Until we meet

About ten years ago, I met a man I'll call "Mark." He was the brother of a good friend and had just moved back to the area with his wife and 3-year-old son. Nice-looking guy, talkative, somewhat charming, rather opinionated, and an ordained minister who was currently not working in the field.

He was also one of the most challenging people I've ever known. He put PsychoBoss firmly in her place as a second-rate nightmare. There are names, pigeon-holes, to describe him which I won't use here. Even at the time I saw God throwing down the gauntlet with Mark: Here, deal with THIS!

The lesson was, I can't. I certainly couldn't have "Mark" in my life and keep my own emotional see-saw stable; the injection of him into any situation caused more difficulty and strife than anyone could reasonably handle without more skills than I had...or have now.

There was a series of other situations going on at the same time carefully set up by Someone to teach me this lesson over and over and over, but "Mark" was the Red Flag Waving at the top of the pile. I was in our pastor's office often in that period, in tears, broken, wondering why I couldn't fix stuff, make people understand, solve problems, etc. And the answer was, I can't. I can't without a great deal of external help. The further answer was that I don't have to; not everything is my problem to solve. Walk away.

Walk
Away

It's not easy to walk away when something breaks. I was raised to go find a broom and start cleaning up. "Don't just stand there, DO something!" My mantra with "Mark" eventually became, when I was not reacting emotionally to his games, "Don't just do something, STAND THERE!" And then walk away.

And so, I am. Again. For different reasons, and much sooner.

There is a relationship which was damaged several months ago by thoughtlessness. I've alluded to it online multiple times, obliquely. There was a further extraordinary appeal. It was further damaged by my chickenshittedness about dealing with the situation directly with the individual. But the damage caused me to open my eyes, and I looked around to find that I was only the latest collateral damage in the wake; there were other floaters. I started to dog paddle to the outer reaches of the wake where I have spent several months observing.

I don't like what I've seen. I don't like what seeing this is doing to me. I don't like that I've got a fish-eye lens on this person all the time, even when I claim irrelevance.

So I'm walking away. It takes epoxy to repair some things and I only have one side of the formula. Without the other agent, there's just no point.

I'm grateful for the good times, aware of my debts, but trying very hard not to be ashamed to admit that I just don't have the skills to deal with this situation. And so, I'll walk on without this person, at least for now.

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                        For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                                    Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                        For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

                                                      -- from "The Hollow Men" by T.S. Eliot

---

What happened to "Mark"? Eventually--after several years of negative influence--he was formally requested by our church's leaders to leave our congregation. His wife and children left him and he degenerated both mentally and physically; he died about four years ago. I'm sure God has enfolded him into the Kingdom and "Mark" is whole and happy now in ways he could never achieve here. His sister and I remain friends.

(blank)

Mood: The usual
Hair: Funky pony
Eyes: Fine
Listening to: Beast typing on the other laptop, and MNF

That's me: blank. I sat here for two minutes staring at the screen trying to come up with a title for this post.

I woke up this morning about 3:30 with a scratchy throat. Time for the autumn cold, I guess. Whee. Never did get back to sleep all the way.

The best I can do for content is to say that it's Spirit Week (i.e. Homecoming) for Sparky. We drove 40 minutes in rush hour traffic looking for colored, washable hairspray for Wednesday. Yep. I spent about as much on gas driving to the nearest pop-up costume store as I did for the two cans of silver-colored dust.

FIL is more-or-less situated in his apartment, and seems to be loving it so far.

Beast has been wandering around for half an hour saying he's lost his mind. It's just never good when the reliable person is doing that!

Summation: I'm tired. Too tired to get excited about some of the Stupid People Tricks on display today (excluding family, although Sparky's on kind of a roll tonight).

---

WordSpy Word:

stay-at-work mom: n. A mother who returns to work soon after giving birth. Also: stay-at-work mother.

I am proud to say that, with the exception of about 18 months, I have always been a stay-at-work mom, following in my own mother's footsteps--though, granted, she was not able to go back to work till I was four, in 1967. Times change.

