9:09am Writing Practice 64° Boise
It was so warm yesterday and overnight, I left the windows open in the house and it's still only 73° inside. Outside is soft and welcoming, a light breeze stirring the branches of Stephen's tree and wafting in through the window next to me whispering sweet nothings about the beauty it has seen already today. And it's still early! It's a gorgeous, pure perfect day and I could be sitting out on the deck writing in my spiral but no, I have my butt firmly planted in my writing chair and I'm going to do my work and enjoy my life from here right now. Later today I'll be going out, I'm taking my bike to Pam's at 4pm so that she and I can ride around the North End and then find a place to have her birthday dinner in Hyde Park.
Today is Rocky's birthday, too. He's 12, but he doesn't know nor care about that so I'll just give him some love like I do every day and tell him how beautiful and wonderful he is so that he can agree with me and then carry on with his life. I expect him to be around for many years to come, he's in terrific health and showing no signs of decline so he could be end up being the world's oldest cat. He can stay with me for as long as he likes and I'll love him to whole time.
I slept plenty last night, got a solid 7 hours before waking up to pee at 6:15am, then back to bed and back to sleep until after 8am. I turned off the light at 11:30pm last night and went right to sleep. I took a half of a PMer because I just couldn't risk not getting the sleep I needed for all I have planned to do today. I'm a little muzzy and could willingly go back to bed a while longer but I'm up now and the coffee is hot --- I'll get over it soon.
After much searching through Granny's OreIda box, I found the stories
I was looking for and have been pouring over them, trying to piece is
all together in my mind and understand all the various relationships.
Seems that Had McDaniel died in 1881 and left his wife, Rachael, with 3 young
children at home at age 50. So I'm trying to figure out how his kids
were spread out so far like that. Here's the line up:
William Harrison McDaniel, born in September 15, 1832 in Virginia (Father was Joseph)
Rachael Riley McDaniel, born August 4, 1837 in Bay City, Michigan
They married on March 13, 1856
1) William, born May 18, 1857 (All 7 children were born in Michigan City, IN)
2) Samuel, January 17, 1862
3) Nellie, November 22, 1864 --- died in 1880 at age 16, buried in Michigan City)
4) Abigail, November 30, 1871
5) Edward, January 2, 1873
6) Twins, Rachael and James, July 1, 1880 --- James died at birth, buried in Michigan City
William Harrison "Had"
McDaniel died in 1881 and is buried in Michigan City along with his
parents and two of his children. He was 50 years old and owned a butcher
shop in town.
There is a 23 year spread for those
children! When the twins were born, Rachael was 43 yrs old. The twins
were born in 1880 and her oldest daughter, Nellie, died that same year.
Nellie would have been her right hand helper with all the work at home
and with the new babies but she was lost. What heartache that must have
caused Rachael. And yet the reason for the tragedy is lost to time and
so is her mother's grief.
When Had died, Rachael was 44 years old and had 3 young children still at home:
Abigail, age 10
Edward, age 8
Rachael, age 1 year.
And
she owned a butcher shop. No mention is made if she worked the shop or
what happened to it except that it was sold and then she moved to
Spokane. Maybe the older boys worked the shop. William, the oldest at
age 24, would have been plenty old enough to be trained and ready to
take over the business that his father left. The next oldest, Samuel,
would have been 19 when his father died, a grown man in those days.
So
the big picture of the family is this: they were firmly settled in
Michigan City, Indiana and had been for many years. The states of
Michigan and Indiana were Rachael's home states, all she had ever know.
All of the family children were born and raised in Michigan City, they
owned and operated a business there, they had a house, although no
mention is made of it, but it must have been big enough and nice enough
to accommodate the family. They must have had friends and attended
church. They had a well established life in Michigan City, Indiana and
yet in 1885 or thereabouts, Rachael Riley McDaniel packed her belongings
into trunks, gathered up her three small children and took the train to
the Washington Territory, a trip of at least a month, maybe up to 6
weeks.
When I sit and think about Rachael McDaniel and
what her life must have been like in 1880, after losing Nellie and then
one of the twins at birth and then the next year, her husband, I see a
woman in great pain and with plenty of reason to grieve. In addition to
her losses to death, her own parents had moved from Michigan City to
Spokane at some point (I haven't found that info or date yet) and she
was missing her mother. I feel certain that her decision to uproot and
move out West was based on grief and loss and a desire to be with her
parents and feel cared for and secure once again.
And thus ends my writing for today. I'm beginning to feel like I know these people and can almost picture them. So much sadness in life and that goes for everyone, all of us, all down through time.
Friday, September 30, 2016
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
Family History and Carolyn
9:32am Writing Practice 55° Boise
I went to bed an hour early last night and woke up at a little after 8am, just in time to stretch and breathe and plan my day. This is day 3 of actually gathering up words toward a book and I'm not sure where I am except that I've written for two days and then saved it in a document titled Beginning in a folder titled Learning to Live Far From Home. I thought I would start off with a little family history and I dug for and found the story I was looking for but it's not as fleshed out on the page as it is in my mind and so I'm a tad stalled about that. But you know, who cares! I'm going to write it as it is in my mind's eye and tell the reader that this is what I saw as I read the actual history put down by some cousin or other many years ago, as told to him by his grandmother Nellie. There is no first hand account, no one alive knows what happened or what it was really like and so who's to say that my version is far from the truth? All I really want to do is establish the idea that the people I came from were always on the move, never satisfied to stay and settle down. They had wanderlust in their genes and that's how they got from Scotland to the New World, that's how they got to Virginia, and then Ohio and then Indiana and then Rachael Riley McDaniel gathered her belongings and two of her children and hopped a train for the wild west ... Spokane, Washington. She wasn't a McDaniel in blood and I don't know how her people got to America but it was her intrepid spirit that brought the family to the west where they all spread out and many still remain.
Hardman, Oregon is a ghost town now and if it had been settled by people who could stick, it would not be. Perhaps. Who knows, there's really nothing out there. I want to take a trip and go see the area for myself. There's a motel in Heppner I could stay at for a quick overnight. I just wish Carolyn wasn't mad at me. She knows where everything is, although I could find the cemetery on my own, I'll bet. But I don't know where the Burton Valley is or McDaniel Canyon. I don't know where Kinzua was or Camp 5, although those places really have no bearing on this project. And do I really need to see any of it in order to write my stories? I've been there before many times, just not recently. I know that landscape, the high desert, the over-logged mountains that still haven't recovered from the logging activity of 70 years ago. At least that's what I remember, maybe it's no longer true. I should go see.
About Carolyn: I really don't care if she's mad at me. She attacked me out of the blue a few months ago with stuff she created in her own mind by distorting and adding meaning to a conversation that had no basis in my reality. She made up stuff and then got mad at me, which is almost as bad as having a bad dream and waking up mad at the dream offender. Plus she threw in a list of things she found offensive about me and I could tell that she had been keeping a list on the side of things she could use against me in the future. John did that throughout our marriage and instead of dealing with issues as they came up and sticking to the subject, he would bring in his list and hurl it at me so that I could be defeated and the fight could be won. He had no interest in communicating and solving the issue, he only cared about winning the fight, being right and then forgetting about the whole thing and moving on. Which, of course, never happened. Carolyn doesn't respond to any of my e-mails and she's touchy as hell when she does.
