#I’d go to my nanas on the weekend to go to church

[care666bear]

cute lil angel all cozied up to watch the Jeepers Creepers! u want her so bad🥴

[lezliefaithwade]

The Power of Poetry

When I was growing up, my father would often refer to my mother’s side of the family as though he were speaking in parenthesis. “Your mother’s sister…” or “Your mother’s aunt…” and to be fair, my mother did the same with my dad. Even as a child, the differences between their two worlds were shocking. My mother, nicknamed “Showboat” by my fraternal Grandmother, was both a breath of fresh air and shocking to the strong British stock my father heralded from. There was nothing capricious about the Wadley’s. My grandfather was a train engineer. My grandmother raised five boys during the Depression. They attended Anglican church regularly, played bridge, and ate their meals every night together around the dining room table.   My mother’s family was another story. My paternal grandmother, after having already been widowed twice, lived in “sin” with an Italian cook who worked for my great-grandmother in her restaurant. She had flaming red hair, wore tight dresses, and loved a good time. I can’t ever remember a year my Nana wasn’t on a diet. I never saw her read a book, or cook a single meal – ever. I think she lived for trips to Florida where she and my grandfather would spend days at the pool and nights at the bar.

My parents were a kind of Romeo and Juliet, defying their parent’s wishes for the sake of love. One glance at their wedding pictures tells the whole story. A happy bride and groom stand with their arms entwined while decidedly unhappy in-laws, barely cracking a smile, are photographed outside of the church.

By the time my brother and I were born, we had become the branch on both sides of the family tree that didn’t really belong to either. We were the odd ones out. My mother’s family couldn’t figure out how Anglican children had penetrated their ranks, and my father’s family were apoplectic when they discovered that my brother and I had been enrolled in Catholic school. At Christmas as we opened our gifts inside the home my father grew up in, my grandmother could be heard to comment on the amount, the cost and the suitability of every item. By dinner time, my mother was counting the minutes until we would leave.

The disparity between the two families was never more evident than when my parents would ship us off to a relative when they were going through a particularly difficult rough patch. Most often a relative I didn’t know. Usually a childless female or lonely widow who at a party said in passing something like, “Lezlie is so precocious. I’d love to know what goes on in her mind.”

“Really?” my mother would ask and the next thing I knew I was at my cousin Cheryl’s or my Aunt Gwen’s.  

Cheryl was an attractive woman with wispy blond hair and fine features. A staunch Catholic, she insisted I put a doily on my head then dragged me off to church where I became nauseous from heat and incense. Like many such relatives, Cheryl saw the weekend with me as an opportunity for indoctrination and spent hours reading bible stories about Jonah in the whale and Noah’s ark. Somewhere she missed the memo that I was already reading A Wrinkle in Time and had moved beyond the old Testament to Madeleine L’Engle. I came home insisting my parents never subject me to her good intentions again. Cheryl, now having proven my father’s point about how crazy my mother’s relatives were, would cause him to simply smile and say, “See, that’s what I’m talking about.”

Aunt Gwen was another story altogether. Universally considered “weird” by all my relatives, Gwen lived in a rather nice apartment in the Beaches. She wasn’t religious at all, but an alcoholic who kept her apartment dark and sombre. She’d serve me processes food, that I didn’t like, and once, when I was three, she took me to a funeral parlour. About a month later as my parents were driving past the establishment I blurted out, “I saw a man sleeping in there.” My mother just looked at my father and rolled her eyes. Over time they started keeping score against each other and the points were racking up.