In a rut much?

Mood: Good
Hair: Clean, curled, and actually looking good
Eyes: Pretty ok so far
Listening to: Angelique Kidjo's "Agossi" just ended and Solas' "Nil Na La" just began (which was then followed by Konono No.1's "Lufuala Ndonga" and UB40's "Red, Red Wine" and [omg omg omg LOVE this song!] Howard Jones' "I Must Go"). AWESOME MIX!!

I keep eating badly. That's one very deep rut.

But the biggest one is that when I get to work I have to open the windows on my PC in precisely the right order or it totally messes up my workflow. Reading left to right across the Start Bar:

- IE : Meebo (shrunk and open on the left side of my screen at (almost) all times)
- A second IE window with the following tabs (in this order): Yahoo!Music, the Launchcast player window, Connexion (and right now, Blogger, but usually our catalog)
- Word : My task list for the week, which I email to my boss on Tuesday morning before creating a new one
- Millennium (two windows: Java and the actual database)
- Notepad : for random stuff to be handled as I find it (right now it's got the YouTube URL for Cindy McCain's idiot comment about Palin's "foreign policy experience")
- Any other programs that are needed open after this: e.g., Excel, incoming emails, etc.

Outlook is open, but only shows in the widget window until I click to inspect it.

The kicker: if these are out of order, I completely can't manage.

Unfortunately, I don't always remember to open things in this order, so I often have to log out of something and start again. Anyone know of a way to move the programs around on the start bar like you can do with the IE tabs, without downloading crap?

---

Urban Word:

meatatarian: A person who eats meat virtually to the exclusion of vegetables. The meatatarian often claims to be conserving veggies for those who would actually eat them, and keeps the veggies out of the waste stream, helping the environment, or keeping produce costs down.

While not an extreme meatatarian, I have moments; for instance, this morning's 'need' for a bacon/egg/cheese bagel from McD's.

Perkier

Last week, Mrs. P tagged me with the "six quirky things" meme!

Here are the rules:

1) Link to the person who tagged me. {done}
2) Mention the rules. {done}
3) Tell six quirky yet boring, unspectacular details about myself. {see below}
4) Tag 6 other blogger´s by linking to them. {er, no--I've a policy against tagging. Swipe it if you want it!!!}
5) Go to each person’s blog and leave a comment that lets them know they’ve been tagged. {see #54}

Quirky and boring? Hmmmm........

1. I don't bite my nails. I bite my cuticles though, and I can't stand the feeling of having anything UNDER my nails. Thirty years of doing this. Thank God I never took up anything addictive!
2. I'm like a trivia vacuum cleaner. I can't remember stuff I need to buy at the store, but I can tell you loads of details about a goofy news story from 1983 or the reason Western music uses an 8-note octave.
3. I realized last weekend that I only ever use the left-hand shift key on a keyboard. Why? I dunno--I just realized it!! (I still manage to type over 60 wpm somehow)
4. I do not like Easter lilies. They give me the creeps. I don't know why.
5. I also am totally creeped-out by tapioca. {{shudder}}
6. The older I get the less patience I have with people who share my behavioral faults. Including, sometimes...quite often, myself.

Good enough? Go make your own lists and let me know where I can read them!!

More lyrics

It's a long wait at the gate
Just to glimpse your fate
Just to see whether it all works out
It's a long road, a heavy load
You gotta really want to go
And just let the others walk around you now

Up and down again
But this time it's different
It took some waiting to straighten
out the bend
In and out of luck
Yeah at times it was difficult
I got a new life baby, It takes some getting used to but...

Chorus:
No sign of any rain
My skies are clear today
I keep bracing for that hit
But there's not sign of it
No obstacles in sight
My skies are clear tonight (My skies are full of light)
I keep thinking I might see that cloud arrive
Oh but there's no sign of it
No sign of it

And as I look around, it's all new ground
The leaves on the trees touch down
But I'm above weightless as a dream
It's been a long road, a heavy load
I just simply had to go
Had to get here hard as it's been

"No Sign of It" (Natalie Grant)

Does this sound more like me?