Well, I don't care. I don't think I could last a day in the car with her anyway, she has the very worst bad breath I'd ever smelled because of her rotten teeth. Now there, how's that for stashing away an offensive bit of information to use at a later date? I'm just as bad as her in so many ways. Plus she's mean about my mother and I'm not going to be around that if I can help it. I knew my mother better than anyone except my dad and now that she's gone, I've forgiven it all and only the love is left. I'm not going to rehash her faults and weaknesses with Carolyn or anyone else.
OK, I got off track with that but I'm glad I wrote it down. Now I can move on. If I need to make a trip to explore Hardman and the area over there, I'll do it without her.
So far today, I have nothing toward my words for the book. I know what I'll do! I'll plug in the headgear and read in an entry from my journal about home that I wrote a few weeks ago. Yes, that has to be done anyway. So off I go to do that now.
I went to bed an hour early last night and woke up at a little after 8am, just in time to stretch and breathe and plan my day. This is day 3 of actually gathering up words toward a book and I'm not sure where I am except that I've written for two days and then saved it in a document titled Beginning in a folder titled Learning to Live Far From Home. I thought I would start off with a little family history and I dug for and found the story I was looking for but it's not as fleshed out on the page as it is in my mind and so I'm a tad stalled about that. But you know, who cares! I'm going to write it as it is in my mind's eye and tell the reader that this is what I saw as I read the actual history put down by some cousin or other many years ago, as told to him by his grandmother Nellie. There is no first hand account, no one alive knows what happened or what it was really like and so who's to say that my version is far from the truth? All I really want to do is establish the idea that the people I came from were always on the move, never satisfied to stay and settle down. They had wanderlust in their genes and that's how they got from Scotland to the New World, that's how they got to Virginia, and then Ohio and then Indiana and then Rachael Riley McDaniel gathered her belongings and two of her children and hopped a train for the wild west ... Spokane, Washington. She wasn't a McDaniel in blood and I don't know how her people got to America but it was her intrepid spirit that brought the family to the west where they all spread out and many still remain.
Hardman, Oregon is a ghost town now and if it had been settled by people who could stick, it would not be. Perhaps. Who knows, there's really nothing out there. I want to take a trip and go see the area for myself. There's a motel in Heppner I could stay at for a quick overnight. I just wish Carolyn wasn't mad at me. She knows where everything is, although I could find the cemetery on my own, I'll bet. But I don't know where the Burton Valley is or McDaniel Canyon. I don't know where Kinzua was or Camp 5, although those places really have no bearing on this project. And do I really need to see any of it in order to write my stories? I've been there before many times, just not recently. I know that landscape, the high desert, the over-logged mountains that still haven't recovered from the logging activity of 70 years ago. At least that's what I remember, maybe it's no longer true. I should go see.
About Carolyn: I really don't care if she's mad at me. She attacked me out of the blue a few months ago with stuff she created in her own mind by distorting and adding meaning to a conversation that had no basis in my reality. She made up stuff and then got mad at me, which is almost as bad as having a bad dream and waking up mad at the dream offender. Plus she threw in a list of things she found offensive about me and I could tell that she had been keeping a list on the side of things she could use against me in the future. John did that throughout our marriage and instead of dealing with issues as they came up and sticking to the subject, he would bring in his list and hurl it at me so that I could be defeated and the fight could be won. He had no interest in communicating and solving the issue, he only cared about winning the fight, being right and then forgetting about the whole thing and moving on. Which, of course, never happened. Carolyn doesn't respond to any of my e-mails and she's touchy as hell when she does.
Well, I don't care. I don't think I could last a day in the car with her anyway, she has the very worst bad breath I'd ever smelled because of her rotten teeth. Now there, how's that for stashing away an offensive bit of information to use at a later date? I'm just as bad as her in so many ways. Plus she's mean about my mother and I'm not going to be around that if I can help it. I knew my mother better than anyone except my dad and now that she's gone, I've forgiven it all and only the love is left. I'm not going to rehash her faults and weaknesses with Carolyn or anyone else.
OK, I got off track with that but I'm glad I wrote it down. Now I can move on. If I need to make a trip to explore Hardman and the area over there, I'll do it without her.
So far today, I have nothing toward my words for the book. I know what I'll do! I'll plug in the headgear and read in an entry from my journal about home that I wrote a few weeks ago. Yes, that has to be done anyway. So off I go to do that now.
Day Two
10:10am Writing Practice 60° Boise
I got my good start yesterday, 970 words. I edited it a little this morning based on what I found while revisiting the while box. It took a while to find what I wanted, what I had read before. I found the stories finally but they weren't in the detail that I see in my mind when I think of them. My mind has done a trick and has fleshed out the stories in such a way that I can see people --- it has provided details that were not on those pages when I read them four years ago and they're still not there. The stories are rather flat, in fact. If I can tell them the way I see them in my mind, they will be exciting and touching and if I tell them in that way and make sure the reader knows that the details sprang to life on their own without my even knowing it, maybe that will be OK.
Rachael Riley McDaniel is the intrepid character of this story but cousin Carolyn McDaniel assures me that she was no big deal. I hope my differences with CMcD can be resolved so that I can ask more questions. Rachael's husband, James Harrison McDaniel, "Had" is what he was called, died at age 50 and left the family adrift. Rachael had grown kids that were married but she also had some young ones still at home. They owned a butcher shop in Michigan City, Indiana. Had was the only son of Joseph McDaniel, originally from Virginia. Why they moved to Indiana is anyone's guess. Joseph and his wife are buried there and so is Had.
After Had died, Rachael sold the butcher shop, packed up what she could take, grabbed the kids still at home and hopped a train to Spokane, Washington, about 2000 miles away. Who does that? I'll have to read the account again, it seems that some of her family had moved out there and she was going to be with them. But she left her grown sons and their families in Indiana, along with her home and all her friends. She struck out heading west with a few trunks and a kid on each hand at an age when most women were beginning to settle into to the grandmother years.
Just to put this in context, Rachael would be wearing skirts that covered her legs. Women did not have the vote, they barely had a name of their own which was only used by family or close friends. She would have been called Mrs McDaniel at all times. Also, train travel in those days, while considerably faster than the alternatives --- horse, horse and wagon, foot --- it was by no means fast. The trip from Indiana to Spokane, WA took at least a month, probably closer to six weeks! Six weeks with no bed, no shower, very little food except what could be scrounged along the way. That trip alone strikes me as fantastical and I wish Rachael had kept a journal. I don't have the dates of the trip so I don't know the time of year they traveled. So much has been lost through the years and now a major life journey has been relegated to a sentence in a paragraph that includes no details at all, except the ones provided by my own vivid imagination.
After breakfast, I'm going to scan the pages I found and e-mail them to Carolyn. Maybe that will warm her up, although as far as I know, once she has turned on someone, she never turns back. That also must be a family trait. I'm going to find some answers to my questions and try to formulate a narrative to start this story off. Because as far as I can tell, Rachael Riley McDaniel was the ancestor who provided the genes that kicked off my life as a risk taker and a mover and wanderer, always searching for a home the was out there somewhere, just out of sight, never where I lay my head. To understand my life, I'd really love to have a story for hers.