By the time I was in Grade 5 my parent’s marriage was, not surprisingly, on rocky ground. It was probably even before that, but it was Grade 5 when I noticed it for the first time. Both sides of the family were poised for what seemed an inevitable split as I began a new school and a new classroom with my first male teacher, Mr. Koerner. Mr. Koerner didn’t like me. Or maybe to put it more accurately, he preferred the other girls in my class and most notably my best friend, Trinka. Trinka was beautiful, and poised and loved to colour code her notebooks. She cared about her clothes and her nails and had perfect posture. When she started a Greek Mythology card catalogue, she shot up in Mr. Koerner’s estimation as practically perfect. In terms of rank, there was Trinka, Anila, Diane, and then me. I was (before the term had even been coined) the “Duff”.  I wore glasses, spilled food on my clothes, and was a decidedly bad influence on my best friend.  When Trinka and I wrote a radio play about a murderer who chopped up his victims and flushed them down the toilet only to back up the entire city’s sewer system, it was my parents, not Trinka’s who got the call about how disturbing it was. My mother and father knew full well that I was influenced by Creepy Magazine (a series of comic books I loved reading) and thought nothing more of it.

Mr. Koerner did not like my mother, most notably because of two incidents that went all the way to the Superintendent of the school board. The first one occurred one morning when I mentioned in class that she had allowed me to watch the movie “Gypsy.” Never overly concerned with our ability to process movies, my parents frequently watched sophisticated films with my brother and me. They were always available for questions if there was something we didn’t understand and they never subjected us to anything we didn’t want to watch. So, when I happily explained the plot to my classroom one Monday morning during current events, Mr. Koerner was aghast. In front of my class-mates he publicly castigated my parents and humiliated me for what he deemed to be an inappropriate movie for a child of my age to watch (He clearly took issue with strippers). The second incident and probably much worse was the way he insinuated himself into my life when I got my first pair of contact lenses. I’d been wearing glasses since I was two, and by the time I got into grade 5 wearing contact lenses became a viable option…one recommended by my optometrist. Mr. Koerner was shocked the first day I arrived without my spectacles. He told me I was vain and blamed my mother for a decision he thought was not in my best interest. At this point my father got involved. He stormed down to the school and, as I understand it, scared the bejeezus out of Mr. Koerner. For the first time in a long while, my parents were getting along. At night I’d hear them as they shared their common dislike for the man my mother referred to as, “Larry”. I suddenly felt like I was in a version of Disney’s The Parent Trap. What began as me dreading school, turned into me hoping “Larry” would put his foot in his mouth yet again so my parents would come together as a team.

Mr. Koerner had, among his many idiosyncrasies, a penchant for keeping scrapbooks. They weren’t for public consumption, but rather books compiled of our work for his personal pleasure. One day for an assignment, I turned in the following poem:

They’ve all left now

Gone their separate ways

This house once filled with laughter

Must now face empty days

A cold breeze taps my shoulder

And I blink and turn around

I only hope I’ll have such love

For the new home that I’ve found.

Mr. Koerner gave me 90% for the poem with instructions to have it signed by a parent and then returned.

“Returned.” my mother said, “What for?”

“His scrapbook.” I replied between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes.

“What scrapbook?” my father asked.

“The one he keeps our stuff in.” I nonchalantly replied.

“For what purpose?” my father queried.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Beats me. He’s got tons of Trinka’s stuff in there is all I know.”

“Well,” said my mother, “He’s not getting this back.”

I choked. “What do you mean? Everyone has to return their work once it’s been signed.”

“Not this time.” My father chimed in. And that was that.

I loved that my parents were taking a stand as a united front. I did not like being the messenger.

The next day I turned up for school without the poem, hoping Mr. Koerner wouldn’t notice. At the end of the day he stopped me before I could sneak out.

“Lezlie, do you have your poem signed by your parents?”

“Oh, gee, I forgot it. I’ll bring it tomorrow,” I said and left for home.

The next day it was the same. And the day after that. By the end of the week Mr. Koerner was getting wise that something was up.

“Lezlie,” he asked, “What’s going on with the poem? I gave it to you to have signed and then returned. If you don’t bring it back, I’ll have to dock you your mark.”

When I told my parents that I was perilously close to losing my grade if they didn’t return the poem, they were furious.

“He knows what the mark is,” my mother exclaimed.

