Vasco Da Gama

How am I feeling about the exodus? I am not always in touch with my feelings and I think that I am happy to know that my stepson and his with child bride are off on their own exploration independent of me. I think about being less alone by myself than I was with four people in the house especially over the last 8 months. 

So tonight alone in my bed I will have much to ponder as the journey ahead is not guaranteed nor will it be easy. I’m not worried about taking care of myself at least I don’t think I am. More to explore and discover. I just didn’t think I’d be imitating Vasco Da Gama at age 61.  

The Good Witch

My earliest memory from childhood is being ill in unusual ways for a child.  I remember many times either having stiff necks, headaches and eyes being shut that took days to open and clear.  My speculation is that I was seeking attention from my parents that I felt I had either lost due to the birth of my two sisters or attention that I was simply  not getting. I recall that whenever I did get sick my mother paid particularly overt attention and caring towards me.  For example whenever I had an upset stomach and had to throw up my mom would kneel down beside me and hold my head until I was finished retching.  Later in life when I was poised over the porcelain throne I missed my mothers tender loving care.  

Another memory that I recall that ‘stuck’ with me was in 1st grade. I was enrolled in parochial school and one day my class unmonitored kicked up a ruckus in the halls while we were on our back to class.  My teacher was the Glinda the good Witch of the North and the teacher who caught our class skylarking was the Wicked Witch of the West.  I remember that she had us all line up with our hands extended and doled out whacks on our hands to teach us a lesson.  I felt so humiliated especially because I had not participated in any of the shenanigans.  I knew that I had to take it just like the rest had to and it left a bad taste in my mouth being blamed for something I didn’t do.  

Make It Clear Jack

Early to rise this Sunday morning has me musing gently about my complex life. I so wish that I didn’t hurt all the people that loved me and for those still in my life I’m sorry too.  I in my infinite wisdom think I can protect people from their feelings but alas this is a task even Superman would not take on.   

Some friends tell me that it is I that needs to be happy before anyone else but that just doesn’t sit well with me just yet.  I know that is my course now but the dead reckoning of pleasing Jack is a course I haven’t been on in my life.  Although those that were in it with me might tell you otherwise. I want to believe that being transparent is the best way to happiness and it’s the one alternative I haven’t taken because I hated to hurt anyone else’s feelings. But I know that it’s the only way to be.  Took long enough to figure that out.  

Becoming Jack

What is it that I am becoming?  Is it the world I have built around me or is it the space I’ve created that allows me to do what I want when I want?  In my heart and head I’ve known that what I focus on expands and if I can see the things I desire most they most often will come true.  That works both ways of course because if you send out the energy of what you don’t want that will appear as well. 

Letting Go

Have I made my life so complicated as if I added puzzle pieces that don’t belong in my mosaic?  Am I caught up in a vortex that is just part of the weather patterns of the universe? Maybe it’s a test that I must navigate with the tools I have at hand. 

What seems to be the most mystifying to me is that when I open my eyes I have a free-floating anxiety that I cannot define. Usually in the morning before office hours when if the issue did materialize I couldn’t act on it anyway. I guess the true test is in the light of day when these feelings dissipate that give me the true signal that all is as well as it can be.  I also think guilt is a factor and that is something that has been ingrained into my psyche since  childhood. It’s no ones fault I just have not learned how to let go and let God. 

The Heartbreak of Dementia

My father has learned how to take the easier softer way. After agreeing before another sibling and I that a visiting nurse service was headed to his doorstep he made a phone call to his youngest and said that he ‘wouldn’t have it’.  Not that he would call his only son and make such a bold reversal but instead did what he felt was his path of least resistance. 

My sister convinces he was “on board” with the idea yesterday was crestfallen that he didn’t stand by his word.  No mater I told her, the decision is out of his hands and how hard I press remains to be seen in time. 

Revenge

When someone won’t let go is it because they love you that much or hate you that much or is it both?  I have asked myself this question of late because I know that revenge is sweet for some but in the final analysis it is an empty proposition. It serves no other purpose but the perceived hurt on the one that hurt you. What does that accomplish beyond the gratification if you can call it that in the here and now?  I guess I don’t know the answer not because I am so wonderful but I never considered revenge as a useful tool to provide some sort of visceral satisfaction. I suppose the revenge seeker must know the heart and mind of the one they are seeking ‘justice’ from.  And does it really make you feel good getting revenge? Again I can’t answer this query either because at least for me I will feel even worse than the hurt I caused someone.  Some say revenge is sweet I say it is still the bitterness that remains.    This bears more thought and if it comes to mind I will add to this conundrum.  

The Screecher

My father and mother used to tell me that as an infant after putting me to sleep that  along about 2 AM like clockwork from my crib they would hear an ear piercing screeching that awoke them both with a start.  Not crying mind you but a syncopated set of screeches. They in young parenthood in the 1950’s in a two-bedroom apartment in Woodside Queens were left with only one alternative but to place me in the playpen in the living room. Their  sincere hope was  that the neighbors in the courtyard didn’t hear the acapella serenade. Does this explain my outbursts in spin class?  It’s possible and although I have a psychology degree now only a head shrinker would know for sure.  

As Time Goes By

As I contemplate the disintegrating health of my father, I am reminded of just how fast time goes by.  And as time goes by far be it for me to lament about my existence and all of its trials and tribulations.  And I can’t for the life of me figure out just where the time went.  I can recall sitting at my desk in 1st grade at 5 years old and staring above the blackboard at the alphabet in print and long hand thinking that in the year 2000 I would not be even 50 years old.  I remember that as distinctly as I do this moment as this pen hits the white paper I draw on. It also makes me realize that this Jack was a horse of a different color to be even having those thoughts in the years of single digits.