swim beyond the imagery

Do you solemnly swear...?

As my mom reacted to some stimulus or other, it occurred to me that she was giving a rather good go at swearing. I believe there was a 'god damn' playing within earshot of me.

I've had my moments in the past, the teen and college years where every phrase must include 'fuck' in order for one to continue with whatever it is they are saying. Or rather 'fucking,' or 'fuckin.' Fucking fuckin fuck.

You reach a certain age, and that stuff fades out of your language - or hopefully fades out. It is sorta not good form to be tossing f bombs around liberally as your 2 year old is developing her language skills.

I'm reminded of one time when T, me, and our eldest - somewhere around 3 - are heading for my in laws home. T is driving, and a driver sorta kinda pulls out in front of her. This prompted a quick and decisive 'ass hole!' outburst.

Now adults are used to such commentary, we have an idea of wherefrom the frustration stems. I chose to be mute. There is a few seconds of silence. and out of the back seat, from the car seat back seat, comes a legitimate question: "mommy, why is he an ass hole?" Good call, R!

Now I'm 53, kidlets are no younger than 16, and no longer actively in my presence. They are of an age where language would be at its most colourful, one designed for friends, one designed for parents, and eventually the two merge, much to the consternation and increasing resignation of parents, inversely proportional to their age.

So they aren't the issue. Nope, it is my soon to be (28 August) 80 year old mom. She swears more than me. A lot more. Go figure.

Happy Birthday

26 years, 3 months and something like 17 days ago, I walked out the door of the house I lived in, turned right, walked 150 feet to the open end of the dead end street, turned right yet again, walked perhaps 300 feet, looked both ways, crossed the street, and followed the walk to the dormitory looming in front of me.

Walking in the door, I walked to the left wing (how appropriate) turned a corner or two, and stopped in front of a door. I've come this far, proceed, and my hand curls into a fist, rises, and repetitively and lightly raps upon the door.

It opens, the person standing facing me looks at me inquiringly. Interesting turnabout, given I am the one who is about to inquire. I was wondering if you might like to catch the movie playing at the student union? Sure, why not? And by the way, what's playing.

Young Frankenstein. Was there something eerily prophetic afoot here, in an you don't know this yet, but sort of way?

We went. We laughed.  And she didn't remember my name, though I would not know this to some time well into the future. What she knew was my roommie, yanno... the guy who is 6'4" and an actual honest to goodness All-American on our soccer team? Seriously. He later played pro. And yeah, women tended to remember him. So who is his roommie, anyway? That person I went with the other night?

That was a Sunday. I'm hazily thinking we might have fetched a round of beers at the school pub a couple of nights later - and this is where the name story actually came into play, where she had to make inquiries so as not look silly when we met up.

And two nights after that was to the local high school, queue in line, someone sticks a microphone in my face while in line asking who knows what political question. I probably gave some rather idealistic answer, after all... I was 21. We make it inside, and we watch the then president of the United States, Gerald Ford, speak for 45 minutes then switch to questions.

That was the first week. I really don't remember what happened thereafter. Well, I do some of it. Coming into my room after class and finding my roommie bedded down with his girlfriend, the one who vowed chastity until marriage, and let everyone know it. So much for that. I knew it was inevitable, because when he spent half the fall not speaking to her, it was me she turned to - 2 and 3 times a week - to suss and flush him out.

I left. So did she, not 3 minutes later. Roommie frustrated yet again. :)

Not long thereafter, and I mean within days, maybe a week... my new found interest is with me, in the very same room. Now this dorm room is a bit different than most, it was actually a room and an enclosed porch that was all glass windows above say... 3 feet. Our beds were on that porch. I recall clothes flying in accordance with chaos theory, and later, finding her underwear behind the speaker in the far corner.

In came my roommie. Karma.

At that time, February of 1976, she was clocked at 18 years and 8 months. Tomorrow she turns 51. And what matters now is not us, but rather the two daughters we parented together. She would never accept a birthday greeting from me, it would be more of a find the fast track to hell sort of rejection, so I'll send it out to the universe. Karma.

So happy birthday, T. And yes, you were dealt an unfair hand by someone living in another world. May the universe counterbalance the negative, and with every reiki session, some flows your way.

Healing 1986, guide healing 2008

22 years ago, I was working behind my home.