“Surely he’s recorded your grade already,” my father stated. “What the heck’s up?

In the meantime, my mother had copied the poem and sent it to every member of both her side and my father’s side of the family, selecting to tell them that I had written it and that my teacher was threatening to dock me my mark if I didn’t return it to him. Could they believe the injustice of it all?

For the first time that I can ever remember, there was a universal uproar from both sides.  Even my cousin Cheryl and my Aunt Gwen called to tell my mother how unfair it all was. And the following week, when he threatened once more to dock me my grade, both my mother and my father went to the school to visit him. It was one of those pivotal moments when you know that things will either be better or worse for you, but will definitely not remain as they have been. An hour later when they returned, my father simply said, “Well, that’s that.” Apparently, my dad told Mr. Koerner that if he ever threatened me again about anything, he’d make it his mission in life to have him transferred.  After that, my teacher pretty much ignored me and never asked for a single item of mine for his “scrapbook” ever again.

That year my parents seemed to be closer than ever and the day I found out I had Mr. Koerner for grade 6, I was secretly thrilled.

When my parent’s marriage did, in fact, dissolve a few years later, there was no villain left to unite them.  Lines were drawn in the sand and sides were picked.  Our weird family of four that had never really belonged to either side of the family, were now a family of three and even more conspicuously out of step.

Still, for two brief years I enjoyed the unification of my parents as they fought to protect me against a terrible teacher. And somehow throughout it all, I learned about the incredible power of the written word along with a new found love of poetry.

[early20thcenturynerd]

“Margetta Hirsch Doyle ’45 was a regular student at William & Mary. Her friends called her ‘Getta’ and she was a Kappa Delta. Doyle kept a diary and wrote about her philosophy quizzes, described how much she enjoyed making Red Cross surgical wrappings and mentioned hours spent spotting airplanes from campus buildings. Doyle was a student during World War II.

During the second World War, William & Mary became a predominantly female campus. While many college-age males fought abroad, women kept up the war effort from Williamsburg. In between their studies and social life, students volunteered with the Student War Council and the American Red Cross. Along with other service work, they, like Doyle, made surgical dressings and spotted airplanes, sometimes in groups and sometimes alone.”

Margetta Hirsch Doyle’s Entries for September, 1943:

SEPTEMBER 1

Mother roused us early since Beth and Kay had to go to work - Lou and I trailed sleepily after them. “Goodbyes” were said and Lou and I with Mother, talked and talked about how to improve KΔ. It was much the same stuff, but with new ideas. We finally managed to dress for a late lunch at the Chinese restaurant in Jamaica and seemed to stuff ourselves. Louise hopped a subway and Mother and I met Herbert (a date - hey! Even if he is just 13) and saw “Hers to Hold” with Deanna Durbin and Joseph Cotton (Ah! Such a man!) and “Crime Doctor” with Warner Baxter at the Valencia. Letter from Danny saying she and Fred have made up. I’m so very glad! Nana came this evening.

SEPTEMBER 2 

So lazy! I drooped in bed reading and dreaming till it was well nigh noon and my guilty conscience forced me into a more active life. Once I was up I drooped some more and got out my “old faithful letters” to pore over again. They’re all so “cute” and ego-bolstering. Reading them over I can ignore the intervals between, and toss off the carburetor ones as unimportant. Such nice boys! Dad came out, still feeling rotton - and contemplating the date of his operation. Pat called - gave me a message from Bell that he’s rooting for me to go to Hamilton the 11th. Gee, I’d love it, but Mother and Dad are very uncooperative. I spose they’re right. We invaded Italy’s mainland!!

