Category Archives: Pause Points

Ordinary legacy moments in time.

Where I Used to Live

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Addiction is a vacuum.  It sucks everyone and everything into its grasp.

It’s a hard life, it’s a heartache.

When you listen for the breathing, when you listen for movement, when you believe, when you are disappointed.

It’s a hard life, it’s a heartache.

When you see the potential in someone, when you know their circumstances, when they continue to fall and picking them up is only empowering to you not them. When you dare to think you can save them you only destroy yourself.   Your fundamental goodness is counterintuitive to what an addict needs.  It then becomes a race to see who will hit bottom first.

It’s a hard life, it’s a heartache.

It’s where I used to live.  Now I’ve moved.  To calm, to peace, to the enchanted forest.  I live here now, among all the things that tell my story of escape and joy and very little of what once was. I’ve put the hard life in its place but perhaps there are some boxes that I’ve yet to open.

My home has no attic in which to keep secrets and yet I hear noises coming from above.  Sadly they are familiar noises that sound exactly like a vacuum running. I find myself listening hoping they will stop like when you go too far and the plug pulls from the wall.  I didn’t think I could volunteer to do the cleaning upstairs, I didn’t think I was capable.  I struggled with the helping/hurting of yet another addict.  I know all too well the road to hell is paved with my good intentions.  I can’t go to hell again.

It’s a hard life, it’s a heartache.

But the noises get louder, and then they stop.  Like when you go too far and the plug pulls from the wall.  I can’t ignore the silence, silence could indeed be deadly.  Rally my resources, don’t do this alone, seek counsel of the authorities, seek your younger strength and let’s act.  I can’t bear the silence, I can’t live with the dichotomy of such a good person in free fall not having a soft place to land.

It all comes back, the whole script, all the steps, the surprise, the love required to take someone from the comfort of their addiction into the discomfort of detox and the twelve steps and the sponsor and the ninety meetings in ninety days and the and the and the.  There are times when I deeply resent knowing what I know and then there are times that I am keenly aware that they may save someone’s life…if they allow it.

That said, unpacking those boxes this weekend has been difficult for me, and while I know this shouldn’t be about me, I lived the hard life and I know the heartache.  My friend is safely tucked away in detox, her sisters are trying to fix her but I am giving them the three Cs in every phone call, they didn’t cause it, they can’t control it and they certainly can’t cure it.  I know like I know that I will only do this this one time, that people need to live their own consequence after being given all the tools they need to make it in the world of the clear minded, they are in charge, they too have their own three’s, serenity to accept the things they cannot change, courage to change the things they can and wisdom to know the difference.   God I just want my hour back.

International Women’s Day

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A woman can say more in a sigh than a man can say in a sermon.  ~Arnold Haultain

I’ve done my share of sighing for some of the women around me.  They struggle with things most can’t imagine, yet they go to work each day.  They are giving birth and mourning parents.  They are holding their breath waiting for test results and jumping for joy when results come back negative.  Funny how that word negative can bend in both directions. 

Women are making their way in the world around and about and because of and in spite of any number of circumstances because they are made of something bigger than themselves.  I consider myself a woman of substance and circumstance and I know many like me.  We stand beside one another and tend, feed, nurse, educate, monitor, walk with, cry with, hold each other’s hands and hearts at a moment’s notice. 

There are also women and girls that lack substance not yet having acquired a laundry list of circumstances from which to draw.  How can we show them without preaching, disrespecting or belittling?  How can we keep watch over them yet not interfere in the circumstances that are so essential to growth and wisdom? How can we live our lives successfully so that we become contagious to those around us who will be left to carry on?  What will our/my legacy be to women yet to develop and thrive? 

The fact is I don’t know.  My gift to myself was to set my sights on crawling.  Many have watched me crawl and struggle toward walking, standing just to the side in case.  Then walking, more confidence, less anxiety, more happiness, less profound sadness, more quiet, less chaos.  More me, less everyone else but never abandon my love of others and lose focus on my authenticity.   

My gift to others will be to finally soar.  In the hopes that each one will take from me and my journey what might work for them.  To recognize my circumstances are mine but that they will indeed have theirs too.  To understand that substance comes in time but is based in genuine living and service to others.  All this without losing oneself.   

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My hope for the women in my life on this International Women’s Day is that their sighs are replaced with exhales and that their circumstances are manageable and that their substance comes fast and easy through a life of authenticity and joy.  That they know they are worthy just the way they are and that their voice is always heard.  These are lofty hopes but I know like I know my women deserve nothing less.  Celebrate yourselves today and all your women will learn from you too.