694 words today.
I got my good start yesterday, 970 words. I edited it a little this morning based on what I found while revisiting the while box. It took a while to find what I wanted, what I had read before. I found the stories finally but they weren't in the detail that I see in my mind when I think of them. My mind has done a trick and has fleshed out the stories in such a way that I can see people --- it has provided details that were not on those pages when I read them four years ago and they're still not there. The stories are rather flat, in fact. If I can tell them the way I see them in my mind, they will be exciting and touching and if I tell them in that way and make sure the reader knows that the details sprang to life on their own without my even knowing it, maybe that will be OK.
Rachael Riley McDaniel is the intrepid character of this story but cousin Carolyn McDaniel assures me that she was no big deal. I hope my differences with CMcD can be resolved so that I can ask more questions. Rachael's husband, James Harrison McDaniel, "Had" is what he was called, died at age 50 and left the family adrift. Rachael had grown kids that were married but she also had some young ones still at home. They owned a butcher shop in Michigan City, Indiana. Had was the only son of Joseph McDaniel, originally from Virginia. Why they moved to Indiana is anyone's guess. Joseph and his wife are buried there and so is Had.
After Had died, Rachael sold the butcher shop, packed up what she could take, grabbed the kids still at home and hopped a train to Spokane, Washington, about 2000 miles away. Who does that? I'll have to read the account again, it seems that some of her family had moved out there and she was going to be with them. But she left her grown sons and their families in Indiana, along with her home and all her friends. She struck out heading west with a few trunks and a kid on each hand at an age when most women were beginning to settle into to the grandmother years.
Just to put this in context, Rachael would be wearing skirts that covered her legs. Women did not have the vote, they barely had a name of their own which was only used by family or close friends. She would have been called Mrs McDaniel at all times. Also, train travel in those days, while considerably faster than the alternatives --- horse, horse and wagon, foot --- it was by no means fast. The trip from Indiana to Spokane, WA took at least a month, probably closer to six weeks! Six weeks with no bed, no shower, very little food except what could be scrounged along the way. That trip alone strikes me as fantastical and I wish Rachael had kept a journal. I don't have the dates of the trip so I don't know the time of year they traveled. So much has been lost through the years and now a major life journey has been relegated to a sentence in a paragraph that includes no details at all, except the ones provided by my own vivid imagination.
After breakfast, I'm going to scan the pages I found and e-mail them to Carolyn. Maybe that will warm her up, although as far as I know, once she has turned on someone, she never turns back. That also must be a family trait. I'm going to find some answers to my questions and try to formulate a narrative to start this story off. Because as far as I can tell, Rachael Riley McDaniel was the ancestor who provided the genes that kicked off my life as a risk taker and a mover and wanderer, always searching for a home the was out there somewhere, just out of sight, never where I lay my head. To understand my life, I'd really love to have a story for hers.
694 words today.
Sunday, September 25, 2016
Day One of The Home Project
10:53am Writing Practice 58° Boise
The old woman looked at me, her eyes vacant and myopic through the thick lenses of her glasses.
The old woman looked at me, her eyes vacant and myopic through the thick lenses of her glasses.
“I
don’t know you.” she said.
“It’s
OK Granny, I know you and I’ll remember for both of us.”
I’ll
remember for all of us ….
And thus begins my first book. This will either be on the dedication page or it will be the first sentences of the introduction. Either way, I'm so happy I remembered this! I said that to her long ago on one of my visits to her care facility. I would say Home but it wasn't really a home, it was a place to hang out while waiting to die. The workers there are trained to help bathe and change soiled panties.
I remember the last time I saw my Granny. I was visiting my parents in Hermiston after I had put all my stuff in storage and hit the road to see what I could find. Stephen was with me on the trip but I went to see Granny alone --- I wanted to take my time and really be present with her because I knew this would probably be my last visit. I didn't know where I would end up or how long I would be gone and she was a few months from turning 97 years old. I wanted this visit to last me the rest of my life.
Granny had begun to lose her memories after she turned 80. She fell apart a little after that birthday, I don't think she could wrap her mind around the fact that she was 80 years old. She had always been active and sharp, full of life and ready to laugh. She used to brag about going to the Old Folks Home and volunteering to help, winking because so many of them were younger than her. She was very proud of her vigor and good health; she went to the senior dances three times a week and had a lovely wardrobe of gowns to dress up in when she went.
She was born Opal Grace McDaniel in 1908 in Morrow County, Oregon. I'm not sure if she was born in Heppner or Hardman but I'm pretty sure she was born at home. She was the fourth child of Edward and Emma (Pennington) McDaniel. Her mother died in January 1912, pregnant with a fifth child, when a flu ravaged the area of Idaho where the family was staying while Ed looked for work. They were living in a tent in the middle of winter with all those kids and who knows what they did for heat or food. Dirt poor doesn't begin to describe the situation and it's amazing that any of them survived. Little Opal had just turned three a few months before her mother died and I believe the effect it had on her traveled down through time and continues to leave a trail of tears for all the maternal love that was lost that day. In fact, I believe that the death of Emma McDaniel was the precursor to the death of my own child, Stephen Sandknop, 101 years later. But that's a long story, convoluted and hard to tell. And somehow, that's the story I'm going to try to tell.
I think. Sheesh! It's so confusing, I'm not really sure what I'm doing writing all this except I said I would and I promised Granny that I would remember for all of us. Auntie Jan also wrote her stories from her young life and that's a real help in putting this all together, that and what I already know and have experienced.
A few years before Granny died, I was packing up my car, preparing to leave from a visit with my parents in Hermiston in 2003, when Dad came walking out of the garage carrying a white cardboard box, an OreIda Tator Tots box, to be specific. This family of mine was not very good at record keeping, to say the least! Anyway, he handed it to me and I thought I knew what was in it. Years before, I had been planning to stay with Granny for a few weeks and help her put a cookbook together. I had an airline ticket from Chicago to Portland but a few days before I was to leave, she had a nervous breakdown and got shingles. I'm pretty sure I caused that episode by pressuring her to let me help her compile that book. The trip was cancelled and never spoken of again, except she told me she would put all the notes in a box and give it to me when she saw me next so that I could do it on my own if I wanted to. So when Dad handed me that box, I thought it contained recipes. I took it home and stashed it in the garage, moving it along with all my other stuff nine times in the next six years. It finally came to rest in my shed when I moved into this house on Latah in Boise in 2007.
Then one spring day in 2012, as I was setting up my deck furniture, preparing for summer in the house where I still live, I came across that box in the shed and thought, hey! I should at least open it and see what's inside. It's my inheritance, after all. Granny had died in January 2006 and I had not given that white box of hers a second thought in all that time. So I put the patio table together, opened up the umbrella and pulled up a chair with the box in front of me. I slit open the tape, damaged as it was from all the years and moves, and disappeared into another world.
