Goodbye!

 Making it official! I'm remarried now (a week ago!), gloriously happy for the past six years, and I need to step away from the past and just keep moving forward. I am also retiring next week, and am thrilled at the prospect of having more time to pursue the creative activities I enjoy so much...so there may be a whole new blog in my future, maybe even an actual website!

Life is amazing, and I am blessed in so many ways. My kids (all adults) are thriving. Relationships are healthy and generous and full of love. My soul is liberated in so many ways, it is a very freeing sensation. I am reminded very frequently, that I made good and correct choices in my life. My confidence has returned. I am rewarded with so much love, so much admiration, so much pure support and caring.

Goodbye, and I hope you enjoy your hard-earned lives!

Happy Independence Day and New Experiences

Today is the fourth anniversary of the day I threw in the towel on our marriage. I like to think of it as my very own independence day. 4th of July was a stressful time for me, because it was a drinking holiday. But that is far behind me now, and I can get back to really enjoying this holiday, with family and friends, and fireworks, and love.

Last Sunday (July 1), I had the most incredible experience as a storyteller at our theater's bi-monthly production. The theme of the evening was "Makin' Whoopie!" and the curators are close friends of mine, and they asked me to share a story. I've never actually written something from start to finish, with the point of actually presenting it to an audience. I was a little put off by the topic, because I didn't want to get that personal, so my original intent was to write a charming little piece about how parents sneak in some private time with youngsters in the home. We used to tell the kids we were cleaning our room. But then I found out I needed ten minutes, and I didn't think I could pad that many extra minutes into that story. So I started writing, with the goal of not editing until I got it all out. I shot for ten pages. Writing is like vomiting, there's no point in cleaning it up until you've gotten it all out. So I was very pleased when I got my ten pages. It was almost 3500 words. And then I found out from the submission guidelines that they wanted 1500 words max. That was my motivation to slash and edit. I remember feeling satisfied, when I would think I had cut all I could cut, and then I would ask myself...what is the goal of this story? What are you really trying to convey?...and then I would slash some more. By the end of it, I got it down to 1492 words, and it was 8 minutes and 14 seconds at my audition reading. This whole process is very much outside of my comfort zone. I wrote something, and then I read it out loud in front of strangers! WTF!? So, I got two notes on my audition...and they were easily remedied by adding a couple of the cut sentences back in. Then I got the email that said they had accepted my story, and I would be reading it at the production. I'm surprised at how proud I was, of myself, not just because of the writing, but because it was my story, and I've neglected my ability to tell a story for far too long. This is some bucket list shit going on. So I showed up to the tech rehearsal, and they informed me that my story would be closing the show. What?!? They usually bring in a well-seasoned storyteller to close the show. Wow, wow, wow! So Sunday night was the performance. I was much more calm than I expected, maybe because it was my own story, and I wouldn't have to remember cues and marks. It was sold-out, with a row of extra seats. It was a delightful evening of music and stories. When my turn came, I had that hollow sound in my ears, where I could hear my pulse inside my head, and I stepped up to the stand, I looked at the audience, and I took a calming breath, and then I started my story. I was able to look at several of my friends in the audience at various times during my story, for support. The audience was so quiet, but they laughed at all the right spots. And they were very generous in their applause when I was done. So many people, men and women came up to me, with hugs, and to tell me that they loved my story, to tell me they had the same or a similar story, and one lady, who was quite older than I, told me I am her role model. I shared the story with one of my co-workers, a gentleman whose opinion on writing I respect very much. He was bowled-over by it! So this experience has been extremely gratifying for me. Very much. For many years, I've thought I wanted to be a stand-up comedian, but now maybe I will be a storyteller.

I'm mulling over changing the name of the blog, since this blog originated with the title of a poem my wasband wrote for me/us. I need to learn WordPress anyway, so I might as well create my own website with a blog. #goals

Enjoy your Independence Day. Stay safe out there!
~L

Hiccup?

My former husband and I have been working together producing our annual theater showcase of one act plays. For the first time in several years, I am actually enjoying the process of working with him. Last night, I commented to one of my older lady friends, that he hadn't even annoyed me yet. She smiled and said, "It's because you're happy. You've really moved on."

Yes. It's true. And then I was tested. He's been stopping by my house to pick up our daughter for rehearsal, because she's going to run our tech. So he casually mentions that he took some of my plant pots. Excuse me, what?!? Who does that??? I told him those are mine, not his, and he can't borrow them. But I'm not 100% certain that he took my response seriously. So I'm going to have to draft a calm, polite email, letting him know - - yet again - - that the stuff at my house is my stuff, and is no longer a holding place for anything that used to be shared with him. Gee whiz, why is this so hard for him to understand??? Fortunately, this makes me laugh and shake my head more than inciting anger or agitation, which it used to do. This time, it literally cracked me up. *sigh*

A rant about cultural & ethnic appropriation

I hopped onto my social media, wondering who or what I am supposed to be angry about today. It's Orwellian, gotta get in my two minutes of hate.

