Tuesday, early December, 2013
Good morning....
Holiday season mornings, in Florida.
There is enough cool air to require a sweater. Sox. No bare feet. This is a Florida winter. The sun is shining. Like a perfect cool FALL day up north, without the leaves turning brilliant yellows, golds, oranges and reds. Florida is GREEN. And BLUE- sky & water soothing my soul constantly. I am a water gal and always have been.
I had a rough day yesterday. I never cry. I don't cry because I get stuffy and can't breathe. Having spent years as a kid with asthma: I abhor not being able to breathe. If I cry, it is because I have either forgotten my fluoxetine (prozac)... or it is because my feelings were hurt. I seem TOUGH. I am from New York, and there is an energy which can sometimes seem off-putting, or intimidating to some. I have softened over the decades in the south, aging and WANTING to appear closer to who I really am: a softy! And, a pleaser. Most children of alcoholics are pleasers. I am not exceptional in this respect, I am quite normal.
I cried yesterday. My daughter, who has been so sweet, attentive and welcoming: was rude, mean and insensitive. I get that she is feeling 'put out'. I get that she is feeling 'over-run' by my stuff. I get that she doesn't have complete control over creating her own energy in her own home.... with anyone, including me- in the mix. I get that and respect those feelings and am sensitive to it. However, there is nothing I can do about any of it until I move back home. There is light at the end of that tunnel. Be that as it may: I received the wrath of her understandable frustration. She stung. That is unnecessary. I also understand that her coping skills are not more refined. She is tough and always has been.
She came to say "I am sorry". And, with a bit of cockiness asked if I would accept her apology? I waited, and she filled in the silence with "But, you must understand....."
Any statement is NEGATED once you attach the word 'BUT' to it.
I said "No, I don't accept it".
I was feeling burdensome. I was feeling small. Alone. And, finally - emotionally and physically experiencing now, what I have been silently putting aside for 3 months: The death of my house, and of 4 decades of my former life.
It is a big deal. I must allow myself to grieve for the 'passing' of one stage of life, into the next. Let go, perhaps. Pass the banner. This was not just a house. I found it. I fell in love at first sight: with it's potential. I designed every inch of the space- to use it efficiently and effectively. It is me. It is where my life started with my husband, before we were married. It is where I brought my babies home... and where they had their childhood. Good and bad. Always, the rock and center.... always transforming to the different eras of child-rearing. The interior courtyard started as an outdoor safe playpen.... and evolved into an adult 'smoking area'. And then... back again as a playpen for my grandson "pip".
I am sentimental. Every single thing in my home has a memory or a story. I remember 90% of them. That means that everything I have, represents a most personal moment and time. I chose them. Each item spoke to me. Each THING, is a catalogue of my life. So, I mourn the scattering of my bits. And, will at another time, celebrate it as well.
Carlyle needs to understand that as much as she feels 'put out', she still has a home she can live it. I don't. That difference makes me feel vulnerable and changes the paradigm.
Of course, we hugged and made up. Then, went for a SUB-ZERO ice cream experience. You create your own flavors which come in liquid form.... and then liquid hot ice (nitrogen) is sprayed on the liquid which crystalizes into iced cream. Very 'hokey-pokey' with vapor smoke rising from the ice cream bowls. Yummy and cool.
Casey was sweet. When we returned home, he rocked on the twin rocker with me, his arm draped along the back and said "I want you here. We want you here. You are the mommy. I will do better". It was sweet. Appreciated. He also said that Carlyle wasn't good at apologizing. I love it. He is explaining my daughter to me. I have lived with her for 28 years..... significantly longer than Casey has: she is the same stubborn woman today as she was a 'little girl', way back when.
Astrid and I had gone to the house yesterday. She tore down the one RED Venetian Plaster bedroom wall. It hurt her to do it, as she had put many hours into creating that red beautiful wall.
Oh WELL! Down it went. Good thing: got rid of one 'moldy' drywall. Yeah! Progress. Destruction, too. We got down to the basic roots of the house: CONCRETE. It was all evocative... of a life well lived.
Happy Tuesday. THANK YOU for stopping by and visiting. It warms me to know that you do visit with me, and you it is appreciated and respected.
Judy
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