OK, 964 words today ... a perfect start to my intention to write 500 to 1000 words a day until I get a first draft written on or before March 25, 2017. Day One is a rousing success and tomorrow I'll have found the stories I want in Granny's OreIda box and get them added.
Friday, September 23, 2016
Define HOME
9:48am Writing Practice 54° Boise
Chilly and windy today but sunny. It rained last night and the deck is wet but that should be it for the rain for a while. Tomorrow is my yard sale. The neighbors are doing one too, there will be plenty of activity out front and tomorrow should be warmer, more hospitable for a day outside. I'll get my coat out of the shed. And I have to go through stuff today, find items to offer so it looks like I have things to sell. Mostly I want to get rid of the bigger things that don't fit in the house.
In two days I haven't gone into the back bedroom to get anything set up. I'm so glad I moved my studio home! If I'm going to ignore it all, at least it's not costing me extra money every month. I got some errands run yesterday. I finally got to Walmart with my list and I picked up my birdhouse lamp from the shop. $30 to fix the switch! Holy Cow! But I didn't ask for an estimate, didn't even occur to me to ask. You'd think I would have learned my lesson about that with the red bar stool episode. I could have asked Joe to fix it but I didn't. Actually, I did hint that I had a lamp with a broken switch and he declared that he wasn't a repair guy. So there, that's why I didn't ask him.
Last night I sat down and completed the list of lifetime addresses and I came up with 55 started at age 5 when Mom married Richard in 1958. They had an apartment in Santa Ana, or at least I think it was in Santa Ana. 1958 to 2007, which is when I moved in here, that's 49 years. I have had 55 homes in 49 years. Wow. No wonder I have no idea what home is. I wonder if others are able to define the idea of home or if this is an issue for many and they just don't talk about it. I think Home may be a multilayered subject and the exploring of it could take a while.
I just found this article on a blog site from 2012 and it's a pretty good discussion on defining Home: http://www.thelongestwayhome.com/blog/how-to-live-overseas/what-is-the-definition-of-home-2012-edition/
In a way that article helped clarify that I've been looking for a home all my life thinking it was a place or a building but in reality, I was looking for me and for the meaning in life, for my life's purpose, for the insights as to what I'm supposed to be doing here. Because that's the issue, I now see. My parents hijacked me with that religion at a young age and I never had a chance to discover my life or my purpose for myself. I've never felt at home in my own life, never learned to define it for myself since it was always so closely defined by someone else. That's why I was so willing to step into the lives of others and join them like I did with John and perhaps why my marriage to Bob was such a failure because he didn't have any better clue about home or life's purpose than I did and we were never able to define it or create it for ourselves. He went on to Shelly, joining her in her life and her house and he lived like that for 20 years. And when he left her, he moved on to Linda who had a more interesting life and he joined her and became a realtor.
Wow, so much I didn't understand about this idea of home and how the search for it has been the driving factor in my life and in all my choices. I'm going to enjoy this writing project! There's so much of me to discover here inside.
Chilly and windy today but sunny. It rained last night and the deck is wet but that should be it for the rain for a while. Tomorrow is my yard sale. The neighbors are doing one too, there will be plenty of activity out front and tomorrow should be warmer, more hospitable for a day outside. I'll get my coat out of the shed. And I have to go through stuff today, find items to offer so it looks like I have things to sell. Mostly I want to get rid of the bigger things that don't fit in the house.
In two days I haven't gone into the back bedroom to get anything set up. I'm so glad I moved my studio home! If I'm going to ignore it all, at least it's not costing me extra money every month. I got some errands run yesterday. I finally got to Walmart with my list and I picked up my birdhouse lamp from the shop. $30 to fix the switch! Holy Cow! But I didn't ask for an estimate, didn't even occur to me to ask. You'd think I would have learned my lesson about that with the red bar stool episode. I could have asked Joe to fix it but I didn't. Actually, I did hint that I had a lamp with a broken switch and he declared that he wasn't a repair guy. So there, that's why I didn't ask him.
Last night I sat down and completed the list of lifetime addresses and I came up with 55 started at age 5 when Mom married Richard in 1958. They had an apartment in Santa Ana, or at least I think it was in Santa Ana. 1958 to 2007, which is when I moved in here, that's 49 years. I have had 55 homes in 49 years. Wow. No wonder I have no idea what home is. I wonder if others are able to define the idea of home or if this is an issue for many and they just don't talk about it. I think Home may be a multilayered subject and the exploring of it could take a while.
I just found this article on a blog site from 2012 and it's a pretty good discussion on defining Home: http://www.thelongestwayhome.com/blog/how-to-live-overseas/what-is-the-definition-of-home-2012-edition/
In a way that article helped clarify that I've been looking for a home all my life thinking it was a place or a building but in reality, I was looking for me and for the meaning in life, for my life's purpose, for the insights as to what I'm supposed to be doing here. Because that's the issue, I now see. My parents hijacked me with that religion at a young age and I never had a chance to discover my life or my purpose for myself. I've never felt at home in my own life, never learned to define it for myself since it was always so closely defined by someone else. That's why I was so willing to step into the lives of others and join them like I did with John and perhaps why my marriage to Bob was such a failure because he didn't have any better clue about home or life's purpose than I did and we were never able to define it or create it for ourselves. He went on to Shelly, joining her in her life and her house and he lived like that for 20 years. And when he left her, he moved on to Linda who had a more interesting life and he joined her and became a realtor.
Wow, so much I didn't understand about this idea of home and how the search for it has been the driving factor in my life and in all my choices. I'm going to enjoy this writing project! There's so much of me to discover here inside.
Thursday, September 22, 2016
VHS Tapes and Other Issues
7:56am Writing Practice 52° Boise
First day of Fall, officially, but it's been turning since July. Basically, it's almost winter. Another month and that will be it, snow will be flying. I remember one October 13th, we got snow --- big, puffing, heavy, wet snow that didn't last but the day and it wasn't too cold. When was that? 2010 maybe? I remember working at the diner, that's the image I get when I think of it ... the diner and State St in the snow. Then in 2014 we got an arctic blast on November 10th and that was it, winter was on and we got an early winter the next year in 2015 as well. I like it when we don't get snow or ice cold until at least December. That gives the trees and other growing things time to prepare before it hits. My pear tree out back has just started with a few yellow leaves, it needs to get on with it. I like to get the leaves cleaned up before the worst weather hits and that's hard to do if the weather hits too early. Maybe I'll try to get out there a few times and keep up as they fall. I don't want slimy leaves on my new deck.
It clouded up and rained yesterday and overnight. The forecast is cloudy today and tomorrow but clearing up to sunny and warm for the rest of the week after that. Guess I'll have a driveway sale on Saturday. It's early yet and still wet out back, especially the deck. Mostly I just want to get stuff cleared out and I don't have a way to get it to the Youth Ranch so I'll do it from here. No big deal. Nothing will be marked, I'll just get what I can from things and be glad of it. I went through the DVDs last night and sorted out a whole bunch. Today I'll sort the videos and only keep the very best, rarest ones. Then I guess I'll throw the rest away. Wait, not so fast ... I just checked online and it seems that VHS tapes are considered electronic toxic waste and I can't just toss them into the landfill. But no one else wants them either. I just posted about it on Facebook, we'll see if anyone has any ideas or if there is a local option for proper disposal. I also have an old tube-style TV to dispose of and I can do that next Tuesday at the hazardous waste set up at Albertson's on Vista. Perfect! Maybe they'll take the tapes as well. I'll ask.
