That Side of the Moon

Happy Birth Day

Cris — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 23:11:27 +0000

This is the first year I have actively avoided acknowledging my daughter’s birthday.

31 years ago today, I gave birth to a baby girl. Dream come true, I had my daughter. Her father was thrilled, she was his first child, I was thrilled, she was my heart.

She was the middle child, between 2 brothers. Doted on, spoiled, and loved completely, she grew up to be the well behaved child, when the boys were stretching their wings in the world, she was getting good grades, being helpful, supportive. She like the boys had issues with their father and my divorce, but it was clearly an issue between the adults, even though their father never really did admit to them why it all fell apart. But as they got older the boys struck out with anger, and she was more and more support.

Its been a long time since then, and the boys and I are becoming friends again. My heart has turned on me. The last communication I had with my daughter was one in which we parted company. Where she made it clear that she had no mother. Something she continues to do any way she can.
Her brothers have seen her behavior and really want nothing more to do with her. She is alienating people left and right.

I still love her. I will always love her. She is my heart. Today, I celebrate her birth day, quietly, on my own.

pathetic

Cris — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 22:33:22 +0000

thats what you call a grown womon in tears over the loss of a friend.
Most days, I don’t think about it…am too busy with other things, but….some days…the loss is overwhelming.
Friends for more than 10 years, we have gone through a lot with each other. Business closings, tornados, ups and downs with families, and lots more. But she fell in love with an acquaintance of mine…one who has little self esteem, and decided I was a threat. She says she won’t let that matter…but it does. The only time I hear from her is if I call. Conversations are short….to the point. No more coffee and talk, no more laughing.
It is one thing to process the end of a relationship, but a very different thing when its a friendship.

what a difference a day makes

Cris — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 18:42:12 +0000

NOT
My days may seem simple to most.
i look at the schedule for the day.
Schedules are simple.
There are days with doctors appointments, there are days with clinic visits for blood draws. There are the unplanned visits to the clinic for blood draws or new issues.
There is grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, dispensing medications.
There should be more laundry, but my knees protest, so that happens less often than it should.
There are lots of things that should be done that aren’t. I am not a big yard work person, never have been. We do not have the money for any of the repairs that need to be done that I could try, but would not be professional enough in the long run.
I could clean out the basement and/or the garage. I have been working on the switch of the winter to summer wardrobes.

But most of my time is spent listening. Listening to her writing and crying out in pain, knowing I have done everything I can to help her, and pushed the medical communities to do their best. Listening to her call out for something. Listening for the sound of her falling. Listening to a television, a computer, an audiobook on ipod, the music on my itunes.

It is all the listening that has me exhausted.
The only thing i don’t hear is the sound of others. In the beginning, there were emails, replies to the care-page, cards, phone calls.
Now there is silence. I know that is partially my fault. I don’t ask for help. I try…..but the words dry up in my mouth. There are people in my life that remind me that you don’t get help unless you ask for it…..but I have great difficulty even accepting something I haven’t asked for…. Stupid, yes. But stupidity born of experience. Too many times people have offered, or I have asked and i counted on them to keep their word. Fatal mistake (well no one died, except for my trust).

But that is what my days look like. and my nights too.

I should be doing more towards getting gainful employment, but I have no idea what would happen if i did. Who would listen? Who would know how far to go in the balance of allowing independence and providing support. Who would care. and then of course there is the crappy economy and the fact that my unemployment is more than I could probably get from an employer, and the likelihood of getting a job I could live with is the final stone.

Usually writing down this kind of thing helps me clarify and see an answer. Maybe there is no answer?

best laid plans

Cris — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 00:41:37 +0000

If you had talked to me on Friday you would have thought I was a bit crazy. What with all of the plans that were out there. The daughter-out-of-law was going to be in town, and she would have both of the grandsons, and maybe the eldest would want to mow the lawn and maybe they would spend the day
.
and then of course there was the “friend“ with her new relationship who would stop over while they were between houses/towns, and finish off mowing the lawn. And then there was the sister and nephew, in town for an event we would not make it to, because of the health issues, but they would for sure stop.

