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One writes to make a home for oneself, on paper, in time, in others minds. Kazin
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| New and hoping to grow. |
| It's not that we are bored - We named all the gnomes and statues in the garden. And the mockingbird, bunny and groundhog. We still have discussions. I feel it was Mrs. Daniels that ate the tops off the margolds, he argues that it was Mr. Ditta. We still have things in common. We both whistle at Midnight as he flies from bush to tree branch to bush following us around our garden inspections. We still communicate. Just this morning he left me a note: "Dooley's hat is fading. Pick-up tube of yellow paint." |
| I noticed three women sitting in front of me, at a workshop on journaling through depression. They were rapidly shaking their leg the way EJ does. I couldn't help but wonder if they were seeking a way to easier and calmer days. Since EJ opened up to me I notice things about her that I no longer consider just a habit. She was easy to read all along -- now that I know. How is it that I couldn't see it then? How many years had to pass before I could be there to help and support her. All those empty looks I had collected from her I just tossed up as a typical teenage attitude. I remember being that way with my mother - I just assumed it was now my turn to be on the receiving end. I never knew or felt this emptiness, how could I have guessed it was more than I had thought. I remember taking a picture of her as she was lying on her bed with that "look". That look of not looking - blank - without expression - like her eyes were made of glass. I remember showing her the picture and telling her, "This is what I see all the time". I remember her telling me, "This is how I feel all the time". And still I didn't see. I didn't understand. I just threw my hands up and walked away, spitting out typical mom things about homework and laundry. Now seven years later I understand and I feel regret and fear. |
| We pulled up to the side door of the building. We were 15 minutes late and very stressed. My husband swears never to trust Map Quest again. There were a few young women, and several young children waiting. I grabbed one of the bags of groceries and made my apologies. The eight year old girl with the long blonde ponytail shifted the baby she was holding to her opposite hip and helped me find the right key on the keyring I had pulled from an envelope. She lead me downstairs and showed me where the kitchen was. It was locked, another key to find. I set down the groceries and my daughter switched on the lights. I head back upstairs to gather the rest of the food. I noticed the crowd had moved to the bottom of the stairs. They were surrounded by bags that were filled with their own possessions. There they stood, quiet, patient, watching me. I realized they were locked out of their home. I opened the doors and watched as they filed in and made their way to some of the partitioned cubbies on the far side of this large room. In the middle were 3 large folding tables set up like a horseshoe, surrounded by folding chairs. On each side were living room areas, one had a tv. There was a corner play area filled with toys, and a shared bath and laundry area. The kitchen is off limits and is only accessible through those who volunteer. Four families were staying at this family shelter; 2 couples, 2 single moms and 11 kids between them, ages 10 mos to 8 yrs old. Mike started a game of Chutes and Ladders with the kids, while EJ and I got to work in the kitchen preparing dinner. The kitchen was packed with old pots and pans, a mix match of plates and stacks of food packages in bulk. It's hard to choose food for somebodies elses family. One dad told me they have to start watching what his daughter is eating because she is gaining weight and out growing her clothes to quickily. Seems pasta is made quite frequently. I'm afraid I didn't do much better in my choices. Chicken fingers, hot wings, french fries, mashed sweet potatoes, and corn with shrimp and red peppers. I did make a garden salad, but still feel like I failed to think of the big picture. The two over night hosts arrive as I was cleanng up. They check to see what they will be making for the brown bag lunches and if there was enough milk and juice for breakfast. One of the moms calls into the kitchen, she needs a diaper and wipes and one of the hosts unlocks a supply closet and asks which size she needs. It was 8:45pm, the kids ran to give EJ hugs and Mike high fives as we said good night. Mike had the most to say on the way home. How cute the kids were, and how he felt so bad for little Angelina and her sister who were covered with bedbug bites. I couldn't help but think about how these moms couldn't make dinner for their own families, pack their own kids lunches, had to ask a stranger for a diaper. How they have to leave after breakfast and are not allowed back in until 5:30pm, if the volunteer is on time. The shelter is a help, I know it is. But ... |
| I am sitting at the table in our Great Room trying to get caught up on my school work. My office is filled with all the work I need to get caught up on for the Missions Outreach projects that are coming up. One week to finish my 2006 budget requests, two weeks to fill all the cook and over night host slots for the Family Shelter, four weeks until the next Saturday outreach for the homeless, six weeks to finish making the Christmas cards for the "Camp Acorn" fund raiser. If I walk in there I'll begin to feel panicked. In the words of Scarlett O'Hara, "I can't think about this now. I'll think about it tomorrow." Mike is sitting in his recliner watching baseball. So far I am able to concentrate. The Phillies are up 3-0, but Atlanta is threatening with 2 men on and only 1 out. The whining and pounding and cursing is only one shallow base hit away. I am going to take advantage of the 3 run cushion of peace and get some work done. |
| "He's really not worth my time and energy anymore." - I hate those kind comments! In the real big scheme of it all, we may all seem small, but none of us are worthless. We are all, addict and non-addict, irreplaceable, special. Treated that way, it is my hope anyway, we can only help each other become what we are capable of becoming. My brother's worth is great. What is worthless is my desire to spend my time and energy on trying to control his life and his choices. On trying to control anyone's life or choices, for that matter, other then my own. After spending time working my program, I respectfully respond to my brother according to the boundaries I set in place for myself. I don't need to scold or yell or accuse my responses to him. To be honest I never did that out loud, but my thinking was often times along those lines, which of course is perceived. Now, both outwardly and inwardly, I respond out of love and respect for my brother. No matter what or where he is at. I rant not because I feel people who make statements like the above feel that their addicted loved ones are really worthless. It just brought to mind many expressed distinctions I have heard on addicts being useless, good-for-nothing, damaged goods ... The disease of addiction my brother struggles with saddens me. The sadness remains regardless of the progress I make. That it is that way is simply a fact. The change came in that it no longer holds me back. The main thing for me now is that I focus on my own growth. And as long as I keep the main thing - the main thing - then I will be okay. Feeling this way doesn't take away from my brothers worth - but it does add an importance to my own. "People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone." Audrey Hepburn |
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