SuperpowersWithin my family there is a story that, pardon the upcoming pun, never dies. It started with my father who upon leaving the Army in the late 50's became a mortician because one of his platoon mates convinced him that since everyone dies there is a lot of money to be made in the mortuary business. So he went to school and learned to become a mortician only to find out that the real money was in owning the mortuary. He had many funny stories, because as a mortician, he learned to deal with the hard stuff by making jokes about it all. That is probably why I'm the one that you shouldn't look at during serious events and recently was accused of putting the "fun" in funeral. Off beat humor...it's how I deal with the rough stuff. One of his stories was about the original Superman, George Reeves, who my dad embalmed when George died in 1959. My dad had a similar curl to his hair that he frequently referred to as his "Superman Curl." In the 80's when Christopher Reeves became the new Superman everyone, including my family, thought that George & Christopher were related. Alas they were not, but had they been the next part of the story would be, well, a little creepy. You see my dad passed away the same weekend Christopher Reeves broke his neck, and we all sort of collectively and simultaneously gasped and laughed at the connection. You see, Superman was our family's superpower (and the butt of many jokes). We've all seen the memes on social media that say, "My Superpower is___" or "____is my superpower" and it usually refers to some unique or funny thing that person does. I've posted those many times with things like "Photography is my superpower" or "Sign Language is my superpower." We all read them, laughed, hit the LIKE button, and then moved on to the next meme we stumbled upon in our mindless social media scrolling. Well, that is unless we reposted with the caption, "Samesies" or "Same Girl Same." There is a superpower that exists that many people fail to notice or have no idea they possess, or if they do notice it they may not realize that it does in fact reside in them. Indeed there are approximately 58 million people in the US that have this unique ability, there are several factors at play which is why that number is just an approximation and why I think the number is actually much higher. Some but not all of the factors include, in no particular order except for the first one: age, appearance, health, socioeconomic status, marital status, profession, and within each factor on that list there are even more variables. What, pray tell, is this superpower you ask? Well first off it resides primarily in women but there are plenty of men that have this as well, and the factors are pretty much the same except I have noticed that with men, socioeconomic status & profession are inextricably linked, and health is a close second. With both, age is driving factor but whether or not you actually appear your age is key. Women tend to be younger than men and therefore possess this superpower for a much longer time. "That's not fair!" the men may be saying. Rest assured that the longer in life you can wait to have this superpower the better off you are. There are many other subgroups that have this superpower and some have learned to just accept it and roll with it and others may fight against it because it is so uncomfortable and off-putting. My apologies for the following generalizations but some of the other groups that have this same power (and the age of onset varies) are people with various disabilities and whether or not these are visible. Some examples are: people with physical handicaps that require assistive mobility devices such as canes, walkers, wheelchairs; people who are blind, d/Deaf, or have any form of barrier to communication; people with mental illness; people who are without a home (regardless of why). Again my apologies for the generalities...this list is unfortunately long. So again you may be asking...what IS this superpower? Yes, all of the above are invisible to those that don't have the same power. For example- I am a woman of a "certain age," divorced military wife, have a communication disorder (my voice -thanks to those pesky tumors) and yes I appear to be invisible to those who aren't like me. I've had younger married women and men alike talk down to me or flat out ignore me; I've had people speak over me because they are louder and because they can; believe it or not I've had other military wives (who are still married) speak to me in such a dismissive manner because I'm no longer in the same "club." Really? I've endured deployments, sick kids, moves, more moves... why is my experience now declared null and void? Trust me...this side of that life ain't easy either! When you are invisible people look right through you, speak as if you are not there, act as if you are taking up unnecessary space, dismiss you as being irrelevant. Pause for a moment ...have you ever done that? No, really, have you ever done that? Yeah...invisibility...think about it.