Well here it is, the end of the weekend. The lawn has not been touched, and we got about an hour with the grandsons and their other grandparents, and about 30 minutes with the sister and nephew.

but the house is picked up, and dinner is about to be reheated (leftovers). I just finished watching most of Enchanted, had a good tear-up over the idea of happily ever after, and am about to watch twister.

I am going to have to take some charge of the rest of my life….very soon. And this weekend should teach me not to count on others. Something I thought I had learned long ago, but ”fool me twice, shame on me“. And of course everyone has perfectly reasonable excuses (or will given time)….beggars cant be choosers. Damn. I did learn this lesson once before.

Fried Green Bloggers at the Twitter Cafe – a Rolling Post

Cris — Sun, 31 May 2009 14:20:56 +0000

Anonymum has started another rolling post. This is the third – Splendid and Too Splendid were the first two.

This variation is Fried Green Bloggers at the Twitter Cafe

Anonymum did the first installment, then Blondie, then Widdle Shamrock and Mistress B. now you will be treated to my unique perspective, below the italics.

As the story begins:

He stepped from the plane into the crowded airport, the face of who he was seeking, fixed firmly in his mind.

He had seen it numerous times, but knew, even if it had been revealed only once, it was a face he would never forget.

How could he ever forget the face of the person responsible for the single most painful experience of his life?

The devastation it had created was an event he would not allow himself to forget.

He was driven to not only find her, but make her suffer the way he had. Ensure she experienced the total overwhelming feeling that had been his constant companion for more than 10 years.

The hopelessness, anguish and feeling of loss, all of which kept him awake, or haunted his dreams, turning every night into a tortuous time to be dreaded, in every waking moment…….

Constance sat in the study looking out over the garden. She loved to be in this room. It was just how she had imagined she would have her own room just for her writing, all those years ago. The garden was showing the first signs of spring approaching. There were new buds on all the plants and the winter chill had gone from the air today, so she had happily let Alison play outside.

She was distracted from her writing while watching Alison play in the garden. The child had a wonderful imagination and Constance loved to watch her play. As the sun glistened on Alison’s hair and she poured tea for the teddy bears, Constance wondered how their lives would have turned out if she had made a different decision on that fateful day. For the first time in many years, she let her mind wonder to Alison’s father. Constance had not let herself think about him since that day. As she was thinking about him, she felt a shiver go up her spine and felt a sense of dread that she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Dermot ran his hand through his hair. He was still a ‘looker’ and he knew it. He felt the glances from women as he walked through the airport to the taxi stand.

“Mmm, Nice eye candy.” he heard a woman mutter quietly to her friend.

He smiled to himself. Nice eye candy indeed. Standing at almost 6ft tall, Dermot had thick, black, wavy hair with tinges of grey. While he was no body builder, he kept himself in good shape. It was his eyes that women loved the most though, his deep, sea blue eyes. Many a woman had gazed into those eyes and fallen prey to his charms. Many a woman had known what it was like to be loved and tossed aside like a broken toy when he had had enough. Dermot hadn’t always been like that, a cruel, hard hearted bastard. There was a time when he loved freely and unashamedly, trusted implicitly. That was before Con….

Dermot shook his head. There was no time for that.

He hailed a cab, and when it pulled up, threw his overnight bag in the back and got in.

“Where to?” the cab driver asked.

Dermot paused. What now? He had waited for this for 10 years, plotted, planned, changed his mind over and over, never letting the flame of revenge die in his heart. He was here now. It was time.

Yes, where to?

He directed the driver to his hotel resisting the impulse to rush the confrontation that he knew was to come, remembering the events that led up to that fateful night that changed all their lives forever.

His mind drifted back in time as he remembered her despair that her husband was slowly drinking himself to death, her grief for the marriage and life that she would never now have. He remembered pulling her close initially to try to calm her weeping but later, oh later………. of holding her closer, much closer than a brother in law should as they sought to affirm the life that they both should have been living .

He remembered the gentleness of her fingers as they explored his muscles, the softness of her silky smooth skin, how she shivered when he kissed her neck, how her body arched beneath his as they took what each needed from the other.

It was the most incredible night he had ever known, he’d never found that kind of satisfaction with another woman since. She’d ruined him for anyone else and he’d never trusted another women again after what she did. Falling in love with his brother’s wife was bad enough and he had hated himself for it but for her to tell James while he was still so vulnerable…….. The bitch killed him!

