Ah, the days of film photography. Apologies for the poor quality…
Circa 1985. Back yard of my childhood home in Manassas, Virginia.
I needed a semi-formal dress for the Prince William County honors choir. I was a vision of loveliness in this bubble-gum pink taffeta bubble-hem puffy-sleeved dress (bubble hems are back, ahem, by the way tyvm) white patent kitten-heeled shoes, winged hair, and Mom’s pearls.
What more does a high school gal need?
photo: Angie Harris
How do you deal with grief?
“This?” I thought. “This is the opening question from the therapist who I had sought to process marital problems?” I looked at her and blinked. Blinked again. Sat there what felt like 30 minutes before I realized…
ANGER. Anger is how I grieve.
My parents divorcing? Anger.
I’m unable to conceive a baby? Anger.
My marriage falling apart? Anger.
Not getting my way? Anger.
And not just “grrrrrr I’m angry” anger. Ugly angry. Cussing-like-a-pirate angry. Two-year-old-tantrum angry. Acting-out anger.
My awareness since that day in therapy three years ago has helped me to process grief, disappointment, loss since then. Oh, I still feel anger; I’m just getting better at noticing it sooner and “dealing with it” in, hopefully, more healthy ways.
How about you?
photo: divinecaroline dot com
I’ve been pouring myself into my hand-written journal these past few weeks. Writing long-hand is an entirely different experience than typing a blog post. I’m sure a Ph.D. candidate has studied this…I’ll google that later.
Handwriting is a full-body experience–the physical act of handwriting, moving the hand across the page, turning the page, sitting and adjusting positions to write more easily on the page. I have many tear-stained pages. I am tired at the end of writing, much like the finish of a good run, and while the situation hasn’t changed, I find myself more at peace.
I have journals and diaries dating back to when I was in 5th grade. I have an arrangement with my bestie that, when I die (and she’s still alive), she will get to my journals and burn them. No posthumous reading and/or publishing pleeeeease!
Do you keep a hand-written journal? What’s your experience?
photo: smallnotebook dot org
May 20, I left a long term relationship with “T.” I called her baby. The sweet term of endearment came easily. We had said if we ever were to break up (didn’t seem a reality at the time), we didn’t think we could ever be just friends. We said we were each other’s love of our lives, too much in love, too close, too intimate, to be buddies.
(Other than my ex-husband, I am not in touch with anyone I used to be with. I’m not sure if that says something unsavory about me, but there it is. Most breakups have had bad endings, or it was an unhealthy relationship, or we weren’t close enough to matter if I kept tabs on them.)
But..the thought of never being in touch again with “T” makes me very very sad. I loved her and still do love her. We have talked about this. We acknowledge that being together is not the best for us. Those damned irreconcilable differences would always exist.
So when I say I love her, I mean: I want the best for her. And it’s not me. And she loves me and wants the best for me. And it’s not her. It’s an odd feeling, to love someone so much, yet it not be “enough.”
Now is definitely not the time for a friendship. We need to be apart so we can prepare to connect with another intimate partner, when that time comes. Much like trying to remove wallpaper, regardless of how skilled you are, the wallpaper is destroyed and the wall is never the same. Being friends now wouldn’t allow for any of that necessary repair and re-engagement.
Calling her buddy instead of baby feels foreign right now. In time, however, I hope that is possible.
I’d love to hear your thoughts: have you ever transitioned from baby to buddy?
I feel quite non-zesty.
I am experiencing a change in life. No, not THE CHANGE :-) I ended a significant relationship. I no longer have my best friend, confidante, lover. I grieve the loss of the person, and also the hopes and dreams that went along with the relationship.
Not a pretty or fun time…in fact, it’s downright ugly. I’m 44 years old and I’ve been around this block before so I know I will recover. Just sucks for now.
A good buddy offered this, for which I have no fancy graphic, but maybe a friend gifted in design can create one:
You didn’t lose your zest.
You just loaned it out.
Do you ever find yourself in a place you couldn’t conjure in your mind, which you wouldn’t because you never even thought you’d be in such a place, but that you know you’re in the place you are supposed to be at the time you’re supposed to be there? Yeah, something like that.
The Rusty Nail. Tuesday, April 22.
I travelled to Nashville to attend a concert that ended up being cancelled. Um, bummer. Big bummer. I’m very sorry that Brandi Carlile had laryngitis. BUT that unfortunate situation made another situation possible! I was able to see my buddy/singer/songwriter Ashley McBryde play with her pals.
The Rusty Nail is a dive bar on the outskirts of Nashville. Writer’s Night happens every Tuesday, with Terri Jo Box as lovely, warm-spirited hostess (who also performed). Each artist plays 3 songs. Singer/songwriters you’ve probably never heard of, but their work has been featured by artists whose names you would recognize. Published or not, these artists’ work is inspiring.
Roger Hodges and Jeremy Drinkwine, aka DRINKWINE, The Rusty Nail, April 22, 2014. Go get their new EP on iTunes.
I wish I had thought to take pictures of more artists, but I was mesmerized by the true grit of it all. No pretense. No flashing lights, overproduction. Just artists and their work. 5 feet from the stage, energy palpable. I even cried at one point. Not because the song was sad, but because it was so real.
Randall Clay & Ashley McBryde, The Rusty Nail, April 22, 2014
I feel like this reads as a crazed fan who was drunk/high at a concert. But I wasn’t drunk. And I wasn’t high. At least not on substances. I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit. I don’t intend to be blasphemous; I really did sense God’s presence.
Randall Clay & Ashley McBryde, The Rusty Nail, April 22, 2014
Almost a month later, I wish I could do or give something to these artists for what they gave to me that night. I come up with no suitable offering.
Live big. Love deep. A blog by Stacey Valley.
Just another WordPress.com site
fre·net·ic /frəˈnetɪk/ done very fast and with a lot of energy, often by someone who is in a hurry.
equality for all
scenes from the sixth boro and gallivants beyond
Grammatical curiosities, syntactic oddities and crimes against the English language
The pursuit of big ideas & other shiny objects.
Regan uprooted her life and moved across the world to Stockholm to be with Anders. Now he is suspected of murder.
At home in my corner of the world
Images by Madelaine Cappuccio
Rubbish that I feel the need to post
exploits of a midwest twenty-something.
Adventures of a feline afloat!
a different kind of thinking
The Art and Craft of Blogging
Everyday Urban Adventures in Little rock
Exploring and adoring Arkansas's capital city - and beyond.