In a Chaotic WorldThis world...This life (of mine)... Right now everything seems to be so chaotic. So many things in my life are spinning out of control, out of my control, and I just need some semblance of normalcy, of peace, and yes, of control. By virtue of working in public education I have summers off and those 10-ish weeks are precious for everyone who also works in education, it is a time to rest and recuperate; regardless of whether you are an introvert or extrovert it is a time to recharge personal batteries by doing whatever brings you joy and peace. This summer I have helped cleanout houses to be put on the market to sell (not mine), helped pack and move the contents of those houses either into storage or new homes. I have vowed to never return to a certain city/college town because I just am not willing to cry any more tears due to the memories that live there, and yet for various reasons have returned to that city more than once...and yes I cried gut wrenching painful tears while driving the state highway out of town. I'm so tired of the tears that at the core are born from a life of lies told by someone I once trusted my life to. The hits just seem to be coming without ceasing. The stripping away of who I am and what I value. The total disregard for me and promises made to me. The prayers that are repeatedly answered with a resounding "no" not with a "not yet" but a trumpet sounding, "NO!" I won't lie...I am weary. Peace. A sense of control of things that I actually have control over. That's all I really want. Oddly or interestingly enough after years of telling doctors that I didn't like the side effects of a certain medication, but was told to stay on, I decided last fall that I would very slowly wean myself off that medication and guess what? I dropped 30 pounds in a matter of about 6 weeks and I stopped sleeping all the time and I felt so much better! The medication was actually just masking symptoms but had no other benefit. I took control of something I actually had control over, my health choices, and that felt good. Empowering. I have sent some boundaries that I don't think the intended recipient has noticed until perhaps just now. Boundaries about how they speak to me, how they treat me, what they allow others to say about me when I supposedly can't hear them. Control... even if its just a little.
Now that the moving other people marathon has basically ended I took the chance to do something that brings me peace and is a joy to do. Sew. Well, more specifically to quilt. A week ago I bought the fabric to make a baby quilt for my newest granddaughter, I washed and ironed it. I planned out the blocks. As I began the process I found myself gravitating towards the roots of how I learned to sew and to piece quilt blocks; I used actual rulers (not die cut pieces), I went back to what my grandmother taught me about pressing-pressing-pressing every step of the way (not ironing because that can stretch and distort the fabric), I used my wool pressing mat, my tailors clapper for perfect crisp seams, and nothing went to waste (not even that last bit of useable thread on the spool). I was very intentional about each block and shied away from "speed piecing" in the attempt to be more efficient, instead I leaned in to enjoy the process. At one point I thought since the quilt top was coming out so precise and dare I say "perfect" (which in the quilting world there is no such thing) that I would enter it into the state fair. Then I decided that I probably wouldn't because I have already won awards for some of my quilts and honestly I don't need the validation or critique from judges in order to feel like I'm worthy (alas, is that age related wisdom rearing its head?).
All in all I think my peace and joy, for today at least, stems from going back to a simpler less technological form of something I love to do. I think there is a lot to be said for less technology and simpler ways. It gives me a sense of control on a world and a life that seems to be spinning much to fast.
Oh, if you are someone I know and your reading this and your wondering if some part of this is referring to you please rest assured that no particular portion of this is referring to you or anyone in particular. It's just the thoughts of a woman in search of peace in a chaotic world. What I also learned...The last 10 years have been pretty intense and I learned so much from those experiences. The summer and fall of 2013 were filled with many wedding, bridal, and senior portraits, as well other photographic opportunities such as my high school reunion, and a rushed trip to Wyoming then North Dakota where, at the request of the grooms mother I photographed a wedding but I fear that I stepped on a cousin's toes because, unbeknownst to me, HE actually was photographing the wedding. Experiences that taught me: A shotgun, a machete, rounds of ammo, and Molotov cocktails & a lighter, carried by a teenage boy with a grudge walking in to a high school ruin lives. People lie. A lot. Bullies don't necessarily push you into a locker or trip you, sometimes it's the words spewing from their mouths with such hate a vitriol that they have to power to destroy. Manipulation can take many forms, trust your gut if you think someone is trying to manipulate you or someone you love. Forgetting someone's actions is not the same as forgiveness and forgiveness does not mean forgetting. Believe peoples actions the first time. Forgiveness is a BIG word. Narcissists can be very nice. Own up to your faults and weaknesses and ask for help when you need it. Integrity is everything.