 

Poop Poopy Doop

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dog cleanup

Someone tell me how a doggy poop disposal bag that you got at the Vet’s office can puncture as you’re picking up the poop.  SOMEONE EXPLAIN THAT TO ME.  You would think that the Vet would buy a ply count that would prevent a finger from going through.  I know you’re groaning right now, but imagine me getting all screamy and ranty on my way back from the afternoon constitutional.  Just saying.

And while I’m at it the same goes for Petco.  Are you kidding me with the thinnest bags in the world?  You would think that a pet store would have the common decency to also provide bags that would be conducive to poop pickup.  Think of the free advertising they would get as people were carrying the puffy bags around the neighborhood on their way to the dumpster.  Come on.

I’m one of those people who buy doggy disposal bags by the roll.  They fit easily in my pocket and I don’t look like a lumpy ass mess as I’m doing the loop.  I get that the plastic bags from the grocery store are free and that you’re actually recycling as you use them for the dirty mess but the bulges it adds to my pockets and therefore my hips are just too much for me to tolerate.  Besides, I’ve gotten used to using the cloth bags for groceries so I’m doing my part to save the earth.

Speaking of saving the earth, did you know that they believe that dog poop takes up about 5% of the landfills?  Holy bursting bags Batman. What did you expect; there are 68 million dogs in this country mostly over 40 lbs each.   What the hell are you supposed to do then?  Flush?  Well, yeah.  Don’t ask how I had this epiphany it was one of those aren’t you the dumbest woman on earth moments.  They actually make flushable bags, I’m sure I’ve lost some of my readers at this point but it’s true.  Made by….wait for it….Flush Doggy.

Yeah I bought them.  And frankly, I only use them when I pop the girls out back in our “yard”.  It’s behind the building, they’re on extending leashes, they run back and forth, and they are enjoying the freedom of not having to be glued to my side. We have some fun.  So when they do what they do in the main walkway (if they trek into the enchanted forest you can be sure I am not trekking in behind them),  I let them continue to play until they’ve had enough.  I pop them back in the house and go get the results.  I grab a flush doggy, pick up, and bring in the bathroom and flush.  Done.  Oh stop rolling your eyes.  Al Gore loves the idea.

It’s one of the drawbacks of dog ownership, especially larger dog ownership.  I used to think the girls were medium dogs but somehow they got taller and wider and, well, better at eliminating the excess non-nutrients.   I once had a friend that swore by a certain dog food because his dog had the smallest packages when he ate that brand.  Claims there was minimal waste and that the dog had extremely well balanced nutrition.  Yeah ok, want to know what it cost….just sayin.

I didn’t really intend to do a rant on the intricacies of elimination frustration but I know like I know that there is NOTHING worse than thinking you’re going to get a few afternoon miles in just to have to turn around and run for the soap, and water, and disinfectant and hand sanitizer.  You know you’ve been there, so glad I could articulate on your behalf.

Done ranting…for now.

 

 

Snow Day

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There was no such thing as a predetermined snow day when we were kids.  The siren would go off by 6 or 7am if there was no school.  Pandemonium in feety pajamas would ensue and there was all manner of hooting and jumping on the bed.   Seems to me there was more snow then, seems to me that hot chocolate tasted better on snow days, seems to me that kids and snow go so naturally together.

After eating breakfast, which was an everyday occurrence, of bacon and eggs and juice and vitamins and toasted white bread with strawberry jam we would “suit up”.  And by suit up I mean full on three layers of underwear, turtlenecks, ski pants with the stirrups and the now extinct snow suit for my sister.  The movie Christmas Story illustrates it damn well; no you couldn’t put your arms down…

There was a Flexible Flyer down in the basement next to the upright freezer.  I’m not sure where it came from, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t purchased new, or who the donor was but we grabbed it and out the front door we went.  Right outside our door was “the hill”.  Right outside OUR DOOR…do you understand the magnitude of that?  The police would come and barricade the side streets and we could flexible fly to our hearts content.  Somebody would shovel a narrow strip along the side of the road and bring it down to bare pavement so you could head there to stop and yes it actually sharpened the blades.  And if you were going fast enough it might just spark.  My sister would be in front of me on the sled (arms sticking straight out) and off we would go down the hill.  There were times we could make it all the way to Marcy’s house half a block away.  Walk back up, translation: I walked back up the hill hauling Terri on the sled for the next round.  And we would continue until we were either frozen or hungry.  Warm up, eat, and repeat.

Fast forward to adult snow days and you can pretty much break them out into three categories: delayed opening, work remotely in your fuzzy slippers or full on state of emergency.  I pretty much always skip the delayed opening option because why would I want to get in the way of the plows and salt trucks, battle the “I’m terrified to drive in the snow” crowd (thank you God for being born in February so I could learn to drive in the snow) or rush to clean off my car.  My job is important but I’m not saving the world, as Cookie would say “it’s just cars”, and I can work anywhere (remember when we called it telecommuting?)…thank you modern technology.