SEPTEMBER 3 

I’m beautified - or rather - attempts were made. At 9:00 a.m. Mother and I were down at Robert’s and my hair was going through the mechanisms necessary for a permanent. I was amazingly through in two hours - it looks fairly all right considering……….. Mother stopped at O.C.D. and then we had lunch at the Fish Grotto, And on home. This evening I went into the city up to Victor Chemical’s office to be shown around by Bugsie. We met Mr. Cotton, her boss and he gave us bourbon to sip. Stirred, we walked crosstown to Toffenetti’s where we met Ev for a crazy dinner. Such fun. Then a walk uptown to Radio City. We saw Cary Grant (Mmm!) in “Mr Lucky.” The stage show had no continuity but the Corps de Ballet act was super.

SEPTEMBER 4 

The beginning of the Labor Day weekend. It doesn’t seem possible - my, how the summer has flown by!! Today was completely uneventful and unexciting. I drooped in bed once more till just before time for Daddy to come out. He brought cake as usual. The rest of the afternoon was spent in listening to the Dodgers-Giant's game which the Dodgers won in the seventeenth inning. I pored through old diaries and really laughed at them. Admittedly I’m still rather dramatic and I do exaggerate - but - Gad when I was a Senior at St. Mary’s I really laid in on thick. Such gushing! I really ought to turn over a new leaf. I called Bugsie, Joanie and Pat Brennan.

SEPTEMBER 5 

I roused myself from my lethargy to be ready when Aud called for me to go to church and communion. The sermon was quite good: cooperation in order to have World Peace. I came home feeling real holy for a change. This afternoon Bugsie came by to laugh over old diaries with me and talk about things in general. Then she and I walked back to pick up Irene - and so a trek to Tildemann’s for gooey calorie-filled sundaes. Our conscience bothered us but we enjoyed them anyhoo and sat smoking and listening to the juke box discussing the Reader’s Digest statistical conclusion that after the war 7 out of every ten girls will be old maids. Cheerful prospect! Gee things are bad enough without thinking of that.

SEPTEMBER 6 

Happy Labor Day! and it was quite happy too, considering - this morning we revived the matter of this next weekend, which had been sort of lying dormant till then and Mom and Dad said I definitely couldn’t go up alone. There was little I could say and I spose I really see their point but I do want to go to Hamilton so very badly. We sit upon the idea of Bugsie’s going with me so I sent a special delivery to Bill and am keeping my fingers crossed till I hear. This evening after Dad left on the spur of the moment Mother & I hopped a bus and went to the Alden to see revivals of Clark Gable & Claudette Colbert's Academy Award Winner “It Happened One Night” and Ronald Colman in “Lost Horizon.” I wonder what my Shangri-La is!

SEPTEMBER 7

I slept late again, getting dressed time to meet Mrs. Brennan and Pats. We went into N.Y. to see “This is the Army” the Technicolor movie version of the army show. It really was terrifically good - the music, acting, vague plot to connect the two wars and color were all grand and I enjoyed it as much as, if not more, than any other picture in a long time. After the movie we went into Dempsey’s and sipped cocktails, and then they came home with us for dinner and to talk and reminisce and plan for awhile. They’re real nice people - I like 'em good inspite of everything. I heard from Dossie and Eddie Damm - also a sweet letter from Freddie enclosing a picture of the girl to whom he’s engaged for me too see!

SEPTEMBER 8

A nice day! I met Lou at Roosevelt Avenue just before twelve and then on to New York to mosey around Lord & Taylor’s trying to get decorative ideas for improving the KΔ house but things were too extreme for our collegiate ways! Then we went to the Gypsy Tea Room for lunch and to have our fortunes told - very interesting! After that we went to the Ambassador theater and saw “Blossom Time” - music costumes and acting were swell - good show about Schubert’s life and music. I met Mother and Dad at Dempsey’s for dinner and sat at the table next Jack and his two children. After that - back to the H.G.C. meeting at Jeannettes for gab - nothing exciting. Italy unconditionally surrendered to the Allies. Best news since the war began! Is victory nearer? I’m so glad!!

