd like sometimes, at the end of the day we fall into the same bed. Our toes touch and it's enough.

Our's is a story in which the above quote is certainly fitting. We have run a hard course in so many ways. Maybe getting grounded for breaking curfew after our first date was an omen we should have given more weight. But that porch swing kiss stole my heart. And I've never gotten it back. No matter our trials or our joys, I'm just simply his. Because after all these years he's still the person I run to when I'm excited and when I'm sad. I still love to bury my head in his chest. I still look forward to him coming home at the end of the day. I still want to go on dates with him. He still makes me laugh. He takes care of me and our kids. He taught each of our children to ride a bike. My children love him and I love him for that. He is still my very best friend.

As much as I am his, he is mine. And though our course may never run smoothly, it will continue.

Last night we curled up on the couch to watch Food Network after experimenting with different ways to cook mushrooms. The whole scene made us the picture of an old married couple. But we're an old married couple that still finds great companionship in the other. It's one thing to say that I still love him, but I think it means more to say that I still like him. And I do. I like him a lot.

He's Good In His Space

My day was open, so I decided to go to the courthouse today to watch my husband work. He walked me through the hallways showing off his space. It's a home of sorts for him and he smiled as he showed it off.

When we got to his courtroom, I slid into a bench and watched him ease into the fray. Like so many flies, the defense attorneys hovered around him vying for attention. I felt myself tense for him and wanted to swat them all away. I would have snapped and told them all to sit down, wait for their turn. But he dealt with them all in turn without a pause between. As he spoke he tossed papers into what seemed to be a very purposeful pile of disarray. If someone asked for one of those papers he could pick it out from among the other hundred without a glance down. I saw him as a master of multitasking, a skill he feigns not to possess at home.

He carried an air of cool certainty as he sorted through the lot of people. His walk was determined and no-nonsense. I watched him diffuse some issues and stand firm on others. I noted he still fidgets with pens.

He began to call out names and I found myself intimidated by the confidence in his voice. He commanded his audience. I felt my old timidness come to the surface. If I had been in there for another purpose I would have found it hard to speak to him. Though, Mr. DA was pretty attractive from my vantage, which left me restraining a flirty giggle. The lady behind me got asked to leave for that.

The whole scene is a mess of humanity. It's a lot to take in. My eyes wandered around the room at the emotions in play. I watched the defended, the guilty, the remorseful, those who felt wronged, the witnesses, the prosecutors, the deputies, and the judge. It was a hive of bees all buzzing out of sync and yet in rhythm. It's a muddle. Through the mix I listened to my husband question and object. I listened to the authority in his voice when he gave statements and the exasperation in his voice as he discredited the irrelevant or the downright stupid.

It was a morning that left me smiling in pride. He's good in his space. He's unfrazzled and comfortable there. He is action and calm. He is both intimidating and likable. We have been married for over ten years and I'm happy to say that he still impresses me.

Thanks for showing me your space my love. Oh, and in case you missed it, I still think you're a seriously attractive man. We'll be using that "Mr. DA" thing later.

Toasting Bankruptcy

We took our little silver dog, moved him along the board, and landed on Park Place. Then we turned over all of our money, mortgaged all of our property, and still didn't have enough to stay in the game. So we were declared bankrupt.

If we had just finished a game of Monopoly we would laugh about the loss and go on with our life. But we weren't playing Monopoly.

Yesterday we went to a little room full of stressed and angry people. It was full of well dressed businessmen and betrayed, divorced women. Older couples who just couldn't hold it together any longer and young couples who never got a chance to try. One by one we were called in front of the group to tell the world we were down on our luck. We heard our names called and sat down at a table where we raised our right hand and swore we were out of money. The man before us looked over our case, gave us a smile, and said, "alright, you may go". And just like that we were bankrupt. Our debts forgiven and the freedom to move on was granted. Nineteen months after listing our house and nine months after actually selling it we are free of the beast.

I pushed through the double glass doors and wanted to scream into the wind at the top of my lungs. But we were on the streets of uptown Charlotte and I might have given the blue shirts a heart attack. So I waited until we got home and I cried. I cried relief.

We have a long way to go and a lot of residual stress to deal with, but a big chunk of our wall was broken down yesterday with a big sledgehammer called bankruptcy. I never thought being declared bankrupt would let light into my life. But "I never thought..." seems to headline every event of my life lately.

So raise a glass to us. We're bankrupt. Cheers.

Weightless Hope

I stood in the shower until the water fell cold on my head. I feel so unstable right now. We are standing on a foundation of glass. I'm afraid to breathe for fear of shattering it.

This last year and a half has left me much like a beaten dog. I flinch when someone tries to reach out and touch me. I'm skeptical of hope. I want to see a future. I want to see light in the distance but the hindrances block the view. I see things dark and feel myself anxious. I'm running out of oxygen, but I just can't stop to breathe.

I fear I'm drowning in this new normal. I can't love hard enough. I can't be good enough. I can't mend fast enough to stop the unraveling. I carry unrest in the pit of my stomach. When will I feel safe again?

My beaten heart needs a refuge. A home. A place of healing. A place to breathe. The shepherd's words draw me back from the edge of melancholy and remind me of one who knows my heart, knows my hurt.

I cry out to the Lord:
I plead for the Lord's mercy.
I pour out my complaints before him
and tell him all my troubles.
For I am overwhelmed
and you alone know the way I should turn...
You are my place of refuge.

-psalm 142

I pour out on my knees. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

It turns out hope doesn't weigh enough to shatter the glass.