Hozier kick, Part II. Also Delta Rae.

“The way she shows me I’m hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine
Blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.”

This boy…Now that I know what this song is about, and have seen the video, I can barely get through it.

It is so powerful it hurts.

I don’t mean to diminish physical abuse.  Ever.  But, if I could…join in…this is also me — and thousands like me — who suffer(ed) from emotional abuse.

“And it’s worth it, it’s divine
I have this some of the time.”

The beautiful part of that kind of a relationship is what it makes the swing of the pendulum to the opposite side so heartrending.  So tragically disappointing.  So easily deniable.  There is never the rare beauty of the one side without the bitter rage of the other.   And if you decide to leave, you are the cause of the rare, sweet wine’s death.  It is collateral damage to the death of the hot, smarting physical and/or emotional wounds.  That’s just the way it has to be.

If you don’t know that, well my friend, I hope you will soon.

The beauty of Cherry Wine’s perfection hurts just as much, and just like, Delta Rae’s Dance in the Graveyards hurt when my father passed away:

“And while I’m alive,
I don’t want to be alone mourning the ones who came before
I want to dance with them some more”

Listening to this artistry hurts like…like something I haven’t been able to describe yet.  Maybe like fucking waxing your whole body.

But a truth, exposed in a way many of us can share, helps us heal, no matter how close to the bone it is.

Long live songwriters and other artists who heal.

 

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Thoughts about the ring. Oh, and healing stitches.

The diamond is embedded and surrounded by white gold.  When it was my engagement ring, it stood tall on a platinum throne.  Now that it’s my family ring, it’s nestled in the middle — one of three family members.  The garnets are not flush.  Hmmm…I have spent a lot of time deciding if this is ok…that the garnets are little mesas, and the diamond is a little inset, like a clear pool of water.  I think I’ve decided it’s ok.  I had a crisis over the weekend that the ring was too gaudy — too much a shelf of shine — but I got over that, too.

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Apparently I’m VERY big on symbolism.  I knew that, but this “get used to the new ring” weekend has really highlighted that fact.

On another note, I was lying in bed next to my new friend , awake about 4:30 am, as usual for me.  I was thinking about how our new relationship has been like getting stitched up.  It doesn’t hurt.  It’s not some Emergency Room drama scene.  It is a process of healing hurts and issues from way back.  Way, way, back.  The thread brings the wound together, and he smooths over the track of stitches with salve, promising that closure and healing is, at last, imminent.

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I wept silently and deeply as I fleshed out this image, trying not to make his back wet where I was burying my weary mind.  Somehow I feel like I must thank my recently departed dad for this miracle.  After all, some of the issues that are closing and healing are issues I  shared with him.  If that’s all this new friend of mine is slated to do for me in this life, well, that’s just about damn near everything, to have these old wounds attended to.  Thank you new friend and Dad.  I’m just going to go ahead and give you both credit.

Moving on

Cooper the Elder

I rode a horse yesterday for the first time in 30 years.  It was actually more like an adult pony ride with a guide and a no trotting or cantering rule.  Still…it was peaceful and nostalgic and a sweet connection to a living thing on our living planet on a near-perfect day that was gratefully received.

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The horse’s name is Cooper.  I’ve talked about a dog teaching me lessons this summer here https://writeitdownletitgo.com/2015/07/24/zeke-the-elder-not-a-comic-book-character/and now I see that my sweet/vicious cat and Cooper the horse have eldered me as well.

I know what you’re thinking.  Of course I know that people elder me all time.  There’s just something about these animals’ straightforward message that has really broken through my human mind clutter to sooth my sore heart, which I also talked about before here https://writeitdownletitgo.com/2015/06/16/my-heart-is-sore-so-i-should-stop-banging-it-against-the-past/.  I’m a sucker for a full-circle theme.

So, move bravely on to your Monday!  Maybe notice who is eldering you and don’t forget to catch the lesson!

Four Weddings and a Funeral

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I got through four big events for my daughter this week.

1)  I sat at her awards night with her grandmother and her dad.  Grandma was happy to be the buffer between him and me and it worked well.  He thanked me for being civil — something I haven’t been since the very beginning — before all the rage and ill will set in.  And thank you Ativan.

2)  That made both of us taking pre-prom pictures at the same event better.  He always goes with humor, but it upsets me.  There’s nothing going on in my life I think calls for flippancy, which is what his humor seems like to me.  He went with humor anyway, and I tried not to be outwardly vicious.  My daughter, her friends, and her date were adorable.  It made her happy to see us cordial.  And thank you Ativan.

