Circa 1941
Jennie and Jack have a wonderful time at dinner.
He's truly the nicest guy
She's truly the nicest gal
He hopes she'll see him, again
She hopes he'll call
Jack drives Jennie home
Jack parks the car in front of this great looking doll's apartment
Jack does not jump out, run around the car and open Jennie's door
Jack turns off the ignition, turns to Jennie, slips his arm around her shoulder and just as he's about to pull her into his embrace
She slips out of his grasp and opens her door
Hey! What the heck! After that dinner?
You didn't expect me to pay for dinner, did you?
Jack is not happy.
Jennie does not sell herself short.
It's 1941
Rule of thumb: Women are considered good girls or bad
Jack, who does not give up, easily, gives up on getting 'any', tonight.
He really wants to see Jennie, again, so he smiles and says:
I'd like to take you out, again …
I'd like that, too
Jack figures: All's well that ends well, she's worth it and—
There's always next time …
Jack has yet to meet the line up of brothers who await his arrival the first time he takes Jennie out on a proper date, and thus while standing in the foyer, ringing her bell, this hopeful young man is unaware ... and unaware suggests unprepared, because we can't prepare for that which we don't expect …
April 23, 2014
I didn't expect a melt down of self protective walls, today. I'd thought I'd safely sidestepped experiencing this melt down, which has left me feeling vulnerable, kind of raw. I feel the way your home must 'feel' while tearing down walls during renovation. The difference is this: Your home shows wear and tear. Your home shows what needs repair. I can't see into my mind, but my mirror shows whether my eyes are spirited or glazed with pain, mental fatigue or both. Then there's this fact of life: An overworked brain runs out of gas. What refuels the gas tank? Rest, understanding, TLC, and three nourishing meals—lost five pounds. No surface judgement calls, thank you. I'm still in the middle of getting a handle on what's going on …
In the past, when I didn't have a clear view of renovation restructuring my thought processor, this sense of disorganized confusion caused anxiety to spike beyond my line of control. With understanding comes logical thought. It's important to note that during times of heightened mental disorganization anxiety is programmed to heighten in tandem.
Jennie and Jack have a wonderful time at dinner.
He's truly the nicest guy
She's truly the nicest gal
He hopes she'll see him, again
She hopes he'll call
Jack drives Jennie home
Jack parks the car in front of this great looking doll's apartment
Jack does not jump out, run around the car and open Jennie's door
Jack turns off the ignition, turns to Jennie, slips his arm around her shoulder and just as he's about to pull her into his embrace
She slips out of his grasp and opens her door
Hey! What the heck! After that dinner?
You didn't expect me to pay for dinner, did you?
Jack is not happy.
Jennie does not sell herself short.
It's 1941
Rule of thumb: Women are considered good girls or bad
Jack, who does not give up, easily, gives up on getting 'any', tonight.
He really wants to see Jennie, again, so he smiles and says:
I'd like to take you out, again …
I'd like that, too
Jack figures: All's well that ends well, she's worth it and—
There's always next time …
Jack has yet to meet the line up of brothers who await his arrival the first time he takes Jennie out on a proper date, and thus while standing in the foyer, ringing her bell, this hopeful young man is unaware ... and unaware suggests unprepared, because we can't prepare for that which we don't expect …
April 23, 2014
I didn't expect a melt down of self protective walls, today. I'd thought I'd safely sidestepped experiencing this melt down, which has left me feeling vulnerable, kind of raw. I feel the way your home must 'feel' while tearing down walls during renovation. The difference is this: Your home shows wear and tear. Your home shows what needs repair. I can't see into my mind, but my mirror shows whether my eyes are spirited or glazed with pain, mental fatigue or both. Then there's this fact of life: An overworked brain runs out of gas. What refuels the gas tank? Rest, understanding, TLC, and three nourishing meals—lost five pounds. No surface judgement calls, thank you. I'm still in the middle of getting a handle on what's going on …
In the past, when I didn't have a clear view of renovation restructuring my thought processor, this sense of disorganized confusion caused anxiety to spike beyond my line of control. With understanding comes logical thought. It's important to note that during times of heightened mental disorganization anxiety is programmed to heighten in tandem.