She shouldn’t have told him, she should have stayed silent and forgotten about that night, that one night that they had turned to each other for comfort after taking James to rehab. If only she hadn’t told him he would never have been drunk at the wheel that night and had a chance of maintaining control of the car on the snow covered mountain road.

She killed James and then she vanished!

He’d been looking for her this whole time. It was time someone held her accountable………..

Constance sat with a vague sense of unease, watching her daughter. She was struck by the need to go out and grab that beautiful child and run. She could not put her finger on the reason, but the fear began to grow in her. She hadn’t felt this in years. ‘Not since…..No, I will not let my mind go there…it was long ago and I am past it now,’ she thought.

But her mind continued to wander, down, deeper into her memories. All she could remember was the heart shattering loss, feeling like she was spiraling deep into nothingness, emptiness and like her heart had been cut from her.

The sound of the telephone cut through the silence like a chain saw, but Constance was locked deep in her mind, and could not reach out for the phone. At the same time Allison heard the phone ringing from outside and came running into the house. Mommy had just started allowing her to answer the phone on

occasion, and if it was still ringing …….she ran to the phone, stopping short when she saw her mom sitting there.

“Mommy, Mommy are you ok?” shouted Allison.

And now to Anja for the next installment

Anonymum has a list here. And its not too late to add your name to the list, just leave a comment and Anonymum will be happy to add you.

Creativity!

Cris — Thu, 28 May 2009 22:09:06 +0000

fukity, fuk, fu*k

Cris — Thu, 21 May 2009 21:49:15 +0000

Since January of this year I have been working on the application for and wading through the application process (4 different tests), for the job i have dreamed about. The job everyone I told said “you would be perfect for that job”.

Started out with 80 some of us applying, and worked its way down to 46. Our tests were scored and our application was scored.
The ranking would determine who will be offered the opportunity to be interviewed. There are six open positions, and the top ranked 14 will be asked to interview.

My mediocrity has done me in once more. My rank was 24. My achievement history (read application) scored me a whopping 41.67 out of 100. My personality/stress tests (read the 3 final tests) i hit a 52.

Oh sure they will keep me on the list for 6 months…and there is a possibility….but.

I will mourn the loss of possibility….one more time. and then I suppose I should pick myself up, dust myself off, and start off in some other direction again.

Ok Karma bank…its time to let me make a withdrawal.

mothers day

Cris — Tue, 12 May 2009 15:39:01 +0000

its taken me a few days to even write this.

This year, mother’s day was awful for me, but maybe it is the beginning of a new stage in my life.

From the earliest age i can remember, I wanted children. I went through stages. As a kid i wanted 6, and then i thought about twelve (what an innocent i was as a young teen). As I got older and realized more about the world i lived in, I knew i would still have children, but figured I would let mother nature have some say in it, and just go with the flow.

As life would have it, I had my first child a month and a half before I turned 19. I was thrilled, even considering the downsides of my unmarried situation. I was going to have a child. I was sure it was going to be a little girl. I was going to have this child no matter what. Well i was foolish enough to agree to marry the father. I gave birth to a bouncing baby boy (9lb, 10oz), two weeks late and with a very short labor. I had been so sure that my child was a girl that in the delivery room, i made them prove it by dropping the blanket. I wasn’t checking for fingers and toes. He was a great baby, slept early, happy child, met all of the benchmarks ahead of schedule..
His father, on the other hand, was not meeting any expectations. He was an alcoholic and abusive. That didn’t last long before he went home for his mom to baby.

We were on our own for about 4 years. I met someone and he wanted to be a parent to my son, and wanted more kids. Worked for me. I got pregnant 2 months after the wedding. This time around, i was not going to hope for a particular gender, just a healthy child. This time I got my dream, my baby girl. I was content. I was even ready to give up the concept of a huge family, and stick with one of each and call it a day. That was not to be, thanks to a new year’s eve party, and a pill pack waiting on the night table. 9 months and 3 weeks after my daughter was born, my youngest made his appearance. 5 weeks early, with a full head of deep red hair, my little shocker was the last of my children. Unfortunately it took me a bit longer to realize that daddy was an alcoholic and didn’t want to quit.