It was in late June as I recall, and a rather warm Sunday. Several days before, I had driven to Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston in order to donate platelets to the son of T's employer, who was suffering from aplastic anemia.

Upon doing a preliminary check prior to donating, I was informed they could not allow me to donate. "You need to see your doctor as soon as possible." The doctor explained why "you have an irregular heartbeat."   Now that was a bit unnerving.

So I call a doctor. He gives me a Halter monitor to wear for 24 hours. I do, and return it to the doctor. That was Thursday. Three days later, I'm digging out the slope behind the house, which sets upon a hill. I'm doing this in order to create a level area for a future patio or some such creation. As I dig it out, a stone wall is also created to hold the part being filled.

As I worked, my chest began to hurt. I'm 5 days from this warning, 3 days from the Halter. I'm scared silly. We call the doctor, who informs us to get to the hospital in Nashua (40 minutes away) immediately. We go.

I walk into ER, tell them what is going on, and they immediately react in terms of a possible cardiac issue. In no time, I'm in a bed, hooked to machines, and... seeing the lines jump all over the place. "Yup, you've got something going on" a nurse muses. Open that sky door, I'm coming!

They run a blood test for enzyme evidence of a heart attack. They admit me. I'm moved to intensive care. I'm 31 years old. The monitor is unnerving, because each skipped beat is bothersome. If I lie still, it calms, if I start moving or stressing, badoop. Great.

My doc shows and tells me what will be happening going forward. Monday finds me undergoing various examinations through technological means. At some point in the day, the doc outlines where we are. "You haven't had a heart attack. I suspect you have an issue in the valves of your heart. He explains... sometimes the valve doesn't shut properly, and it leaks. This leaking can be heard - the murmur your family doctor told you about as a child. (My sister has this issue, and I know maybe a smidgeon about this.) If so, then we'll run a scan after you do the treadmill. A radioactive dye will be injected into you, and we'll trace it after you come off the treadmill." This will be done the next day. I'm relieved, more accurately... hopeful.

Relatives are all over the place. Two years before, my daughter was here - being born.

The next day, the test is run, and it is confirmed, but there is delay. I'm released on Thursday. I run into another doc, apparently an associate, who casts doubt on the diagnosis. I don't recall the words, but the way he said it left me with the impression he disagreed with my doctor. And it is this which leaves me spooked at length.

It impacts everything I do, most especially diet. Fatty foods are toast for me. Whole milk is gone. I'm a royal pain in the arse, diet wise.

And it pretty much stayed this way all through the 1990s, and into the new millennium, though with some moderation. And then came my  other meltdown, end of a relationship, moving out...

and a casting to the wind of any dietary caution.

In 2003, my cholesterol level was 149.

Two days ago, my endocrinologist sent me an update on my hormone levels. With it came a warning to contact my physician. Your cholesterol level is 259. Your bad cholesterol level is elevated. Your good cholesterol level is in normal range. He recommends medicating.

I really don't wish to medicate. So I wrote to my primary care physician, yet to receive a response, and outlined the issue. With it came my plan. I'm returning to my dietary methodology prior to meltdown, with some improvement and some room for creativity in food preparation. I intend to take this out through diet - providing my doctor approves, or lets me give it a try.

I'm not spooked, I'm disappointed in myself for getting so haphazard about this. I'm resolved. Past experience tells me I will do this, my inner self tells me I will stick to it. And I will make use of Reiki to keep me focused on my goal.

I miss you

Last Friday evening was typical for the once biweekly deposit of my biweekly salary. I sat around here toying with the computer, about to make the short drive to my old home, this in order to drop off child support. I deliver. :) And the reason is simple: it is needed. It gets there immediately.

Last Friday night, in that time prior to leaving, proved anything but typical. A message flashed at the bottom of my screen. Hmmmm, is from K. I click to open... now the font she uses does not jive with the background I use, so in order to read the message, I have to highlight it... there are five short words.

"Dad, I really miss you."

You can stop a truck with those words. A breath. A heart. Mine.

Another line forms. "Would it be ok if I spend every other weekend at your house?"

You don't have to ask me twice.

Now for the record, my daughters are the only two people out of 6 plus billion on this planet who can call me 'dad' and have me totally kewl with that usage. They have the right. I don't give a shit what anyone else thinks, don't care if they use the term in a restaurant (they have) they are my daughters. I love them unconditionally, they can call me what they wish.