Presently, my line of control feels overwhelmed by waves of grief too complex to understand, as of yet. I feel more than loss. I feel fearful. When this sense of irreplacable loss combines with a think tank that's run out of gas, subconscious fear is empowered to emerge—thus this vulnerable feeling of danger closing in. I go to Will:
Will, subconscious fear is on the prowl.
He knows what I need to hear:
'Don't worry, Annie, you're safe. I won't let anything or anyone hurt you.'
Exactly what I'd needed to hear from an adult when I was a terrified child …
When Will's not home, I take on that role, myself:
'You are no longer a child. You've developed a voice. Sticks and stones can break my bones, but names can never hurt me …'
I need to work on that, most especially when
I am made scapegoat for another person's pain
Will, subconscious fear is on the prowl.
He knows what I need to hear:
'Don't worry, Annie, you're safe. I won't let anything or anyone hurt you.'
Exactly what I'd needed to hear from an adult when I was a terrified child …
When Will's not home, I take on that role, myself:
'You are no longer a child. You've developed a voice. Sticks and stones can break my bones, but names can never hurt me …'
I need to work on that, most especially when
I am made scapegoat for another person's pain
Thank God, I've come to understand this chain reaction. Thank God I know that the last thing I need, today, is outside stimulation. Reprocessing misperceptions and restructuring attitudes, swallowed whole during childhood, requires solitude, a tranquil environment and consistent TLC. Thank goodness that describes my home, today, as well as my relationship with Will, whose patience and consistent TLC sustain me.
Remember my young friend, whom I'd met for lunch, several weeks back? The one who's expecting her third child? Well, we were to meet, today, and discuss solution seeking strategy in hopes of easing her family's morning routine by encouraging her five year old to learn to dress himself—cheerfully, instead of tearfully.
When this unexpected wave of vulnerability came over me and my mind flooded with exhaustion, I listened to my body and called my friend (who had taken my class). 'I'm so sorry to disappoint you—this is what I'm feeling … blah blah blah.' 'Go no further, Annie. I understand, completely. I actually felt kind of overwhelmed, today, myself. Rest your mind. Take good care of yourself. Spend time with those who know your value.'
A friend, indeed!
And thus did my own words, recited during this class or that, echo through the phone wire into my welcoming ear.
I respond by thanking her for proving to be one of those who know my value. Then, feeling a bit refreshed, I encourage her to rest. 'If you are feeling exhausted, today, your unborn child may be undergoing a growth spurt. Perhaps most of your energy is directed inward. If your husband pampered you during your first pregnancy—when he was awestruck by your carrying his child, please let him know that you need his TLC, even more, now that you're caring for number one and number two while carrying number three.'
She thanks me; I thank her and with a sigh of relief, I'll follow her advice, which matches my own:
Rest your mind—right after I finish this post …
Reader's Digest, August 2013 p39:
"Relax when you're stressed, your body's endocrine system releases cortisol, which can erase all sorts of memories …"
Recently, I asked my therapist: Will I ever process through a re-patterning change toward personal gain without pain?
I received this reply: Imagine iron ore transitioning to steel. Imagine iron melting into molten liquid as hot as lava before it cools down and absorbs properties of lasting strength, known as steel. If, while enduring the intense pressure of this transformative process, that iron had nerve endings, I'll bet it would hurt, a lot! This transformation that you're processing through takes courage.
At that, my counselor won my smile.
I think he was saying that upon making my way through this process of change for the better, I'll have nerves of steel.
Remember my young friend, whom I'd met for lunch, several weeks back? The one who's expecting her third child? Well, we were to meet, today, and discuss solution seeking strategy in hopes of easing her family's morning routine by encouraging her five year old to learn to dress himself—cheerfully, instead of tearfully.
When this unexpected wave of vulnerability came over me and my mind flooded with exhaustion, I listened to my body and called my friend (who had taken my class). 'I'm so sorry to disappoint you—this is what I'm feeling … blah blah blah.' 'Go no further, Annie. I understand, completely. I actually felt kind of overwhelmed, today, myself. Rest your mind. Take good care of yourself. Spend time with those who know your value.'