It's a sad song...

...but I'm only doing the bits that aren't so sad, and therefore that apply more usefully:

Have fun
And if you can't have fun
Have someone else's fun
'cause someone sure had mine
They came in
Now they're having a whale of a time

...

Take heart
And if you can't take heart
Take someone else's heart

...

'cause you're the queen of sadness
The princess of the house of pain

...

Have fun

"Have Fun" The Beautiful South

I don't really want to be the Queen of Sadness. I'll just have fun--mine, yours, ours--instead.

Goin' on

Mood: Good
Hair: A bit flyaway from humidity
Eyes: Fair
Listening to: An odd (but quiet) sound from the fridge

In case you all care, Summer Reading Program starts next week in libraries all across America, if it hasn't already. You may be too late to get in and see a quiet library at this point until August. Don't say you haven't been warned.... On the other hand, if the sight of dozens of kids enjoying books makes your eyes light up, come on in!!

The advice from the Professional this morning involved telling me to stop picking up snakes, to stay away from edges, and to follow the middle way. Also, guilt is not a Christian emotion. I'm going back next week to let him know how I did, especially on snake avoidance.

He's a cool dude.

Now, about those 65 mph winds this morning...I was in basements for both of this morning's meetings, for which I am quite grateful. There was a rumor of 'green sky.' Green sky, for those unfamiliar with the midwest, is as eerie as it sounds, and generally translates to "Weather is Coming--Find a Flashlight NOW!" In this case, it wasn't flashlight weather, quite. Mother Nature just did some more tree trimming, the second time this week. Whee.

I'm home now, long enough to eat lunch, blog and head back to the 'brary where I will be partially covering for Crazy Cat Lady who always takes the week before Summer Reading Program off.

---

Urban Word:

Homing from Work: Using work time and resources for personal tasks. See reverse telecommuting, work from home

I expect to get a slightly higher-than-normal amount of homing from work done today during my scheduled Reference Desk hours.

---

P.S. After four years of being told, "REALLY, those are lilac bushes in the yard!" this year they've bloomed. In profusion. I guess God does love me after all.

o.k.

Mood: ...improved (though I guess that's hardly saying much)
Hair: Ponybun
Eyes: Itchy--here comes allergy season
Listening to: blowers and my brain

A semi-thaw during a long talk with my boss about work-related stuff.
A long IM with my favorite Beast.
Not caring a whit that no cataloging has been down.
Visiting with former employees I like (even if I'm green with envy that they now live in Colorado!).
The sure knowledge that my son and hubby love me.

PRICELESS

---

Urban Word:

Grippin grain: wood grain steering wheel

Beast has been grippin' grain all week while he sees all his customers.

Poetry Month

We Wear the Mask
by Paul Laurence Dunbar

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,---
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
     We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
     We wear the mask!

Oh, boy. Don't we ever. What if we all took off our masks?

Twenty Years

Twenty years ago today, I had been married just about 9 months to Beast.
We were living in a minuscule apartment in a building built about 1910 (read: no closets to speak of) with 11 other apartments in it; I don't think we'd been hired as managers yet.
I was in library school, working on my Master's degree, in my second semester.
Beast was in his first year of full-time employment at The Tape Place, where he was earning the astounding salary of $28,000 per year.
We owned a 1978-ish Ford Pinto, which we parked a block away from the apartment building in a city lot because our building had no parking lot.
No A/C, carpet that smelled of cat pee in hot weather, a kitchen with no counters (none), and a loudly snoring next-door neighbor....we were directly across from a gas station/mini-mart, cattywampus from a delicious Chinese restaurant, and our dining room view--our only view, really--was of the back of a funeral home. In the summer, with all of the windows wide open for air, we had to suspend phone conversations as the city bus went by on the other side of the building.
We were both twenty-three-and-a-half. Sometime that year, I calmly got up one morning and threw up and we both wondered if I was pregnant. I wasn't.