This is a big step.  This is a big hurdle to overcome.  It won't be easy, because a week is a long time. A week after 5 years is a longer time. It takes readjustment to new circumstance to just make that first step. I have no idea if we do this this weekend, the weekend after, or a month from now. I've even been pondering wearing one of my iVillage hats with my hair tied back if that will ease the reconnection.

Sunday was spent cleaning up a room for her, moving furniture around, having it functional... and when she comes on over, we'll set to her putting a personal touch on things.

Is funny... I've really found a good place to help me move forward with life with reiki, and as I work with that (right now, I'm doing a session each night, and part of me could delve into it all day, such is the pull) along comes my daughter's request. Both have left me smiling, both have me smiling.

And funny... I miss her too. Does anyone have any idea what it will be like when I get out of my car seat, go to the passenger side and set, whilst she takes the wheel? I'm going to lose it, will lose my ability to guide to the liquefying of my vision, so she had better have good driving skills. :)

16 for the road

As I've mentioned, our youngun is now in the midst of driving lessons.

A new development is afoot, that of an automobile. I've been contacted to seek out my opinion on what I might fund towards this endeavour. The request is for me to cover insurance costs, whilst the actual car cost will be handled there. The reason cited is the need for mobility for sports, volunteer work, school, and the fact we both happen to work a good distance from home.

I'm somewhat amenable to this, however with limits. I really cannot blindly agree to such a cost; my budget is limited, and so too must my contribution to this cause be. If need be, that is if this proves unaffordable overall, I have given my usual arrival time back into this area at night, and am available at any point for parental taxi service.

We shall see where this might go. My work puts significant miles on my car, so it was my intent to pass the car off to her in two years as I moved to a new one... I like the idea of a couple of years car-free.

Happy Birthday!

My youngun turned 16 today, or rather... will turn 16 in 56 minutes. I'm not going to write much beyond this, other than projecting my love toward her. This... is just a private moment.

Happy Birthday, K.

Mobility approaching

Of course I knew it was coming. How does one fail to know where the calendar lies in relation to the life of one's child?

I've been well aware of the approaching date - well aware over the last few years, anticipating its arrival, offering my services in the training.

16 is coming. Drivers ed. Children with greater freedom. Mobility. Responsibility.

Every parent both relishes their next step to adulthood; every parent fears making it through this time. I'm no different.

I'd love to be involved in teaching K to drive. I taught her older sis, and relished the trust developed, even as she was occasionally frustrated over driving a manual. Ultimately, license in hand, the cars she has purchased to date are manuals. :)

With K, there is an added element of worry. With diabetes as a complication, with a history of severe reactions, I worry over low blood glucose. It is essential she carry something she can ingest that will quickly raise blood sugar. K is a very happy soul, always a smile, always go with the flow, and sometimes I worry this can impact knowing she has to eat regularly.

It is kewl we are here, but I'd feel a whole lot more confident if directly involved in the education of our young driver.

Training starts in 3 weeks. I've agreed to pay for training, gladly. Everything else is not up to me.

Anonymity

Facebook is not a favourite because of its policy of actually putting you out into the ethersphere.

There is a place for lifting the veil, and we do so privately with anyone with whom we conduct business. Where I have a problem is with public information available to anyone.

This once again came to mind based on recent incidents I've been privy to. Anonymity can be a shield that harms, and it can be one that protects. The key is being able to break it down when harm is in the air, and protect when protection is warranted.

I like to share stories of my life; the highs, the lows, the joys, the pains, the struggles, the achievements, what goes through my head, what I strive for, stories of the past, present, and perhaps even potential future. And some of this information, were my name publicly attached, would find its way to my former partner, where it could cause undo pain and yet more suffering, instead of being a therapeutic endeavour for me.

Not my intent, and anonymity to the internet helps this be. And those who need to know, or who know me, have the info, anyway.

I've seen the uglier side of this over the weekend, not much more can be said, it is speculative, but spooky. It leaves one thinking, as well as hoping anonymity is not sufficiently established as to preclude efforts at safety for the general public, or the one.

Things that interest me...

We generally go about our day putting thought into how to accomplish something, but rarely into what makes us stop and take notice. When scrolling around the internet, or when out and about, what catches your attention?