Racial and cultural appropriation is the topic du jour. I could argue either side. Yes, it's a problem. But appropriation is going to homogenize our cultures into that proverbial melting pot, and we'll all lose whatever made us unique, right?! Because, as  I've always wondered, are we the same or are we different?, and what is the ultimate goal, to be the same, or to be different? For my whole life I've wrestled with this question. I don't wear a salwar kameez, even though I think they are gorgeous and seem comfy! I don't think another cultures' clothing should be fashion. I remember the day I made that choice, about 15 years ago. As a Latina, I had conflict as a teenager, over not being Latina-enough, whatever the eff that means...being surrounded by cholas and asked "why don't you dress like a Mexican?" and knowing your smart-ass retort is probably going to get your ass beat..."ummmm, because my sombrero would get in the way?" (credit: my friend Luana)

I want to get to the place where a POC (person of color to my less-progressive friends) can audition for a play and be considered for any role. Because if the play is Of Mice and Men, it's defeating to know you will only be cast as Crooks, not Lenny, or George, or Curly. Think about that. Seriously, if you don't understand the concept of inherent white privilege, you need to stop and think about that. But how do we get there? I read a great article yesterday, I wish I could find it again, but basically the writer was Vietnamese and he talked about being made fun of as a newly-immigrated youth, for bringing weird, smelly sandwiches to school in his lunch. He was embarrassed, and ashamed, because all he wanted, like most teens, was to fit in. To not draw attention, not be a spectacle, and in order to do that, we must assimilate, step away from our cultural and ethnic touchstones. So assimilate he did. And now, years later, his friends are raving about some great new restaurant selling these delicious bahn mi sandwiches, and asking him if he's ever tried them, and it's a perfect example of what non-POC (aka white people) don't get about this...it becomes "acceptable" when a white person recognizes its charm or value, but until then it is strange, foreign, or scary (a reason to alienate). In other words, it's assimilate, assimilate, assimilate, until non-POC declares "Oh! How charming this is!" and then it's acceptable. That is the part I think is frustrating POC, and non-POC aren't understanding.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I love other cultures. Appropriation is real. Marco Polo brought noodles from Asia, and now everyone equates pasta with Italy. Tuna are being overfished, and some breeds are at risk of extinction, partly due to the appropriation and mainstreamification of sushi. Tattoos are appropriation. Piercings are appropriation. Braids & locks are appropriation. Are those appropriations worse than turning other cultures' holidays into reasons to get drunk? Because people seem okay with that. I consider those more of a bastardization than an appropriation. We all have touchstones of our culture. I make tamales at Christmas, and every so often I like to go to the panaderia and keep a big plate of pan dulce on my table because it reminds me of having a lot of family in the house. I prefer Ibarra over Abuelita. The way I make huevos rancheros is the way my mom makes them, and the way my Nana made them, but they are not the way I have ever seen them in any restaurant. On the flip side, I spend more time learning to speak Swedish and Mandarin than I do Spanish. My family did not celebrate Dia de Los Muertos, but after seeing the movie Coco, I might have to appropriate a little piece of my own culture *sigh*.

Here's the thing: we're all fighting and tearing each other down, feeling unheard and misunderstood. Meanwhile, the powers that be are happy we are so preoccupied by the sturm und drang of the day. Think about that. It take energy to search, research, read, form your opinion, comment, respond to comments, defend, attack, belittle, etc. Energy is precious. Meanwhile, they are riding roughshod over our civil liberties, and making a mockery of our Constitution. They, the fake news makers, keep stirring the shitpot.

Make up your own mind about what is or is not offensive to you. Don't let social media pressure you into fighting a fight that doesn't need to be fought. Because if anyone really gave a damn, or if they were really and truly interested in correcting offensive wrongs, then people would be outraged by the French manicure! The French manicure is an iteration of a French bath, slang for when someone douses themselves with perfume rather than bathing. So, painting the tips of your nails white to hide the filth beneath them, and calling it a French-anything reinforces that old stereotype, that the French don't bathe enough (when in actuality, Americans probably bathe too much lol), and should be retired already. #stopcallingitafrenchmanicure

Life goes on, and on, and on...

Today is the two year anniversary of our divorce being finalized. It's still a process. I still have some of his stuff in my garage, and in my shed. I try not to lose patience, but it still jabs at me in a very sensitive place. My heart feels hurt, because part of the trade-off was he chose beer over the comforts of our (now my) home. And my heart feels he shouldn't continue to receive the benefit of even his junk having a place in my home. But my brain says "m'eh, not worth it. That's not what it was about. It was about addiction, you can't take it personally." So that's the emotional tightrope I trod on a regular basis. I keep thinking it will be gone once all his stuff is gone, but I can't really be sure. I want to forget and let go of any hard feelings, but sometimes I think I shouldn't ever forget, or shouldn't ever let it go.