SEPTEMBER 9

Today started off pretty well. Mother and I went into New York and bought me my beauty of a red three-piece suit (The pockets on the other had been cockeyed!) and a cute black hat too; so I glowed with it all. We skirted the big Parade (opening 3rd War Bond Drive!), had a sandwich at the Milk Barn and then went to Robert’s where I had my hair shampooed and set (first since after the permanent!) We came home and Nana was here. Very bad news! Bill had tried to call me last night but I was out, as tonight he called again, and the result wasn’t too cheery. It seems there’s a convention in Clinton over the weekend and cause I hadn’t let him know sooner he couldn’t yet a room anyware. God I’m so disappointed. I’d wanted to go so badly. We talked for quite while and he seemed as disappointed as I. We haven’t really talked in so long, and it’d have been wonderful. Oh hell!

SEPTEMBER 10

I turned completely tragically dramatic and sobbed all last night so that this morning my eyes are just slits. I hadn’t really cried in ages and splurted forth all I’d saved up. Silly, but I really cleaned out my nasal passages! Mom decided to pacify me with a program of activity so we went into New York for a Chinese Lunch at the China Clipper and then went to the Roxy to see “Heaven Can Wait” with Don Ameche and Gene Tierney - very amusing and I liked it good. We went to Saks for a pair of jodphur pants - and then to Dr. Weiss for the usual. We met Dad at the Boar’s Head on Lexington Avenue and our mouths watered over good soft shell crabs. Glory came over late in the evening, and spent the night. We talked n’ talked - slept together in the double bed and were real restless.

SEPTEMBER 11

An active day! Fairly early, Bugsie and I dressed in our riding togs, and after meeting Cam, Aud and Irene we trekked to 188th St. and hopped on horses. At least the rest hopped but not having gone in over two years, I was more or less shoved on by an innocently obliging bystander. Once we started posting and cantering through Cunningham Park however it was wonderful and the ride a beautiful one. Irene fell off to lend excitement. We went back to Glory’s for lunch and chatted awhile; then, this evening rather unexpectedly, Glory, Aud, Irene, Cam, Edith and Jean all came in, and we howled hysterically over old diaries of Aud & Irene revealing their “supreme thrills” of grammar and high school days. Jean’s baby’ll arrive the end of February supposedly - it doesn’t seem possible. Anyhoo, the evening was fun!

SEPTEMBER 12

Limping and nursing sore aching muscles, Aud and I practically dragged ourselves to St. Gabe’s this morning and squirmed on the comparatively hard wooden seats. Mr. Condit is back for his first service of the new year and is really a marvelous rector. Mr. Judd has accepted an offer at Christ Church outside of Philadelphia, and will leave St. Gabe’s the end of this month. After church we stopped at Glory’s for a few moments and then home. Mother, Dad and I to celebrate the lifting of the pleasure driving ban, drove to the Triangle restaurant for a good dinner - and then home again! The Germans have occupied Rome and Italy and Germany are now fighting - the quirks of alliances of warfare. Our forces are fighting too and Italy’s surrender isn’t as optimistic as first thought.

SEPTEMBER 13

Yesterday morning’s muscle weariness was eased by a lovely mail today. I heard from Bill Boyd - back from maneuvers and writing again at last. He's still waiting for his transfer orders to the Air Corps, and wrote a long perkish letter while waiting. Then - Floyd - till in San Francisco - wrote a wonderfully philosophic gem expressing his emotions on going overseas. It was really good! This afternoon Mother and I went to the Valencia to see Merle Oberon and Brian Aherne in First Comes Courage (the usual spies-and-commandos-in-Norway stuff) and Donald O’Connor in Mr. Big - a cute jitterbug job. Tonight, Glory, Aud and I went bowling and had a stupid old time again. I bowled 78 - an improvement over last time - but not too good! I blame it on my muscles.