Don't let your goals and dreams die... write that book, start that business, pick up a new hobby, go back to school to learn what you have always wanted to.
What Divorced People Want You to KnowMay 21st...this year would have been 35 years. He promised me a marvelous vacation for this anniversary and yet the reality of it is that we are in different states and I am enjoying this day sitting at one of my sewing machines working on a quilt that will be a gift. He is probably, maybe, celebrating his brother's birthday...61 I think. Am I bitter? Nope. Do I feel a sense of melancholy? Nope. Truth be told, I completely forgot the exact date, even when my daughter sent me a text: "How are you?" A few hours later it hit me and I giggled because I had completely forgotten! The only thing that even inspired me to write this blog is that this is the last week of school and there will be a myriad of after school gatherings and as I contemplate which one to attend it came to mind that at least one will be made up of couples. I don't have a problem being around couples but what I do have a problem with is when those couples are oblivious to the sensitivities of the divorce people that may be in attendance. I am not asking you to NOT do the things in the following list , just to be aware and not pass judgement on us. Here are my thoughts about what I wish happily married couples knew about someone who is divorced (some of these were told to me before I was divorced):
These are just a few, feel free to post more in the comments. Meanwhile I am going to return to my sewing machines... Happy May 21, 2023
Intro to my book about Forgiveness.
When you are a child forgiveness is more of a 10 second exchange that sounds something like this: Mom- “Tell your brother/sister you are sorry.” You-“Sorry...” Brother/sister-“It’s Ok.” Then you go back to whatever you were doing. That is a kid-to-kid apology which is nothing like true forgiveness. Forgiveness is a BIG word, it’s a process, a multilayered daily act that goes far beyond an apology. An apology… the words “I’m sorry” even when the adverbs “so” or "very" precludes “sorry” then punctuated by an exclamation mark, are totally worthless. Devoid of meaning, the value is nil. It’s a grocery bag full of marshmallows when what you need is a refrigerator full of food… $5 for gas on a road trip when the price is $5 a gallon and you drive a behemoth SUV. Where do you even start when your emotional bank account, now overdrawn, yet your spouse wants to cash yet another check? The words, “It’s OK..” have no place in actual forgiveness.
“F-you jerk face! Go count the pennies in your own piggy bank (not the kids) and get a hotel room. Better yet, go stay with one of your home wrecking floozies!” “An affair you say? I’LL SHOW YOU…where’s the credit card?” “Oh, you really did it this time…just wait… I tell your boss, your parents, AND your best friend!”
I didn’t actually say or do any of these things, and truth-be-told the night he began to tell me about his affairs (it took over a week for him to get through most, but not all, of the ugly truth) also included a puking 7-year-old, so when he packed a bag and began heading out the door, I wouldn’t let him. That’s correct, I actually stopped him in his lying cheating, floozie loving tracks. After all, why should he get off Scott-free when I was the actual parent sleeping on the floor next to the puking child, hoping to get the trashcan somewhere within range of the projectile vomit? More truth-be-told, his packed bag contained very little in the way of clothing, his seldom opened Bible, and his favorite hand-gun affectionately named “Bubba” which actually had been my fathers. Although I wished the situation was not unfolding, and I wished he was not actually standing anywhere near me, I did not in fact wish him dead, well not by his own hand anyway. Now if he happened to be hit by a train while leaving town, or bitten by an alligator in our Charleston, SC neighborhood, so be it, but I never wished that he take his own life. That was actually the first time I stopped him from killing himself, the second time was about 7 years later when he returned from a boots-on-the-ground tour in Iraq (yes, he was one of a select few Navy Officers to do so).
Back to forgiveness…where or how to even start? The internet was pretty sparse at the time and believe it or not it wasn’t even on my radar as a place to start looking for resources. I would need to go to an actual library or bookstore where there were actual books…on shelves…divided by categories. “Is there even a category for stupid military wives that have been cheated on numerous times…?” I just didn’t even know how to begin.
