Loneliness is a place that I know well. It's the distance between us and the space inside ourselves. ~ Annie Lennox

We arrived here in Michigan on the 5th of March, I believe it was.  We've been here almost 5 1/2 months now.  I can honestly say I haven't been homesick or lonely yet. 

It's a funny thing how once upon a time I was very shy and unsure of myself.  Self-confidence wasn't something I possessed at any level, to any degree.  I have written many times about my "epiphany" year of 1999 where my whole world imploded on me and I was face-to-face with a person I didn't know at all any more...myself.  Somehow, somewhere, I'd lost the basic essence of me.

That's a very scary place to arrive at in a person's life.  I was 45 years old.  You would have thought I'd have it all together.  But spiritually...emotionally...physically...mentally...I was scraping the bottom of the barrel so hard yet coming up empty.  My doctor had told me if I didn't begin to change a lot of things in life I wouldn't be seeing too many more sunsets.  That drew me up short and zapped me right between the eyes.  I began to look and I began to see.  And I sure wasn't very happy with what I found myself confronted with.  A woman functioning on nothing but fumes.  I had nothing left to give anyone.  Which means I had even less for me.

Thus began a long and arduous climb out of the pits.  I felt like I scraped and slithered back and forth for a while, one foot forward, two feet back.  But I persevered and realized one day I'd made it.  I no longer feel I'm a doormat.  I no longer say 'yes' all the time even when I'm dying to say 'no'.  I no longer despair if the whole world doesn't love me.  Do I love everyone I come across?  No.  So if someone doesn't become my best friend five minutes after I meet them, I can let it go.  I don't sit and worry and fret about what's wrong with me if they're not responding.  Life is too short to be worried about other people's shortcomings.  

Coming to a new part of the country to live, almost 2400 miles from everything I knew, everything familiar and dear to me, as we've settled into our new neighborhood I haven't sat back and waited for people to come to me.  I've approached every single one of them myself.  And I've shook hands and said, "Hi, I'm Kris from Portland, Oregon, and I wanted to say hello and tell you how much I love it here!"  And do you know, I haven't had one negative response from any of them.  If anything, I think they're thankful I've broken the ice.  And nearly all of them have told me how hard it is to get to know the neighbors, tho everyone is basically friendly.  We have one couple who live next door and everyone has told me how standoffish they are so I've made a special point of talking to the wife.  She was out in the back yard the other day with her little twins and Dylan and Cooper were talking her ear off over the fence.  I went over to them and told her, "I hope they're not bothering you!"  and she said no, she loved it!  She said after living there 6 years she'd never had anyone to talk with over the fence before and it was wonderful.  So there you go.  She's shy.  Nothing else.

There's a scripture about how, if you want to have friends,  you need to show yourself friendly.  I never understood that before my epiphany year.  It's one of life's most important lessons I've learned.  I don't have to be lonely.  I don't have to be homesick.  All I have to do is be friendly.  And it works just about every time.

Learning is a treasure that will follow its owner everywhere. ~ Chinese Proverb

Do we ever stop learning? Do we ever throw down the pencil, rip up the paper, toss it in to the garbage and say, "Enough already!"

As a little girl, with three brothers, I was a major tomboy. I had to be, not only to survive but also to be included in everything. Our neighborhood sorely lacked girls outside of myself, my friend Angie, and Ruthie...but Ruthie wasn't really one to come outside and play so we won't count her. Angie was a little more girly-girly than I was but she quite often followed my lead. We'd have our afternoons of hauling all of our Barbie stash out under the cherry tree in her yard and play dolls for hours, but quite often you'd find us playing baseball with the boys in Dr. Moore's parking lot, "War" in the Rambo's back field using real dirt clods for hand grenades. It was a toss-up most nites as to who was the dirtiest, myself or my brothers, when we'd come in at bedtime.

I'm left-handed but that didn't discourage my brothers from teaching me how to throw like a guy. I could throw a perfect spiral with a football. I was the girl 'star' in my class at kick ball. But I was a great pitcher. I perfected a killer curve ball. I threw hard, I threw fast, and I was deadly accurate. And I practiced and practiced. And practiced some more.

My dad taught me a lot of life strategies as a child that have worked well for me all of my life. Never back down. Never take a back seat to anyone. Being a girl isn't an excuse. You can do anything you set your mind to. Don't give up. No matter what kind of ball Life pitched at him he never struck out. He had a marvelous attititude. If you asked him how he liked his job, even if he detested it, he'd tell you, "Well, it's the only job I've got right now and I'm glad for that." He was generous. He was good-hearted.

So...I guess you could say I'm a chip off the old block. I try hard to see the glass half full. Dear Hubby tells me I'm about as easy-going as easy-going can be. After 36 years with me, he ought to know! I like to think I'm generous and good-hearted. I really do enjoy life.