Meanwhile, life goes on. And it's freakin' amazing. My kids are great. I have a great relationship with my daughter-in-law. My boyfriend is wonderful. We are planning a future together. I went through a phase when I was trying to forecast every single potential problem, but nothing ever manifested. I realized I was just doing that thing that I do, always being prepared to be disappointed, so I let it go, and I relaxed, and I'm just being happy for as long as I can be happy. I am blessed and appreciative to have someone love me so completely, who makes me laugh, and makes me feel wanted and needed.

I was driving around town last week, and it dawned on me that I haven't cried in a very long time. I was at the CVS parking lot, and I remembered I had been driving and crying back in 2011 in that same parking lot. I pulled into a space, and I called the EAP hotline. That's an "employee assistance program" they offer through work, where you can get help for mental/emotional/substance/legal types of issues. I spoke to a lady who answered the phone, and explained my miserable situation, and she listened and empathized, and gave me a list of local therapists I could talk to. I think I was eligible for six sessions, or something like that. It depends on the situation. I remember being so embarrassed about crying, full on sobbing crying, to a complete stranger over the phone. But it was also cathartic. And at the time, I really thought I was resolved to follow through. But once I came back to reality, I knew the time was not right. I knew I was going to have to carry my misery for a while longer, on one hand to protect my kids - - emotionally and physically - - and to use that time to hopefully reason with him to get help. Deep, deep down, I knew it was probably fruitless. Hope is usually postponed disappointment, right? But it helped me to maintain the correct attitude while I was resolute in keeping it together for as long as possible.

I don't cry all the time any more. That is a huge thing for me. I don't feel hopeless any longer. I am free, and I am happy, and I am loved, and I love.

That is everything.

An example of financial pettiness

Back in November, I made a post where I mentioned [...his...] financial pettiness, and I said I would give an example. This is one of the most fun examples, because I was able to be a smartass at the right moment.

More than a decade ago, I had mentioned that I wanted to take some citrus crate labels and decoupage them onto wood and have a citrus themed kitchen. It was little ideas like this that would inspire [...him...] to collect. He could never just buy a couple of labels for my project, no, he went out and started buying actual VINTAGE crate labels. I didn't want to destroy original, valuable labels. So they just sat in the garage, unused.

After the divorce, we never did the "you take this, I'll take that" exercise that many couples do when they are dividing their possessions. [...He...] took whatever without my input. So my kitchen gets painted, and I remember those crate labels. I was texting with him and he was going to come over and pull some more stuff from my garage. I said, hey, if you come across those citrus crate labels, let me look through them, I would like a couple of them. [...He...] replied, they are already at [...his home...] but he would bring them over. Then, about ten minutes later, he texts me with "you know, you can find them on eBay for about ten bucks with free shipping." I reply with, "but why would I buy them when I already own 50% of the ones that were in my garage?" His answer is, "Actually, I traded [...antique dealer...] with currency from other countries that I had from my childhood. So technically, they are mine." Oh! Okay! I see how that works! No problem. Basically, I think "whatever, dude!" and roll my eyes, because, hey, this is part of the reason we're divorced, right?!? Like, why would I expect better consideration from him AFTER the divorce, omg, that's funny!

Okay, so fast forward about a week. I have shared this story with my daughter-in-law. [...He...] is over at my house, going through the garage for more of his stuff, and he finds our old wicker picnic hamper. He asks if he can borrow it to take his current internet dating site partner (there was a slew of them) on a picnic. I immediately reply that he can  have it! Oh, and I have some stemless wine glasses that I can give him that would be perfect. I start rooting around in my sideboard to find the wine glasses, and then I am struck with the ridiculousness of the situation. I stand up, look at him, and say, "I can't find them. But you know, you can find them on eBay for about ten bucks with free shipping!" I have no idea if that resonated with him at all, because I know there is a very specialized wall that surrounds him, a shield which only filters through the things he is willing to hear.

But the look on my daughter-in-law's face when she heard my retort, was PRICELESS!

Happy New Year! Welcome to 2018!

Hey! It feels good to be back in the land of the living! I got the flu on Christmas Day, and had a very high fever that whole week, ugh! It was terrible. The week after New Year, I was still very low energy, and now I am struggling with a residual cough. It is a slow process the older you get, I guess!

Here is a poem I wrote some time ago, I just came across it and am happy it still rings true.

Untethered

to realize the thing you've conditioned yourself to never need

really does exist

and is actually vital

to find yourself lifted onto a wave so big yet so fragile

and the words you rely upon to express yourself won't come

because your soul is rejoicing and refuses to break the spell

to feel connected 

utterly intertwined

by the souls' delicate silver cords

to feel the jolt of a kiss

completing the circuit

that was dormant for so long

to be coaxed,

to surrender, and

to hear the voice inside your being

whisper so silently, now you are safe,

walls are not needed here.