SEPTEMBER 14

This morning was dedicated to a series of “friendly discussions” before I went into the city to meet Cary, back from her two week’s jaunt in Kentucky, Annapolis, Washington, etc. We talked a blue streak to catch up on what had passed in the meantime. Two friends of hers were there from Annapolis. We had a sandwich next door; they left and we spent the afternoon trying to pick up Cary’s bags at Penn Station. I met Mother and Dad at the China Clipper for dinner and talking and so on home. Confusion! I got a special from Bill Brennan enclosing another letter he’d sent me -- addressed correctly -- but which had been returned to me. If I’d gotten that letter in time, the room situation could have been cleared up and I might have gone to Hamilton. Damn the post office!

SEPTEMBER 15

An emotional day! It was cloudy, so we couldn’t go on our boat trip as planned. Instead Mother, Louise and I went to the music Hall to see “So Proudly We Hail,” the epic of the bravery of the army nurses on Bataan and Corregidor. It was powerful! The stage show Minstrel Days was quite good too, though different from the usual Radio City ones. Louise and I met Cary on 29th Street at 4:30 went to the Little Church Around the Corner to see Marty and Tommy, married. We stood and beamed and felt quite parental as we shook our heads, saying it doesn’t seem possible! though we knew they’d really been planning it for ages. They’re both swell. Lou and I came home on the 5th Avenue bus to Jackson Heights. Tonight Mother & I went over to Thompsons to see Jack & Margie. They’re going to Eustis!

SEPTEMBER 16

I should have left for Billsburg today but am extremely grateful for the extra week at home. Excitement came this morning when the radiator leaking from my john made the downstairs hall look as though it had been blitzed. What a mess! This afternoon mother and I went over to Jersey, stopping at Aunt Bert’s and then at Aunt Fan’s. I saw Ruth’s two-year old baby Gail and loved her immediately. She’s a darling! The afternoon was pleasant - tending towards the crazy. We then went over to Brooklyn and met Dad for dinner at the St. George, and so home in the downpour. Nana was here. After awhile I went to bed and dove into the new Good Housekeeping.

SEPTEMBER 17 

Once again we’d planned on going 'round Manhattan Island in a boat, but once again it kept raining instead. So I went into Brooklyn (riding on the train with Mrs. Ingold) and met Dad for lunch. It was the first “date” we’d had in ages so we kind o’ talked as I munched on my shrimp curry. We hopped a subway and went back to the office for awhile, stopping to buy stockings on the way, and I generally messed up his business day. It was fun and executivish though! This evening I went over to Glory’s and peeked at the preparations for the shower she gave for Doris De Brodt Deane; and then Mother, Lizzie and I went to see “The Student Prince” starring Everett Marshall. It was very good - another of the epidemic of operetta revivals!

SEPTEMBER 18

“London bridges falling down….. Falling down…..!” Where we had Niagara Falls in the downstairs hall, the plasters are today pulling the whole darned business down, till the ceiling lies in chunks on the floor and dust from it floats throughout the house choking us off as we try to breathe. Ah! for the well-ordered peace of a boiler factory! This morning Mother and I went to Jamacia to buy last minute powder puffs, toothbrushes and emory boards, and pick up a pair of moccassins and a pair of black non rationed shoes, which I treasure as a good bargain. We were s’posed to go to Connie Korn’s wedding today, but being the last weekend home and all, we didn’t, so I thought hard about her instead. And so have two KΔs bit the dust in the same week!

SEPTEMBER 19

The last Sunday at home! Aud and I went to St. Gabe’s where Rev. Condit preached with a voice which kept failing him on account of a cold - the service was usual We had roast lamb for dinner and then discussed the pros and cons of driving down to Billsburg with Marjorie Thompson since Jack needs the car at Eustis. It would be exciting to take a long auto trip legally in gas ration days but it might be complicated too. I think we’ll do it though! Afterwards, Glory and Aud came over and we trekked to Tiedeman’s for sodas; rehashing the problem of “So Little Time - and so much to do - and so many friends to want to be with.” Dad should have gone into the Waldorf for a convention (W.S.J.A.) but stayed here instead. - I wrote Danny, Colby, Bill & Bill.