A friend, indeed!
And thus did my own words, recited during this class or that, echo through the phone wire into my welcoming ear.
I respond by thanking her for proving to be one of those who know my value. Then, feeling a bit refreshed, I encourage her to rest. 'If you are feeling exhausted, today, your unborn child may be undergoing a growth spurt. Perhaps most of your energy is directed inward. If your husband pampered you during your first pregnancy—when he was awestruck by your carrying his child, please let him know that you need his TLC, even more, now that you're caring for number one and number two while carrying number three.'
She thanks me; I thank her and with a sigh of relief, I'll follow her advice, which matches my own:
Rest your mind—right after I finish this post …
Reader's Digest, August 2013 p39:
"Relax when you're stressed, your body's endocrine system releases cortisol, which can erase all sorts of memories …"
Recently, I asked my therapist: Will I ever process through a re-patterning change toward personal gain without pain?
I received this reply: Imagine iron ore transitioning to steel. Imagine iron melting into molten liquid as hot as lava before it cools down and absorbs properties of lasting strength, known as steel. If, while enduring the intense pressure of this transformative process, that iron had nerve endings, I'll bet it would hurt, a lot! This transformation that you're processing through takes courage.
At that, my counselor won my smile.
I think he was saying that upon making my way through this process of change for the better, I'll have nerves of steel.
Every now and then, at the end of a session, my therapist says: Working with you is a pleasure. Most usually, after I experience a break through.
Today, while feeling overwhelmed, I can still retrieve most of my files but, evidently, a significant portion of my mind—most likely, the part undergoing renovation, is in a state of flux, creating this anxious sense of disorganization, which is certainly in need of repair. How do I know that to be true? Just received a phone call from a friend:
Did you receive our wedding invitation? We hope you can come. I apologize, profusely. Knowing how recently I'd lost my mom, he accepts my apology with warmth and grace.
Upon saying good bye, I hang up, walk into my kitchen and check out the counter where invitations in need of response are invariably placed—it's no where to be found—until I have reason to saunder into my bedroom where I spy that invitation relaxing on the couch. Now, how in the world did it get there? Oh yes! That's where I'd placed a small stack of correspondence in need of attention during those days when Will and I were cooking up our Passover feast.
Though I'd walked right past that stack, several times, daily, every piece of correspondence had been overlooked for close to two weeks. Why? Chalk it up to reorganization processing through my present state my mind. And to think, I'd placed it on my couch so I couldn't miss it!
Had we gone to dinner with you, recently—had you celebrated Passover at our house—had you not observed me, closely—you might have surmised that I was just fine. Had you known me as well as some do but most don't, you'd have noticed that my smile, though sincere, does not brighten my eyes.
Originally, writing true tales about my loved ones—who have left this world—helped to maintain the defensive wall that held my sense of irretrivable loss an arm's length away. Then, most likely, what I hear came true: Celebrating holidays and special occasions prove difficult, especially during the first year. And when being on my feet more than usual increased sciatic pain, which is an energy drain—well, that didn't help, either …
Perhaps my protective wall melted down when I turned the burner, under the pot of water in which the matzoh balls were about to be dropped, up to boil—perhaps over these past few weeks, all sense of protective walls have been slowly melting away, leaving mind, body and spirit feeling about as vulnerable as melt down can get—suggesting that our defense systems can push emotional pain away for only so long. Somehow, suppressed pain, tightly coiled, always springs back—you know, like after surgery when the anesthetic wears off.
When suppressed pain of loss springs out of my depths, my think tank goes to work, figuring out which part of my belief system may be in need of consciously processing through renovation. If you ask how I know when a renovation is complete, I'd reply: My mind and body relax, and my smile glows from within. When my mind feels in line with reality, I'm really good at experiencing a natural high. You know, like Jack—who'd proved to be an upbeat kind of guy, much more often than not…
Actually, I'm beginning to feel a bit more like myself … my ever-reprocessed self. And thank God for that! The person I've been spending time with 24/7 has not been much fun, at all!
