In the Shadow of Giants

Today I was able to cross something off of my Bucket List.  I stopped to touch a windmill.  Wind farms have sprung up all around our home, and their beauty fascinates me.  These giant and graceful windmills are archaic,  surreal, and post-apocalyptic all at the same time.  They bring to mind Don Quixote and Snake Plissken.

Yelling Sucks

Today someone yelled at me.  It was at the end of the day.  I am sick and exhausted.  My energy was already depleted, and the yelling sucked away whatever remained.  Even now, hours later, I am shaking.  I didn’t deserve to be yelled at.  While I spoke in a calm, reserved voice, this person blamed me for causing their lack of control.  No.  No person deserves to be yelled at, and no person can be the cause of another’s lack of control.  Hang up the phone.  Walk away.  Table the discussion.  Mentally healthy adults do not yell…..under any circumstance.  Yelling is a selfish, weak, self-absorbed way to handle a difficult situation.  Yelling is cowardly.

Accidents

I had planned on writing about our trip tonight.  I had saved away things that I wanted to write about, but as it turns out, our trip home was the most eventful part of the trip.

T and I had a very late, and boozy, night last night, so we didn’t push ourselves to get going too early this morning.  In fact, we detoured to see the place where the fictional Mary Richards was to have lived during the Mary Tyler Moore Show.  I was duly impressed by the architecture as I have a strange fascination with the brutalist movement.

Patience

My expectations are often too high. My patience is often too low. While I have spent years, and too much energy, in areas of my life that have shown no results, my expectations have been far from realistic in other parts of my life.

Minneapolis, a place new to T and I. A new place, a transitional time in our lives.

Moments of tension mingled with moments of peace and friendship. He is kind. I am….a bitch, but I am holding that all inside.

Trying.

Blank Slate

On Thursday, T and I are leaving on a trip.  We’ll be gone for five nights.  FIVE NIGHTS…without kids.  I was thinking about that tonight, and I realized that this will be the first time since 1988 that T and I have been alone for this long.  FIVE NIGHTS.  Oh, we have taken trips here and there.  We went to Vegas for our 25th wedding anniversary, but that was not a good time in our marriage.  We flew in, spent three awkward days trying to stay busy and not argue, and we flew back home.  We’ve taken trips to move kids or visit kids, but we haven’t taken a trip simply by ourselves since 1988.

Signs

I’ve looked for small signs, or deeper meaning, all my life.  I suppose much of that can be chalked up to superstition.  When I was a little girl, I looked for the indian on my Tootsie Pop wrapper.  I didn’t know why, but if I found one, I always took that as a sign of good luck.  When I got a bit older, I would twist the stem off of my apples while reciting the alphabet.  Whatever letter I was on when the stem broke free, would be the first initial of my future husband.  I remember having to do some tricky stem-pulling to get that stem to come off on the letter I was hoping for!  These were just silly games that most kids play.  A “lucky” day or a supposed glimpse into the future were games we played as children in order to reassure ourselves that all was well, things were good, things were going to go the way we hoped.  As an adult, I began to look for signs in other ways.  While the methods may have become a bit more sophisticated, there was still a desire for signs that would reassure.  (Although, I do still look for the indian on my Tootsie Pop wrapper!)

R U OK?

To Write Love On Her Arms

Yesterday was National Suicide Awareness Day.  A friend’s post on Facebook last night made me aware of the day, but more importantly it reminded me of the lies that depression can tell a person.

 “Life is not worth living.”

“I am not loved.”

“I am not good enough.”

Continuum

Last night I spoke to my younger son for the first time in three weeks.  That is the longest time I have ever gone without hearing his voice.  We had exchanged a few texts, and I knew that he had talked to his dad.  Of course, T filled me in on his conversation with our son, but that was nothing compared to having Luke on the other end of the phone.