I'm hoping all of this will hold me steady in the days to come. I'm hoping when I come across something I don't know the answer to, that I have no idea how I'm going to come to terms with, I'll dig deep into Dad's treasure trough of sound advice and put what I find there to good use. This is not going to be a time in my life when it's ok to falter, ok to back down, ok to give in and give up. This is a time when I need to hunker down and plan strategy. Someone is depending on me. I can not and will not fail them

Loneliness is a place that I know well. It's the distance between us, and the space inside ourselves...

And I've got a longin'

That's hard to find

Won't give me no peace of mind

Something that I've lived with all along

Days and weeks and months and years

Filling in the time my dear

Tryin' to find the place where I belong

--Annie Lennox "Loneliness" --

I'm almost 56 years old. You'd think at my age most people would have learned their life lessons by now, wouldn't you? Not so for me. I'm going to spill my guts once again so go grab a cup of coffee or cup of tea and settle in. I dunno how long-winded I'm going to get on this one.

Maybe it's from sitting on the couch with my daughter this morning and talking about friendships and self-images and others' perceptions of us. Maybe it comes from doing some more soul-searching lately. Whatever. But I've come to a painful realization of how I've limited my own life in years past. Me. My actions. My reservations about letting people in, letting them get to know me. My fears. My inadequacies, either real or imagined. Oh, this is so hard to admit to the world in general but especially to myself. It is so hard to peel back the layers of skin and see myself as I am, the time I've wasted. The opportunities missed.

You know, shy people are selfish people. Really. We get so wrapped up in worrying about ourselves we forget about how the other person might be feeling in the same situation. We see only our needs, our wants, our yearnings. We don't even begin to think about how the other guy might be feeling the same emotions, the same self-doubts we're feeling as well. Maybe even tenfold compared to ourselves. And we freeze. And we don't reach out. And we go away disappointed. Over. And. Over. And. Over. Again. In ourselves. Ourselves.

I just looked at the calendar on my computer, down where Time is listed. I had a huge shock when I realized it's November 21 and it was 33 years ago today I became a Christian. Especially since I'm writing about the topic I'm writing about at the moment. Because it has been relationships with people within my church that I have limited myself from more than anywhere else in my life. 33 years. Oh, that is painful. Because it's just been lately where things have begun to open up for me. Well, in the past few years, anyway. First it was my friendship with Karen. Then going out to dinner with a couple we've known for 31 years. Then getting on Facebook and...tentatively...putting forth the effort to say hello to those within my church circle, to 'Friend' some of them. Sending notes and cards and emails to people I know. Showing myself friendly. Because, by setting so many limitations on myself these past 33 years I have not shown myself to be very friendly. And it hasn't been because I'm not friendly. It's because I've been afraid to be friendly. Dear Hubby, thru the many different areas he's been involved in thru the years, has gotten to know a lot more people than me. And when people have said to him, "You know, Kris is so nice but she's so quiet!!" he's always amazed by that. He tells them, "You don't know my wife! There isn't a shy bone in her body!" Maybe that's been true in every other venue of my life...but definitely not at church.

What is so humiliating about confessing all this is by looking at it in retrospect I can see these issues have been because of me. Because of my attitude. My building the castle walls of defense around me and blaming everyone around me. Never myself.

Because...you see...by letting myself begin to reach out tentatively and letting that armor crack, by opening myself and allowing myself to be vulnerable...something that is very, very hard for me to do...I'm finding that people in my church are responding to me like everyone else does. That they're finding me nice. And likable. And thoughtful. And funny. And interesting. That I'm not that lump of dough who's been occupying the same pew space for the past 33 years. That I have a voice. That I'm really and truly a person.

Life Lessons

A blog entry Donna wrote the other day brought back memories of two children whose lives have crossed my path. I feel deeply blessed to have known them. I wrote this a few years ago on my original blog:

I worked as a lunch lady in a middle school for several years and I met thousands of kids during my ‘illustrious’ career. Many of them touched my heart but none of them touched it like Andrew and Ashley. I think by the time I'm done telling you about them, they'll have touched your hearts, too.