So now what does a snow day look like?  Pull something from the freezer first thing in the morning; I’m thinking beef for stew.  Have the first cup of latte after popping the girls out back to play in the snow.  True to form latte also tastes better on snow days.  Set up for work, VPN in and see what’s happening in my email.  Another latte, some breakfast; which doesn’t even remotely resemble the hearty one from days of old.  And get to work.  Another romp in the snow with the girls before lunch, this time with my camera, and then a delicious bowl of soup and grilled cheese for lunch.  Back to work, but the emails dwindle as the snow gets deeper and the people begin to find their way home to the warmth of their families.  For the very first time this year, my sister took a snow day.  She, too, is beginning to believe that it’s “just cars”.  And no bad can come from staying home in your jammies every once in a while.   As the emails dwindle I see the people coming home to Stowe Lane, many of them bringing with them the requisite brown bag and Duraflame log.

Finish what I can from my work day and think about dinner.  As the stew simmers on the stove, I light the fire, open a bottle of Bear Print pinot noir and relax with the girls.

If I had my preference I would rather wake up to the sight of several inches of snow on the ground. I prefer to go out with my camera before everyone else and capture the snow in the morning light.  I also love the pure quiet of newly fallen snow before all the hub bub of the challenge ensues.  Thankfully, the back garden and the enchanted forest provide just enough of a barrier that the only thing I can hear is the sound of the commuter train going through town in the early morning.

At the end of the day the fire will die down and we will be out for a last time before going to bed.  My boots stand ready at the back door and I slip into them easily.  I love the shearling lining so I don’t need any socks. The girls will be just as excited about the snow this last outing as they were this morning.  Toto will come back in with a face full of snow and Lina will be anxious to get her feet cleaned up.  Exhaustion will set in and we will have the best sleep we’ve had in quite some time.  I know like I know that this is the end of a perfect snow day.

 

So Many Clarences

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bday cake

Today is my birthday.  Notoriously the day before my birthday I do a ritual mini pity party, a kind of taking stock of where I stand an examination of my life previous birthday to present.  So even though I spent a great day with my best friend and her daughter I felt compelled to examine pounds lost or (mostly) gained.  Good deeds, downfalls, accomplishments, thank yous received and thank yous doled out.  Have I remembered to take care of me, do wonderful things for me, or have I gotten lost in the life gets in the way shuffle.  Is God mad at me or have I put another rung on the good-Karma ladder to heaven.

Mostly I am not a very good judge of these things, my view is somewhat myopic, and I can be hard on myself.  Aren’t most people?  The one thing I came away with is…God ain’t mad at me.  Other than that it’s still pretty much up in the air.  And then…

Today started with my Stowe Ln family when the Aunt Ms came bursting through the door around 8:30am.  How did they know I was awake?  It’s all about the blinds in my office.  If they are open, I’m up.  If they are closed I’m not.  If they are closed for too long, or never open they are coming in to search and rescue.  Love those little guardian angels.  So I was up and in they came with flowers, and wine (for later, don’t get smart) and cards and love and birthday greetings.  Commence with the coffee and the start of the official birthday.

Then on to my Mother’s for breakfast with her and my sister.  Eggs over easy, bacon, coffee (which I picked up for Terri and I),  and the best Italian club rolls in Bergen County (wait for it…which I picked up on my way in) and my favorite cake made with love by my Sister, Pineapple Upside Down Cake.  Terri, once burned twice shy, refuses to turn it upside down.  We did make progress today turning individual pieces as we went.  It’s a start.   A pop-in from my cousin Nancy who we get closer and closer to each year and this phase of the official birthday is complete.  How wonderful to have this ritual.

All along my phone is pinging with birthday messages from friends and colleagues and acquaintances all leaving wishes on Facebook.  One text after another from the dearest of the dear, my Summer Sister, my favorite two boys, a Zumba girl, the beloved black sheep Sistah and the Ladies Auxiliary.

The phone call I wait for each year from my oldest friend, Marcy and the added bonus of her Mother Norma in the car with her.

Back on Stowe Ln the Aunt Ms come back for the last round of the day bearing one more gift.  The now coveted Pistachio Cake.  It is so amazing I could eat it for breakfast, oh wait, I do eat it for breakfast.  So now to open the wine and truly catch up on all things Stowe Ln.

There is a running joke in my family that my name, Sandra, is somehow a derivative of George.  When people my age were being born it was practically mandatory to be named after a saint.  This is how my mother got around it.  Add to that the fact that my sister has been calling me George Bailey for a decade or so and it all seems to fit somehow.   I know like I know that no matter how I question my status in the universe the day before my birthday, any number of Clarences will come along to show me that I have not failed.  They all will get their wings and I am deeply grateful for each of them.

george from clarence