Go to our pastor? No way. I had a misguided sense that I had to protect his (my husband's) reputation.
It’s a good thing that my dad had already passed a few years before otherwise he would have done a reverse “Cannonball Run” straight to the east coast and killed his lying-cheating-floozie-loving-son-in-law. Oh, you don’t know what Cannonball Run is? No worries the internet can help you with that. And you may be thinking that I exaggerate just wee bit about my dad, I’m not. My dad thought my ex-husband walked on water, that he hung the moon, and that he was the greatest thing to have ever happened to me, so if he were to find out that both he (my dad) and I had been made fool of, well that wise crackin’ former mortician father of mine would have flipped his proverbial lid and gathered all of his ammo and southern California street smarts (have you ever driven in LA?) and, well you fill in the blanks.
I prayed a lot, and by “a lot” I mean a lot of mumbo jumbo that only God himself could understand. I read my Bible but I just couldn’t find the kind of hard core, straight shooting, plain spoken advise that I needed at the time. Like what do you actually do in this situation, where do you even start? My mind was such a mess that I couldn’t make sense of it all.
Finally, I decided that I would forgive him, and by forgive what I really meant was that I would put my ring back on and pretend like none of this really happened so we could get back to normal. Normal with a dearth of trust. Normal with a still broken heart. Normal with the understanding that if he EVER cheated again, I would be G.O.N.E. No second chances, and no chance of him having any custody of MY children. Normal with the understanding that in God’s eyes I was free to go at any time because he is the one who cheated not me, and I could not and would not ever forget that fact. A tad self-righteous? Perhaps. Forgiveness That’s the “elephant in the room.” That is a big word. That’s a loaded word. Loaded not like “Bubba.” Loaded more like a baked giant russet potato, split in half and doused in gravy then filled with bacon, shredded cheese, diced green onion, mushrooms, then sour cream, salt & pepper…well, you get the picture. That potato is so big that you are sure you want to actually eat it but even with small bites you are sure it will be impossible to eat and soon you will need an extra-large to-go box. Forgiveness Where do you even start? Your heart broken, your mind spinning, and the few people you talk to tell you to kick him to the curb. But what if what you are having to forgive isn’t a floozie loving soon to be former spouse? What if that floozie loving soon to be former spouse isn’t the first or even the “biggest” thing you have to forgive? Just like that baked potato, forgiveness can be a big chunk to try to swallow even when you have a pitcher of sweet tea standing by to help wash it down. When there are family and friends standing by watching you to see if you can do it and cheering you on even when you feel like you just can’t. Forgiveness What would happen if I chose un-forgiveness? What would happen if I just said, “NO!” I am not going to forgive the man who hit me with his car while I was riding my bike to school when I was in the 6th grade. What if I said, “NO!” I don’t care if he drives one of the church busses and will get a ticket and potentially lose his driver’s license. What if I say, “NO! I will NOT lie!” Even when the pastor’s wife who happens to be the school principal, tells me that I cannot tell anyone who hit me. What if I chose unforgiveness and carry this secret, this burden, for the remainder of my life? That is a convoluted tale that even now I struggle with, because I had never really dealt with the forgiveness thing, and I did indeed do as told and I lied about it. I lied about it to everyone who asked because the wife of the pastor of a large church and school in Southern California told me to. She only told me to lie, not to forgive. Read that again. She told me to lie not to forgive. I was 11 years old. What if I chose un-forgiveness for the high school senior, at the school where I worked, who propped a door open one day, a Friday the 13th, and with his shotgun, rounds of ammo strung across his chest Rambo Style, a machete, and three Molotov cocktails came into the school with the sole intention of killing the librarian as well as anyone who stood in his way? Forgiveness? That took a long time, not because I couldn’t or wouldn’t but because I had to process the actual reality that I had been in a school shooting. What if I couldn’t forgive…what if I chose unforgiveness instead? I now was a member of a rapidly growing club in the US and absolutely no one wanted to be a part of. The school shooting survivors club. Forgiveness...yep, that IS a big word.
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