Andrew was a student the first year I worked at this particular school. He had so many disabilities his aide didn't know where to begin to list them all. He was in a wheelchair. His teeth were all disfigured. He had cerebral palsy. He'd had countless surgeries and shunts installed in his brain. He was a feisty little red-haired Scotsman who couldn't speak but he wasn't shy about letting anyone know if he was unhappy! He wouldn't focus or make eye contact with anyone but that didn't stop me from loving him and talking to him every day as his aide would bring him into the cafeteria. I'd hunker down by his wheelchair and take hold of his hand and talk to him like he was any other kid in the school. One day his aide brought him into the kitchen for a snack and asked if we had any yogurt. I told her sure, we had strawberry and blueberry...which kind did she think Andrew might like? She shrugged and said, "Oh, I don't know. Strawberry, I guess." I looked over at Andrew and I said, "How about if I ask Andrew what he'd like?" She looked at me like I was crazy because he never talked and she said rather flippantly, rolling her eyes, "Sure, go ahead and ask him." I did. I went over and crouched down in front of him and I MADE him look at me by sheer will power. As our eyes connected I asked, "Andrew, we have strawberry and blueberry yogurt. What kind would you like, sweetheart?" It took him a few moments but he spoke out: "Bloooooooooooooberry!!" I patted him on the knee and said, "Blueberry it is, buster," and stood up. Well, my co-worker and the aide were standing there staring at me open-mouthed from shock. I just smiled and said, "Has anyone ever asked Andrew what HE wanted before?" and I went and got his yogurt.

From that day on, Andrew was all mine, heart and soul. I taught him a simple song, an old ball-bouncing song I used to sing when I was a kid called "One, Two, Three, O'Leary". When I'd see him I'd call out, "There's my baby Andrew!” and he would smile from ear-to-ear and call out "Baby Krissy!" If I'd crouch down by his chair to talk to him, he'd reach out with his wobbly hand and pat me on the cheek. He'd tell me "I love you."

The last year I worked there, Andrew became critically ill. He spent most of that year in a children's hospital here in the city. He had a leg amputated, the foot on the other leg taken off, too. His mother cleared it for me to have security access to the ICU camera to Andrew’s room and nursing reports so I could check up on him online when I got home from work. I shed a lot of tears. I sent him cards and photos. I sent up a lot of prayers. And then at the end of that school year I lost my job. I lost contact with Andrew. And it grieved my heart.

I remember the first day I laid eyes on Ashley. It was the first day of school and I was busy putting money on the kids' lunch accounts. I looked up to take money from the next student in line and I froze for a moment...then forced myself to smile and keep on talking. Ashley was the most horribly disfigured child I'd ever laid eyes on. She literally looked like a monster. I had seen a lot of things, working in schools, but nothing had ever prepared me for my first glimpse of Ashley. But she was so happy-go-lucky, so confident, so full of grit...I fell in love with her. We formed an instant bond.

She had been burned over the majority of her body as an infant when she was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace and a spark landed on her sleeper and set her on fire. Only the top of her head and her back up around the shoulder area hadn't been scarred. She hadn't been expected to live. But Ashley overcame the odds...what a fighter! Most kids would reel away in shock when they'd see her for the first time but that didn't stop her...she'd just march right up to anyone and talk their ear off.

She missed a lot of school in the 3 years I knew her. She had one surgery where some kind of synthetic hump was inserted under the skin on her back to stretch it out for more skin grafts. She looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. The medication she took made her drool and slur and stagger around. But any day she could be at school she'd make a bee line for the kitchen and holler out "Krissy!" and come flying into my arms for a big hug and a smooch. And then I’d go off into the cooler to cry a bit and regain my composure.

Last days of school each year were always bittersweet. On Ashley’s last day as an 8th grader, all the 'graduates' were getting ready to head out to a nearby amusement park for a picnic and to spend the day on rides. Parents had volunteered to drive several of the Special Ed kids in their cars. I was standing with my co-worker in the doorway looking outside, enjoying the sunshine and the excitement of the kids. My co-worker spotted Ashley sitting in the back seat of one of the cars, craning her head toward us and waving frantically. Rhonda said, "Krissy, here she comes!" and Ashley popped out of that car and came racing across the parking lot and into my arms for the last time. I hugged that darling little girl with all my might. As she looked up at me and rested her chin on my chest, gazing into my eyes, I cupped that beautiful little face in my hands and kissed her on the forehead. I said, "I love you, Ashley." She said, "I know you do, Krissy, and I love you, too. I will never forget you!" One more hug, then she went dashing back to the car, whooping and laughing and ready to fly off into her future. I didn’t have a single doubt the world would ever be able to ignore that little spitfire.

For me...for my 54th birthday

I Am I See

I am a child born of snowdrops

in a land

where

raindrops

rule

the skies.

I am mid-century woman

and

I am a

child

of the ‘60s.

I am Mother and Wife.

Friend

and Foe.

I am Fire

and I am Ice.

I am changeless

and then

I change

yet again.

Where rivers run deepest

is where
I dwell,

in the dark waters

where shadows dance

in the passing

light.

I am passion and I am pain.

I see peace

in

the ocean’s

rage.

I see freedom on

the wings of

the osprey.

I am the daughter of

sorrows

who found forgiveness

in the end.

I am a woman

and in my hands

I see

time.

I see years of

a Life well-lived.

I see me

and I see

serenity.