I raised my tribe as a single parent for many years. We lived very close to the edge for much of their youth. But I was determined that there would be 3 guiding forces in their lives, unconditional love, well defined concepts of right and wrong, and the example of a parent who stood up for her beliefs. The one thing i vowed not to make them feel was any responsibility for my life, and I refused to put them into the relationship with their father and I.

Well here we are. The eldest is 35, the youngest will be 30 this year. Grandchildren range from 16 to 1 yo and there are 14 of them. (the non biological grandchildren range in age from 18 to 5 and they are included in the total of 13). The children have all had multiple relationships with little to no success.

The eldest is closer these days, his need for a babysitter is greatest. The youngest moved far away and is now back, and hopefully choosing a path that will bring him great successes, and my daughter has cut all ties with me.

My mother’s day consisted of 2 phone calls from non-biological children, one text message, one phone message and a couple of outgoing calls to appropriate mothers. And not much else.

I always wanted them to not feel any obligation, but i never expected they would not really care.

Housework

Cris — Thu, 07 May 2009 19:08:12 +0000

My house is a wreck. Inside is a mess, outside things are falling apart. There are so many projects that need to be done, and basic maintenance things that have had to be put off, that somedays I feel like i live in the midst of chaos.

Some of it is financial, some of it is physical means, but some of it is of my own making.

Even when in the best of emotional states, I am not a big fan of housework. Don’t get me wrong. I crave neatness. I wont wear clothes that are not fresh and neat, clean and pressed. I like clean surfaces and functionally organized workspaces. But then I complicate myself. At heart I am lazy. I am actually fearful of throwing things away, so i have many collections of things. I hate housework, so i do it when I MUST, when it takes over the world. I do know that if I could manage to do a little bit a day, it would not become insurmountable, but when I do it that way, I end up feeling like all I am doing is cleaning….I get resentful of that. So when there is external motivation, read: company coming, then I bust my tail and then it all gets done, and I collapse. Company is no fun when you just want to take a nap, but the house stays picked up for a while. Even then, there are stash spots that are a MESS for those things that take just too much time to organize. Other motivations can be running out of clothes, or not enough silverware to eat with, or the chaos is just too bad. Don’t take me wrong, the messiest things ever get, are rather neat for most people, but running out of clothes or dishes, and finding the stash room can’t be used for its purpose just aren’t good.

I am a unique mass of contradictions.

Preferences

Cris — Wed, 06 May 2009 00:40:15 +0000

A silly meme grabbed from Val …and here are my preferences (slightly frustrating because some don’t work either way!)

Milk Chocolate or Dark Chocolate
Nestle’s or Hershey or Dove or Munson…’s
Scotch or Bourbon or Vodka
Road Bike or Mountain Bike or Hybrid
American League or National League
Hitting Pitchers or Designated Hitters
Ketchup or Mustard
Ice Cream or Sorbet
Downhill or X-Country
Mac or Windows
Horns or Synthesizers
White Wine or Red Wine
Aisle or Window
Non-Stop or Stopover
Root Beer Float or Ice Cream Soda
Creamy or Chunky
Smoking or Non-Smoking
Plane or Train
Sailboat or Motorboat
White Gold or Yellow Gold or Platinum
Rocks or Neat
Dog or Cat
Candybar-style or Flip-phone
Steam-room or Sauna
Tea or Coffee
Sugar or Splenda
Fiction or Non-Fiction
Burned to a Crisp or Bloody as Hell
Martin & Lewis or Amos & Andy or Laverne & Shirley or Ralph & Norton
Flats or Heels
Pants or Skirts
Army or Navy
Dark Meat or White Meat
Sauce or Dry Rub
Automatic or Stick Shift
Bar Soap or Body Wash
Set Menu or À La Carte
Dressed Salad or Dressing On The Side
Cut To The Chase or Shaggy Dog Story
Long Hair or Short Hair
Driver or Passenger
Coder or WYSIWYG
Crossword or Sudoku
Chess or Go or Backgammon or Cribbage
Boxers or Briefs
Now or Later
Indoors or Al Fresco
Coke or Pepsi or Seltzer
Betty or Wilma
Ginger or Maryanne