Here is my attempt to try and sort through what my mind does automatically...

History, all kinds of. The traditional kind some of us love to study, and some of us hate to study. The little visited and or suppressed kind, like women's history. Personal history - please share what makes you who you are, I'll listen. My family history, or personal history. History was a co-major for me, along with Sociology.

Feminism and feminist issues. I've been interested in social issues most of my life. This one is near and dear to me, likely rendered more significant by virtue of my taking the long, winding road to womanhood. Whether the information is an article on actual issues, a specific person, or a novel that touches on and perhaps incorporates a feminist element, I'll be interested. If only Bitch  were monthly, sigh.

LGBT issues and community - shut out and away for so much of my life, the connections established here were like finding where I belonged for the first time.

Politics - I've voted in every major election since turning 18, and have read newspapers since I was in middle school. Not going to change now.

Science - closet science junkie. OK, I'm no science wizard, but the thought of reading through Discover, written for the average lay person like me, is a very pleasant one.

Sports - almost a lifelong Red Sox, Celtics, Patriots, and Bruins fan. Of the four, I'm most naturally drawn to the first two, my real sports passion. If only we had a WNBA team. In the doing? It has been years since I've sailed, but it always appealed, the peacefulness of gliding along in the water. Cross country skiing was always fun, now not done since say... 2001 or so, the last years of marriage.

My daughters - this is no ranking of importance. They and their doings will always be of utmost and primary importance.

Our pets - their unwavering  love and loyalty has meant much along the way. Candy, Cinder, Logan, Sparkles, Licorice, Wellington, and Bailey.

Music - without music, it is difficult to imagine where my life would be. When most everything else would leave me clueless, a pathway would most often be found through music, a language my mind somehow understands.

Spirituality - a late comer on such a list, over the last several years it has become vitally important to me. And we'll leave it there.

Writing - I love to write, but have let my skills atrophy a tad over the past year or so. Separating work from play is sometimes difficult, concise writing versus painting a picture writing.

Communication - Living so much of life with feelings bottled and capped, removing the containers and walls opened up a whole new world.

Travel - flying used to scare me silly. I now miss it. And driving? Commuting almost 100 miles a day for 28 months still has not curbed my love of the drive.

Weather - another long time passion. As with science, there is so much fascination to be found in weather. And that is in terms of subject matter. I love rain, used to love snow, love warm, detest cold, love a warm summer breeze.

Gender - this one is tricky. I don't often seek to read books related to gender dysphoria, but shorter, online news and articles will generally interest me.

Shopping - OK, I love to shop. End of story.

Refreshments - For the love of a good beer.

Food - can you say 'enchiladas?'

Language - UK English, please.

Reading - a great passion, lost to me for a few years during the worst of my dysfunction. It is nice to have it back with me. A subset of this is what I choose to read. At one time, Clancy was a must read. Now... reading a Clancy novel through a whole new set of eyes, and the the right wing, misogynist pov reeks from the pages. And working on borrowed time, I look for the works of women first.

There are lots of things undoubtedly omitted, ah, but editing is a very useful feature at times.

NORAD watch

It first came to our attention in the 1990's, not long after we had our first full time internet connection.

I'm uncertain whether it was a television news report, magazine story, or article in a newspaper (most probably the latter) but I set out in search of NORAD Tracks Santa. Beaming with achievement at finding a functioning site, my daughters and partner were quickly and excitedly called into the room.

Everyone thought this was kewl (and truth be told, I loved the more basic versions of that time) but watching the expressions on K's face... priceless. More than once I had to hide away tears as she excitedly watched the monitor, asking more questions than her mouth could keep up with. This child was into it.

The updates then were on the hour, what you would have in between were clips of the various hourly updates. And when Santa had cleared Europe, on his way west towards the North American coast, well... the real show was watching a child believe heart and soul, in that so precious innocence that leave us all too soon, imagine something mysterious and wonderful was unfolding in front of her eyes.

What is left is the memories of a child robbed of her innocence all too soon, and by no one else but me, a parent who succumbed to my own mysterious and not well understood mind. That does not make me a bad person, and it does not taint this memory.

Now NORAD knows a good thing when it sees it. I imagine those who work there, people whose job it is to watch out for harm which might head our way, find welcome relief and joy in putting together this annual event. They have used the tools of the digital age to create one more way to make a child smile.