The cats are sitting on the back of the couch looking out the window; you can see the disgust at being trapped indoors wafting off of them like fumes. I hope it dries up enough to let them out this afternoon --- otherwise I'll have some pretty unhappy cats.
Well, I woke up too early, yet again, and now I'm sitting here wanting to go back to bed. The dark day doesn't help. This is a perfect day for a lie-in or keg-up. But I really want to solve my sleep issues! I stopped taking my sleep aide a few weeks ago when I read that it damages the brain and may contribute to dementia and Alzheimer's. Dang! On one hand, what the study showed was a 19% increase in the chances of getting those conditions if one pill a day is taken. I typically take a half pill with my magnesium. I also take my Juvenon which is good for brain health and so is ASEA. You know what? I may be willing to take my chances since I'm taking such good care of myself otherwise ... I need my sleep! Sleeping lousy messes up my whole day and I just hate it! On the other hand, both my grandmother and my mother suffered from dementia of some sort but neither of them took care of themselves like I do. Also, the study suggested that the damage was permanent, which means that any damage I've already done is done, no reversing that. I'm not sure I believe it, other studies show major brain plasticity even under the most dire circumstances. After all is said and done, I'm going to begin taking my half-a-blue-pill again and see if I can steady out my sleep. Starting tonight.
Yesterday I hand-wrote a bunch of stuff about Home and I also have a whole page of notes in my Spiral, so today I'll get out my headgear and read all that into a document for the files. Soon I have to begin my project in earnest, I've vowed to write 500-1000 words a day until I get a first draft complete, on or before March 25th. Six months. I can do this. I want to do this!
First day of Fall, officially, but it's been turning since July. Basically, it's almost winter. Another month and that will be it, snow will be flying. I remember one October 13th, we got snow --- big, puffing, heavy, wet snow that didn't last but the day and it wasn't too cold. When was that? 2010 maybe? I remember working at the diner, that's the image I get when I think of it ... the diner and State St in the snow. Then in 2014 we got an arctic blast on November 10th and that was it, winter was on and we got an early winter the next year in 2015 as well. I like it when we don't get snow or ice cold until at least December. That gives the trees and other growing things time to prepare before it hits. My pear tree out back has just started with a few yellow leaves, it needs to get on with it. I like to get the leaves cleaned up before the worst weather hits and that's hard to do if the weather hits too early. Maybe I'll try to get out there a few times and keep up as they fall. I don't want slimy leaves on my new deck.
It clouded up and rained yesterday and overnight. The forecast is cloudy today and tomorrow but clearing up to sunny and warm for the rest of the week after that. Guess I'll have a driveway sale on Saturday. It's early yet and still wet out back, especially the deck. Mostly I just want to get stuff cleared out and I don't have a way to get it to the Youth Ranch so I'll do it from here. No big deal. Nothing will be marked, I'll just get what I can from things and be glad of it. I went through the DVDs last night and sorted out a whole bunch. Today I'll sort the videos and only keep the very best, rarest ones. Then I guess I'll throw the rest away. Wait, not so fast ... I just checked online and it seems that VHS tapes are considered electronic toxic waste and I can't just toss them into the landfill. But no one else wants them either. I just posted about it on Facebook, we'll see if anyone has any ideas or if there is a local option for proper disposal. I also have an old tube-style TV to dispose of and I can do that next Tuesday at the hazardous waste set up at Albertson's on Vista. Perfect! Maybe they'll take the tapes as well. I'll ask.
The cats are sitting on the back of the couch looking out the window; you can see the disgust at being trapped indoors wafting off of them like fumes. I hope it dries up enough to let them out this afternoon --- otherwise I'll have some pretty unhappy cats.
Well, I woke up too early, yet again, and now I'm sitting here wanting to go back to bed. The dark day doesn't help. This is a perfect day for a lie-in or keg-up. But I really want to solve my sleep issues! I stopped taking my sleep aide a few weeks ago when I read that it damages the brain and may contribute to dementia and Alzheimer's. Dang! On one hand, what the study showed was a 19% increase in the chances of getting those conditions if one pill a day is taken. I typically take a half pill with my magnesium. I also take my Juvenon which is good for brain health and so is ASEA. You know what? I may be willing to take my chances since I'm taking such good care of myself otherwise ... I need my sleep! Sleeping lousy messes up my whole day and I just hate it! On the other hand, both my grandmother and my mother suffered from dementia of some sort but neither of them took care of themselves like I do. Also, the study suggested that the damage was permanent, which means that any damage I've already done is done, no reversing that. I'm not sure I believe it, other studies show major brain plasticity even under the most dire circumstances. After all is said and done, I'm going to begin taking my half-a-blue-pill again and see if I can steady out my sleep. Starting tonight.
Yesterday I hand-wrote a bunch of stuff about Home and I also have a whole page of notes in my Spiral, so today I'll get out my headgear and read all that into a document for the files. Soon I have to begin my project in earnest, I've vowed to write 500-1000 words a day until I get a first draft complete, on or before March 25th. Six months. I can do this. I want to do this!
Tuesday, September 20, 2016
Tuesday
8:35am Writing Practice 49° Boise
Bad couple of days around here. I got all my stuff moved from the studio and the room totally cleaned, repaired and ready to rent again. Horace won't have to do a thing to it --- yes, I'm that good! However, I got it all brought home and then had to stuff most of it into my shed because I ran out of energy to deal with any of it. In a few days I'll drag it all out to the end of the driveway and have a sale. I'll do that on Friday or Saturday. I'll spend tomorrow and Thursday preparing and sorting. I want to move things along in here, I don't want to live in clutter or feel too crowded for the winter.
After that, I have painting to do. I have to clean and paint the bench Kurt made for me and sometime next week Richard Fabian is coming back to finish updating the paint on the house. Also, I need to get the heat gun out and see if I can strip the front porch --- that peeling paint is the pits! But before I can do that, I have to tear down the last of the sunflowers and get them cut up and put in the garbage by Sunday afternoon. I've already done some of that so it should be doable.
Lamar is in town for the entire day, I'm going to pick him up at Hotel 43 downtown and we're going for a drive to Idaho City. He's never been and it's going to be a beautiful day, so it should be fun. I had a horrible day yesterday, not enough sleep the night before and then thinking myself into a funk. What happened with James and Bryce last month is still kicking my ass and I'm tempted to be angry. Those kinds of thoughts lead to Nathan and how he's abandoned me this past year and how so many others have done the same thing over the years and then I start feeling weird and icky like there's something wrong with me and then I don't want to go anywhere or see anyone and all I can do is lay in on my bed and worry and fret and be upset. Now today, after tapping yesterday evening and after getting a good night's sleep, I'm feeling more normal, less weird and icky and maybe, just maybe, I'll be OK today for Lamar. I hope.