The week before Easter, my dad and mom arrived for a visit. They stayed with my sister Ellen and her family about 45 minutes north of us in Quaint-Beyond-Words Town, an exurb of the city we were living three blocks north of; technically, we were in a suburb, really though we were in the city.

On that Thursday, Maundy Thursday, I was "working on a project" with Martha S. and Anne G. in the big workroom in the SLIS department; in reality, we were sort of messing around. Beast appeared at one of the doors, out of breath, tense. "I've been looking all over for you. We need to go. Now. Your dad's in the hospital." Huh? [The days before cell phones, email, and IMs....remember?]

Yes, Dad was in the hospital. Actually, he'd been at two hospitals that day: Ellen had taken him to St. Mike's--the nearest hospital (at 40 minutes from home, that's "near"??)--where the medical staff decided he needed more specific help than they could provide and transferred him by screaming ambulance to St. Mary's, about 20 minutes south of my campus.

I remember being stunned, looking at Beast in confusion, probably with the remains of a laugh draining out of my eyes. I don't actually remember packing my things, getting to the car, driving to the hospital, parking...but I do remember stepping off the elevator on the surgical floor just as my dad was wheeled past on a gurney. The nurses stopped long enough for me to say hi (goodbye?) and then they whisked him (that's just how it sounded too: "whisk" down the hall through the double doors and out of sight) into emergency heart surgery. He had, They had decided, suffered his third heart attack at some point in the past couple of days, and the arteries in his heart were occluded enough that if they didn't open him up N-O-W, he wouldn't make it to morning.

Ellen, Beast, Mom and I spent the next 6 or 7 hours on the plastic seats in the surgical waiting area. The nurses came out every few hours to update us, sounding cautious. Ellen was in the midst of a terrific head cold and was medicated for that, which I've always hoped accounted for the fact that she kept telling us Dad was going to die. Like clockwork, every half hour or so, she'd start crying and repeating that mantra. Then she'd drop back onto the sofa and sleep for another 20 minutes or so. Repeat ad nauseum. There was only one window in the waiting room, overlooking the parking lot. I don't know what we did for all those hours, besides try not to strangle Ellen. We must have talked. I don't know.

The surgeon appeared at some point, telling us that Dad had pulled through "so far" and we could see him in awhile "briefly." He had loads of details, but I don't remember how much or anything specific, just that Dad was alive, and that it was Good Friday, and that Ellen had been wrong.

Five years earlier, Dad had had his first heart surgery. This was number two. There would be no chance for a third--no veins left in his legs to be cut down and built into new heart suppliers.

Mom and Dad ended up staying at Ellen and Dean's for about a month while Dad recovered. He was released from the hospital by the Monday after Easter, we had our "Easter dinner" the following Sunday, and Dad got to see his grandson Don play some baseball games. Was that the spring that he also got to see Don take a fly ball in the eye, nearly breaking the orbital bone? I can't remember.

Dad was cleared to fly home, and he got back on the cardiac diet-and-exercise regimen. I graduated with a Master's (and a part-time job in a nearby library) in December.

C'est moi

I found this at Lisa's place: Portrait Illustration Maker. So here's me:


I think it's slightly closer to what I really look like than the Yahoo avatar at the left, but it's also a bit harder to manipulate.

It goes without saying--though I'm saying it anyway--that it doesn't show that I have an immense sinus headache tonight. I looooooovvvve winter.

Good news/Bad news

I work up this morning and my first coherent thought was "I never did eat dinner last night."

Clearly, I'm not a teenager, vacuuming up anything even vaguely edible in my zip code.

On the other hand, I had two frosted sugar cookies at the youth group meeting last night, probably ingesting 500 calories of pure carb right there.

It's times like these when I have to stop and wonder about whether it was a good idea for me to carry the label of Responsible Adult. I think I'd better voluntarily give up my membership.