Riddle for today:
How does one know when loss is irretrievable or not?
Seems to me we each decide upon that answer for ourselves
My horoscope
There's no major conflict in your foreseeable future, except perhaps between warring factions of your belief system—gotta love it when my horoscope proves timely :)
So, of course yesterday's post was in need of restructuring and during that process, new insights emerged—Grrrr!
BTW if you wonder how I could write such a detailed account of my feelings at a time when my mental acuity proves overtaxed, well, in truth, the greater portion of this post was penned, yesterday, before the iron ore had melted into alphabet soup.
Wishing you a heart light as matzoh balls, a mind bright as sunshine, nerves of steel under fire and a five star day—because, after all, we can only live one day at a time.
Your friend,
Annie
Today, while feeling overwhelmed, I can still retrieve most of my files but, evidently, a significant portion of my mind—most likely, the part undergoing renovation, is in a state of flux, creating this anxious sense of disorganization, which is certainly in need of repair. How do I know that to be true? Just received a phone call from a friend:
Did you receive our wedding invitation? We hope you can come. I apologize, profusely. Knowing how recently I'd lost my mom, he accepts my apology with warmth and grace.
Upon saying good bye, I hang up, walk into my kitchen and check out the counter where invitations in need of response are invariably placed—it's no where to be found—until I have reason to saunder into my bedroom where I spy that invitation relaxing on the couch. Now, how in the world did it get there? Oh yes! That's where I'd placed a small stack of correspondence in need of attention during those days when Will and I were cooking up our Passover feast.
Though I'd walked right past that stack, several times, daily, every piece of correspondence had been overlooked for close to two weeks. Why? Chalk it up to reorganization processing through my present state my mind. And to think, I'd placed it on my couch so I couldn't miss it!
Had we gone to dinner with you, recently—had you celebrated Passover at our house—had you not observed me, closely—you might have surmised that I was just fine. Had you known me as well as some do but most don't, you'd have noticed that my smile, though sincere, does not brighten my eyes.
Originally, writing true tales about my loved ones—who have left this world—helped to maintain the defensive wall that held my sense of irretrivable loss an arm's length away. Then, most likely, what I hear came true: Celebrating holidays and special occasions prove difficult, especially during the first year. And when being on my feet more than usual increased sciatic pain, which is an energy drain—well, that didn't help, either …
Perhaps my protective wall melted down when I turned the burner, under the pot of water in which the matzoh balls were about to be dropped, up to boil—perhaps over these past few weeks, all sense of protective walls have been slowly melting away, leaving mind, body and spirit feeling about as vulnerable as melt down can get—suggesting that our defense systems can push emotional pain away for only so long. Somehow, suppressed pain, tightly coiled, always springs back—you know, like after surgery when the anesthetic wears off.
When suppressed pain of loss springs out of my depths, my think tank goes to work, figuring out which part of my belief system may be in need of consciously processing through renovation. If you ask how I know when a renovation is complete, I'd reply: My mind and body relax, and my smile glows from within. When my mind feels in line with reality, I'm really good at experiencing a natural high. You know, like Jack—who'd proved to be an upbeat kind of guy, much more often than not…
Actually, I'm beginning to feel a bit more like myself … my ever-reprocessed self. And thank God for that! The person I've been spending time with 24/7 has not been much fun, at all!
Riddle for today:
How does one know when loss is irretrievable or not?
Seems to me we each decide upon that answer for ourselves
My horoscope
There's no major conflict in your foreseeable future, except perhaps between warring factions of your belief system—gotta love it when my horoscope proves timely :)
So, of course yesterday's post was in need of restructuring and during that process, new insights emerged—Grrrr!
BTW if you wonder how I could write such a detailed account of my feelings at a time when my mental acuity proves overtaxed, well, in truth, the greater portion of this post was penned, yesterday, before the iron ore had melted into alphabet soup.
Wishing you a heart light as matzoh balls, a mind bright as sunshine, nerves of steel under fire and a five star day—because, after all, we can only live one day at a time.
Your friend,
Annie
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