After I get the shed cleared out, I'm going to bring Granny's box into the house and find the stories about Rachael Riley McDaniel and her big move to Spokane from Indiana on the train with her two youngest children after her husband, Had McDaniel, died. I may use that story to start off my Home book. It's such an interesting story and might be just the ticket to set the tone for the stories of all my moves in life and what we're all looking for and dreaming of when we move.
In the meantime, I'm not moving. Two more months and I'll have been in this house for 9 years. Considering the fact that I've never lived so long anywhere, things are in pretty good shape around here. When I cleaned good a few weeks ago, I couldn't help but notice that it wasn't that dirty. Besides dust in a few places, no one would ever know that I've lived here for so long. Mom lived in her duplex in Hermiston for two months shy of 10 years and both she and Dad died in that place. They, too, were lifelong movers and yet managed to stay put at the end. They moved into that place July 2002. Dad died January 2009 and mom died May 2012.
I wonder if I'll die in this house? Mom turned 66 a few weeks after they moved in, just a few years older than I am now. I was 54 when I moved in here. Now I'm 63 and my dreams of buying an RV and traveling seem very far off. But unlike my mother, my health is good (even if my attitude sucks sometimes) and I could still get there from here.
Well, I need to get a shower and wash my hair. I'll pick up Lamar at 11:30 and there's much to do between now and then. So off I go. I'll try a little more tapping and see if I can lift a little more of this funk. That reminds me, Sept 20, 1973 I married Bob Willems. 43 years ago today. I sent a text to Nathan telling him the it was worth it because of him but I haven't heard back. He may or may not respond. Yep, I better tap some more.
Bad couple of days around here. I got all my stuff moved from the studio and the room totally cleaned, repaired and ready to rent again. Horace won't have to do a thing to it --- yes, I'm that good! However, I got it all brought home and then had to stuff most of it into my shed because I ran out of energy to deal with any of it. In a few days I'll drag it all out to the end of the driveway and have a sale. I'll do that on Friday or Saturday. I'll spend tomorrow and Thursday preparing and sorting. I want to move things along in here, I don't want to live in clutter or feel too crowded for the winter.
After that, I have painting to do. I have to clean and paint the bench Kurt made for me and sometime next week Richard Fabian is coming back to finish updating the paint on the house. Also, I need to get the heat gun out and see if I can strip the front porch --- that peeling paint is the pits! But before I can do that, I have to tear down the last of the sunflowers and get them cut up and put in the garbage by Sunday afternoon. I've already done some of that so it should be doable.
Lamar is in town for the entire day, I'm going to pick him up at Hotel 43 downtown and we're going for a drive to Idaho City. He's never been and it's going to be a beautiful day, so it should be fun. I had a horrible day yesterday, not enough sleep the night before and then thinking myself into a funk. What happened with James and Bryce last month is still kicking my ass and I'm tempted to be angry. Those kinds of thoughts lead to Nathan and how he's abandoned me this past year and how so many others have done the same thing over the years and then I start feeling weird and icky like there's something wrong with me and then I don't want to go anywhere or see anyone and all I can do is lay in on my bed and worry and fret and be upset. Now today, after tapping yesterday evening and after getting a good night's sleep, I'm feeling more normal, less weird and icky and maybe, just maybe, I'll be OK today for Lamar. I hope.
After I get the shed cleared out, I'm going to bring Granny's box into the house and find the stories about Rachael Riley McDaniel and her big move to Spokane from Indiana on the train with her two youngest children after her husband, Had McDaniel, died. I may use that story to start off my Home book. It's such an interesting story and might be just the ticket to set the tone for the stories of all my moves in life and what we're all looking for and dreaming of when we move.
In the meantime, I'm not moving. Two more months and I'll have been in this house for 9 years. Considering the fact that I've never lived so long anywhere, things are in pretty good shape around here. When I cleaned good a few weeks ago, I couldn't help but notice that it wasn't that dirty. Besides dust in a few places, no one would ever know that I've lived here for so long. Mom lived in her duplex in Hermiston for two months shy of 10 years and both she and Dad died in that place. They, too, were lifelong movers and yet managed to stay put at the end. They moved into that place July 2002. Dad died January 2009 and mom died May 2012.
I wonder if I'll die in this house? Mom turned 66 a few weeks after they moved in, just a few years older than I am now. I was 54 when I moved in here. Now I'm 63 and my dreams of buying an RV and traveling seem very far off. But unlike my mother, my health is good (even if my attitude sucks sometimes) and I could still get there from here.
Well, I need to get a shower and wash my hair. I'll pick up Lamar at 11:30 and there's much to do between now and then. So off I go. I'll try a little more tapping and see if I can lift a little more of this funk. That reminds me, Sept 20, 1973 I married Bob Willems. 43 years ago today. I sent a text to Nathan telling him the it was worth it because of him but I haven't heard back. He may or may not respond. Yep, I better tap some more.
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
A Sense of Place
8:15am Writing Practice 55° Boise
Kinda dark and cloudy today. Not sure if it's going to try to rain today or what ... nope, just a dark, cool, cloudy day. High will be 69° and no sun at all. The rest of the week will be beautiful though, sunny and perfect temps. I have much to do again today but lately I've been very slow to get anything done. It's like I've been asleep for a very long time and now have to wake myself and start shuffling around again. That's what life feels like after a long illness ... although 8 days is not that long. But still, it's enough to have ones life grind to a halt and mine sure did.
Yesterday I went to the studio for a bit, took things off the cork board and brought the board home. I got a few more boxes when I dropped some items off at the Youth Ranch. Today I'll go back with box tape and begin loading up and start bringing stuff home. It's going to be crowded and uncomfortable here for a while until I can sell some things. But first I'll get the little things I'm going to keep carted out of there. Then when Gigi and Tony come get the little fridge, I'll see if they will help me get a few big things moved --- like my desk and the printer table. Everything else I can manage on my own. I'll take some photos of the items I want to sell and post them on Facebook. All those frames! The folding bookcase. The drop leaf table and two chairs. That may be it. Oh yes, the coffee table where the fridge and microwave sit. It will be so good to get all that stuff dispersed and/or brought home. I was thinking of using the coffee table here, putting the chest under the window in my bedroom and putting the bench in the back bedroom. I think I will. Nice to get a change of pace.
Woke up this morning thinking about my writing projects. I have at least three, maybe four. Learning to Live Far From Home, The Trip Toward the Fall, Self-Empowered Health: A Guide to Everyday Health and Healing, and maybe The Art of Kindness. Yes, that's four books. Wow. Then there's I AM; still here: Surviving Suicide. That's five books! I have enough stories to write five books! Astonishing.
Randy Sandknop, author of five books including the best selling memoir, Learning to Live Far From Home.
Doesn't that sound official and good? I've got my plan and a deadline. 1000 words a day is what I'll write and I'll have a first draft (at least) by March 25th.