3)  Our son was the buffer at graduation.  I couldn’t help conducting an experiment I had been cooking up for several months since my daughter got a tattoo, which upset her dad.  I put a few small, black, stick-on star tattoos around my ankle to see if he would notice.  After graduation he said to me, “Did you get your tattoos at the same time she did?”  I just said no.  To cap off this very childish expression of independence, I said in my head, “Ne ner ne ner ne ner…made you look!”  And thank you Ativan.

4)  I threw a graduation brunch to really thank my friends for being so supportive.  My daughter’s boyfriend and family were there and a few other kids, but the guests were mostly my friends.  My daughter was gracious and engaging with them — something she sometimes has a hard time making herself do.  I invited some friends of hers and mine that we have been on the outs with as an olive branch and they all came!  No need to take or thank Ativan for that event.

5)  After everyone went home and I was doing dishes, my sink backed up.  This is one of its worst pranks, and it pulls it at the most inopportune times.  When the kids’ dad came to take them for a Father’s Day movie, I went outside where he was waiting for them and told him, and he came in to check it out.  The last time it happened, my husband had just had a heart attack.  He asked me if I put vegetables down the disposal and I said yes, I thought I had done it slowly enough, but I was wrong.  He pulled out one of his classic disapproving looks from our marriage. I had not relied on Ativan that day and I was caught with my pants down.  But I’m glad to report that I didn’t melt down, and after all the positive strides I made this week for my daughter’s sake, and my own, the sink and my estranged husband can go suck it with their stupid funeral after my four weddings.  And I didn’t even say that out loud!

Moving on…

The Healing Stone and Smaller Boobs

Healing StoneI have taken to tucking the healing stone (Remember that and it’s powers?  If not, I talk about it in one of my first posts) into my left side bra cup.  The idea is that it’s as close to my heart as it can be on the outside, and where it does its work.  The problem with this is that through this divorce (can’t wait to stop saying that) (can’t wait to stop using parentheses) I have lost quite a bit of weight.  No surprise, but I have to latch my bra on the smallest circumference, and the boobs don’t fill out the cups like they used to.  If I lift them up and put the cup right under them they look okay for about 5 seconds — then they bag and sag — both the breasts and the cups.

I have “lost” the stone twice, both times in bed.  If you are paying attention, that means yes, I wear my bra to bed.  Always.  You can accept this, I’m sure.  I’m very ritualistic, so if something isn’t in its place, it could be literally anywhere.  The freezer, even.  By the cat box.  In the cup holder.  Turns out the stone was still in the bra cup — it had just migrated to the other side.  (Lots of room).  No parentheses!  Lots of room.  The second time was this morning.  After a thorough check, it was not swimming around in the left bra cup.  Instead of panicking, I thought maybe the universe was telling me I am done with the healing stone.  Maybe it put all its little belongings in a kerchief and tied it to a stick and went looking for another heart to heal.  I was cool with it.  Seemed ok.  I plopped back into bed to read a little at 4:40 am, which is the time I was born, and the time I usually wake up, and I had a Princess and the Pea moment.  I had checked the sheets and blankets before, but nevertheless (nevertheless should never be used by non-lawyers, as well as parentheses) regardless, I was lying on it.  Thank god.  Who was I kidding when I thought I was healed?  The lesson is that I just need to buy smaller bras.  Moving on.

A little of this, a little of that. Regular stuff.

This is the first day of writing my blog that an idea or theme wasn’t composing itself in my mind beforehand.  I tham feeling a little bit good, a little bit scared.  My fascinating daughter is graduating from high school Saturday so I have lots of logistics to work out.  I love my cat.  She seems to have some kind of watery eye issue at the moment.

I think what I’ve got going on today is…regular life.  No hate, no chip, no ax to grind.  A life to live.  It’s about time.  I’m going to be deliberate about enjoying today.  Work, setbacks, errands, come my way.  You shall not pass my budding hopeful attitude.

My daughter also has her prom tonight.  We had her try on the whole business last night…stunning…I can’t wait to see her there with the great boyfriend she chose for herself a little over a year ago.

My heart is sore (so I should stop banging it against the past)

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Yesterday I said my heart was sore.  And it is.  But I do realize that while he caused the first bruise, I keep putting it in situations where it receives more bruises.  I do that.  Why do I keep doing that?  What’s wrong with me?

Actually, someone described the turmoil we’re slogging through when our spouses have affairs and it’s one word:  Insulted.  INSULTED.  It’s the ultimate insult.  People say divorce is kind of like a death.  The cheating spouse chooses to go, though, and thereby says, “You’re not good enough anymore.  In fact, she’s so much better than you are.”  I already have insecurity issues.  Just kill me now.

Every time I declare that I’m done doing stupid shit, I make myself a liar.  Part of me really wants to stop.  I want this to be the last time.  I need to wrap up this heart of mine and let it heal.  That means not going out of my way to get into his way.  Can I do it?  The evidence is not on my side…