As I was making the bed this morning, I was thinking of the sense of place and how each place I've lived feels so different in my memory. As I was smoothing the bedspread, I imagined myself making my bed in Baker City, being there with the the same belongings that I have here but with Baker outside the door. It shouldn't matter, really, Baker has all one needs to live and I hardly avail myself of all that this area has to offer, why would it feel so different? When I close my eyes right now and picture Baker out the front door, I feel restricted, limited somehow. I feel like a plant in a pot too small, no room to stretch. And yet there's plenty there, wide open outdoors, mountains, streams, fresh air! How could that be restrictive? Like there's really no place to go and no one to connect with. When I think of Hannibal, Missouri (ten years ago this month, Stephen and I arrived in Hannibal with our stuff in a huge moving truck that I had driven from California), I feel off balance and adrift, it's too far away! It always felt too far away but I had trouble defining what it was too far away from. I came to understand that it was too far away from my parents, who lived in Hermiston, Oregon at the time and too far away from here. Boise. But that didn't make any sense. Maybe it was the general high dessert area that I missed, the Pacific Northwest region. Because I was born here, did that make it home? And how could I live on the East Coast for so many years without longing for here?
I think the sense of place and the feeling of home changes over time and with altered circumstances. I was fine in Florida for over four years because that's where my family was. But then, I think back and I know I wasn't fine ... I was drunk. I was miserable. I was marking time until John retired and we could start our real life. I was waiting for my real life to begin. I was holding down the fort as best I could while weathering the storms of unhappiness and feeling misplaced by not being entirely sober, especially the last few years. And when John announced that he was not going to retire, that we were moving to Alameda and join ship's company on the USS Lincoln, well, that was it for me. I melted into a hot mess and didn't begin to recover until I stopped drinking a few years later.
I have distinct memories of things that happened in every place I ever lived, what the rooms looked like, the streets, the towns, what we did and what cars we drove. I have an incredible memory and I'd love to write all this down, each location with a strong sense of place.
Yesterday I made the statement that it was the desire for "home" that drove my relationship decisions all my life and until I wrote that down, I did not know it. Since then, I've pondered the truth of it and it stuns me. I tried to make homes with Bob, I moved us around and around all over the place until I realized that I couldn't make a home with him. Rick had a house in Beaverton and while it wasn't a very good house, he owned it (or was buying it), and I liked that feeling of owning a home. I wanted in there with him but he wouldn't allow it. I spent countless hours visualizing my ideal home during the years I spent with Rick. I doubt that I would have stayed with him had he not had that house. Then I met John and he offered me a home in California, a house with a pool in the back yard. In California. Did I mention that it was in California?! Where I was yanked away at age 11 and always yearned to get back to ever since? I was a California dreamer well before the song came out. My first yearnings for home began as we drove away from there and headed north to Baker County in 1964. So there was no way I was going to decline that offer from John Sandknop --- it was a dream-come-true on a soul level. He had no idea (and neither did I) that he was offering me my heart's desire. So even though I wasn't in love with him and I had no interest in a military lifestyle, I was very attracted to him and he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Little did I know that when I married him, I actually married that house on Lemmon Way and I would never be happy again without it.
Well, so many interesting realizations about home. I managed to shift myself around all those years ago until I finally got what I wanted ... a home of my own in the location of my choice, along with plenty of freedom and no one else to please. All the choices I made over the years were leading me here and I was blind to it until just now. I wanted a sense of home but I also wanted Stephen to have a sense of home as well and he never did. He was just as lost by the whole idea as I was, so he hitched himself to Mike and created a home with cats and when that fell apart, he didn't have the tools to cope with the loss. He lost Mike and the cats but he lost his sense of home, of connection, of belonging, and he withered away and died. I know just what that feels like! My poor baby. Oh Stephen, I'm so sorry!
Kinda dark and cloudy today. Not sure if it's going to try to rain today or what ... nope, just a dark, cool, cloudy day. High will be 69° and no sun at all. The rest of the week will be beautiful though, sunny and perfect temps. I have much to do again today but lately I've been very slow to get anything done. It's like I've been asleep for a very long time and now have to wake myself and start shuffling around again. That's what life feels like after a long illness ... although 8 days is not that long. But still, it's enough to have ones life grind to a halt and mine sure did.
Yesterday I went to the studio for a bit, took things off the cork board and brought the board home. I got a few more boxes when I dropped some items off at the Youth Ranch. Today I'll go back with box tape and begin loading up and start bringing stuff home. It's going to be crowded and uncomfortable here for a while until I can sell some things. But first I'll get the little things I'm going to keep carted out of there. Then when Gigi and Tony come get the little fridge, I'll see if they will help me get a few big things moved --- like my desk and the printer table. Everything else I can manage on my own. I'll take some photos of the items I want to sell and post them on Facebook. All those frames! The folding bookcase. The drop leaf table and two chairs. That may be it. Oh yes, the coffee table where the fridge and microwave sit. It will be so good to get all that stuff dispersed and/or brought home. I was thinking of using the coffee table here, putting the chest under the window in my bedroom and putting the bench in the back bedroom. I think I will. Nice to get a change of pace.
Woke up this morning thinking about my writing projects. I have at least three, maybe four. Learning to Live Far From Home, The Trip Toward the Fall, Self-Empowered Health: A Guide to Everyday Health and Healing, and maybe The Art of Kindness. Yes, that's four books. Wow. Then there's I AM; still here: Surviving Suicide. That's five books! I have enough stories to write five books! Astonishing.
Randy Sandknop, author of five books including the best selling memoir, Learning to Live Far From Home.
Doesn't that sound official and good? I've got my plan and a deadline. 1000 words a day is what I'll write and I'll have a first draft (at least) by March 25th.
As I was making the bed this morning, I was thinking of the sense of place and how each place I've lived feels so different in my memory. As I was smoothing the bedspread, I imagined myself making my bed in Baker City, being there with the the same belongings that I have here but with Baker outside the door. It shouldn't matter, really, Baker has all one needs to live and I hardly avail myself of all that this area has to offer, why would it feel so different? When I close my eyes right now and picture Baker out the front door, I feel restricted, limited somehow. I feel like a plant in a pot too small, no room to stretch. And yet there's plenty there, wide open outdoors, mountains, streams, fresh air! How could that be restrictive? Like there's really no place to go and no one to connect with. When I think of Hannibal, Missouri (ten years ago this month, Stephen and I arrived in Hannibal with our stuff in a huge moving truck that I had driven from California), I feel off balance and adrift, it's too far away! It always felt too far away but I had trouble defining what it was too far away from. I came to understand that it was too far away from my parents, who lived in Hermiston, Oregon at the time and too far away from here. Boise. But that didn't make any sense. Maybe it was the general high dessert area that I missed, the Pacific Northwest region. Because I was born here, did that make it home? And how could I live on the East Coast for so many years without longing for here?
I think the sense of place and the feeling of home changes over time and with altered circumstances. I was fine in Florida for over four years because that's where my family was. But then, I think back and I know I wasn't fine ... I was drunk. I was miserable. I was marking time until John retired and we could start our real life. I was waiting for my real life to begin. I was holding down the fort as best I could while weathering the storms of unhappiness and feeling misplaced by not being entirely sober, especially the last few years. And when John announced that he was not going to retire, that we were moving to Alameda and join ship's company on the USS Lincoln, well, that was it for me. I melted into a hot mess and didn't begin to recover until I stopped drinking a few years later.
I have distinct memories of things that happened in every place I ever lived, what the rooms looked like, the streets, the towns, what we did and what cars we drove. I have an incredible memory and I'd love to write all this down, each location with a strong sense of place.
Yesterday I made the statement that it was the desire for "home" that drove my relationship decisions all my life and until I wrote that down, I did not know it. Since then, I've pondered the truth of it and it stuns me. I tried to make homes with Bob, I moved us around and around all over the place until I realized that I couldn't make a home with him. Rick had a house in Beaverton and while it wasn't a very good house, he owned it (or was buying it), and I liked that feeling of owning a home. I wanted in there with him but he wouldn't allow it. I spent countless hours visualizing my ideal home during the years I spent with Rick. I doubt that I would have stayed with him had he not had that house. Then I met John and he offered me a home in California, a house with a pool in the back yard. In California. Did I mention that it was in California?! Where I was yanked away at age 11 and always yearned to get back to ever since? I was a California dreamer well before the song came out. My first yearnings for home began as we drove away from there and headed north to Baker County in 1964. So there was no way I was going to decline that offer from John Sandknop --- it was a dream-come-true on a soul level. He had no idea (and neither did I) that he was offering me my heart's desire. So even though I wasn't in love with him and I had no interest in a military lifestyle, I was very attracted to him and he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Little did I know that when I married him, I actually married that house on Lemmon Way and I would never be happy again without it.
Well, so many interesting realizations about home. I managed to shift myself around all those years ago until I finally got what I wanted ... a home of my own in the location of my choice, along with plenty of freedom and no one else to please. All the choices I made over the years were leading me here and I was blind to it until just now. I wanted a sense of home but I also wanted Stephen to have a sense of home as well and he never did. He was just as lost by the whole idea as I was, so he hitched himself to Mike and created a home with cats and when that fell apart, he didn't have the tools to cope with the loss. He lost Mike and the cats but he lost his sense of home, of connection, of belonging, and he withered away and died. I know just what that feels like! My poor baby. Oh Stephen, I'm so sorry!
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Blurting The-Truth-As-I-See-It
9:32am Writing Practice 50° Boise
It's been weeks since I wrote in this blog journal. I've been hand-writing in the spiral instead. I moved the laptop to my room while cleaning for my party on Aug 28th and tried to use it from there, but it's just too uncomfortable! It gave me terrible headaches and hurt my back. So I'm back to the living room in my comfy chair. laptop on my lap table. And it's good, it feels good here.
That last time I posted, a Sunday where I had gotten up too early, I met James and Bryce for breakfast at Quinn's and drank real coffee and ended up telling Bryce he was in denial about an overdose/suicide attempt he had years ago and I've been in trouble ever since. From now on I must learn to stay at home and be by myself when I don't get enough sleep and for crying out loud, don't ever drink real coffee in public when tired like that! I seem to enter an altered reality zone and blurt shit out. I've alienated so many people in my life ... I woke up thinking of them this morning. Laura Thayer. Lynette Harris. Reggie Hunter. Lois in Quincy. RubyAnn. Maybe even Mark and Nathan. Am I really that awful? Not worthy of forgiveness? Or was I just talking to the wrong people, ones who have no business in my life and so they left. Hurts about Mark and Nathan, though.
However, I just remembered a rule of relationship: All I can do is take responsibility for what I say, I can't control how others respond. It's just that everyone is so touchy these days! Everyone wants to get offended and then hold a grudge. What's up with that? Are people really wanting to be that strong, that they can stand there and hold a grudge for a few misspoken sentences not said in anger or malice? A grudge can get mighty heavy in just a few years, it can actually stunt growth.
My mother was a famous grudge-holder. She held on to anger at Hub for her whole life and I just wonder if that trait contributed to her sad demise. There was no logic to it and no talking her out of it. I know. I tried. Is Bryce that same kind of grudge-holder? He very well could be, he had some of the same brainwashing with religion that my mother had. Righteousness can be used in so many ways. "The quality of being morally right or justifiable." My mothered loved the feeling of being righteous. It's the very next step to feeling superior --- most people like that feeling, too.
I've decided to write to Bryce and ask for a get-out-of-jail-free card for my willingness to help his friend Linday last year. And remind him that I really do love him, that he and James mean the world to me. If I can get him to open up and begin to forgive this time, it may help with his ongoing maturity. And perhaps mine as well. You never know, I could stop blurting the truth-as-I-see-it at inappropriate moments. It could happen.
I've just finished breakfast and now have to get ready to run errands. I have grocery shopping to do. I've been down sick for over a week and supplies are getting low. Also, I need to begin to pack up my studio but for some reason I don't even want to go over there. I've only got a little over two weeks to get out of there or risk paying for another month's rent, which I don't want to do. I must get my act together and get on it! Motivation! Focus!
It's been weeks since I wrote in this blog journal. I've been hand-writing in the spiral instead. I moved the laptop to my room while cleaning for my party on Aug 28th and tried to use it from there, but it's just too uncomfortable! It gave me terrible headaches and hurt my back. So I'm back to the living room in my comfy chair. laptop on my lap table. And it's good, it feels good here.
That last time I posted, a Sunday where I had gotten up too early, I met James and Bryce for breakfast at Quinn's and drank real coffee and ended up telling Bryce he was in denial about an overdose/suicide attempt he had years ago and I've been in trouble ever since. From now on I must learn to stay at home and be by myself when I don't get enough sleep and for crying out loud, don't ever drink real coffee in public when tired like that! I seem to enter an altered reality zone and blurt shit out. I've alienated so many people in my life ... I woke up thinking of them this morning. Laura Thayer. Lynette Harris. Reggie Hunter. Lois in Quincy. RubyAnn. Maybe even Mark and Nathan. Am I really that awful? Not worthy of forgiveness? Or was I just talking to the wrong people, ones who have no business in my life and so they left. Hurts about Mark and Nathan, though.
However, I just remembered a rule of relationship: All I can do is take responsibility for what I say, I can't control how others respond. It's just that everyone is so touchy these days! Everyone wants to get offended and then hold a grudge. What's up with that? Are people really wanting to be that strong, that they can stand there and hold a grudge for a few misspoken sentences not said in anger or malice? A grudge can get mighty heavy in just a few years, it can actually stunt growth.
My mother was a famous grudge-holder. She held on to anger at Hub for her whole life and I just wonder if that trait contributed to her sad demise. There was no logic to it and no talking her out of it. I know. I tried. Is Bryce that same kind of grudge-holder? He very well could be, he had some of the same brainwashing with religion that my mother had. Righteousness can be used in so many ways. "The quality of being morally right or justifiable." My mothered loved the feeling of being righteous. It's the very next step to feeling superior --- most people like that feeling, too.
I've decided to write to Bryce and ask for a get-out-of-jail-free card for my willingness to help his friend Linday last year. And remind him that I really do love him, that he and James mean the world to me.
I've just finished breakfast and now have to get ready to run errands. I have grocery shopping to do. I've been down sick for over a week and supplies are getting low. Also, I need to begin to pack up my studio but for some reason I don't even want to go over there. I've only got a little over two weeks to get out of there or risk paying for another month's rent, which I don't want to do. I must get my act together and get on it! Motivation! Focus!
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