SEPTEMBER 20

A lovely mail, being as how I heard from Bill Boyd (enclosing a cut cartoon from Yank, the army newspaper) whose transfer orders have come through, but who doesn’t know where he’ll be sent yet! Then too, I got another real nice letter from Bill Hughes - still in Australia! This morning, I went to the dentist for a checkup and for the first time in really ages, I have no cavities. My teeth have passed the adolescent stage! Then I moseyed around Jamaica, after which I came home and baked cookies (sending most of the better ones to Bill Brennan) Cary came out this afternoon and to spend the night - Glory and Aud came for dinner too (steak - how dreamy!) We hysterically played bridge, being interrupted by a blackout and then all walked Audrey home.

SEPTEMBER 21

Such a beautiful day! I woke early to keep my 9:00 a.m. dentist appointment and had my teeth cleaned till they sparkle. I hopped into riding clothes - saw Cary on her bus - and met Joanie for a wonderful ride in Cunningham Park. Peter Pan cantered like a streak of greased lightning and we flew along. It was really swell! Joanie treated me to a coke too and after awhile came over to the house to buy me a War Bond. (I’m crazy - I mean “sell” me a War Bond!) so I backed the attack! Mother and I went to Robert’s where I had my hair set for the final time, and then came home waiting for Nana’s arrival. Dad’s still at the convention. Surprise! Bill Brennan sent me 16 American Beauty roses with a really perky card enclosed. Gosh I’m so very thrilled!

SEPTEMBER 22

Being my last day at home, it was a busy-beaverish one. When I awoke, I wrote Bill Hughes and a perkish thank you note to Bill Brennan - also answered the letter which came from Corporal Eddie Damm. After that we packed suitcases and then drove over to take my ticket to Louise, stopping for a lengthy chat. We ate a Chinese lunch at a restaurant by the Queens Bors Hall, and then went to Jamacia and bought several pairs of pants and a pair of pajamas. Dad came out early and told us of his troubles a la business world. He’s really doing the job of three or four men plus the Post War Planning and National Bond, etc committee stuff he has to do. I went to a H.G.C. meeting and said “Goodbye” to all the girls.

SEPTEMBER 23

The official end to the summer and a real wonderful one it was too. Mother, Marjorie (both of her), Cary and I sent ourselves down in the ’41 Packard snuggled in with suitcases, boxes and the like. It was blissful to ride in a car after the years of gas rationing. We stopped on the road and ate a picnic lunch, which Aunt Bert had made. Most all the way, Cary and I burst forth into song and the time passed quickly. We reached Billsburg at 8:00 and had dinner at the Lodge - then, real excited - we came back to the house and saw everybody. Doggone, I do love it so good! It’s super being with all the gals - specially Beth and Punchy! So very much fun! A stupendously perky letter from Bill Boyd

SEPTEMBER 24

We slept and talked in bed still after ten really catching up on the news of each other’s summers. This morning Beth, Punchy and I went downtown to buy grapefruit juice for improvised breakfasts of the future and to look into the bank account and cafeteria book situation! I met Mother and Marjorie for lunch and spent the evening with them too. I wrote postcards and read Life and the Saturday Evening Post. I met Chuck Gondak and talked familiarly with him for quite awhile. He wants Punchy and me to work for the telephone co again this year at the U.S.O. It’d have been fun but we’ve got too much else to do. Fun tonight in the room!

SEPTEMBER 25

A busyish day! This morning I tiptoed around not to wake the fair roommates as I dressed for my 8:20 appointment with advisor, Dr. Marsh. Surprisingly I had no conflicts and am now officially taking Money & Banking, Statistics, Accounting, Marketing Principles & Problems, Introduction to Business Enterprise and General Psychology plus gym of course. It sounds kind o' stiff but after all, I’ve come to college, essentially to exercise my gray matter. I spent the morning with Muggy Pratt and trying in vain to locate my trunk - I still have no shoes - and ate with Beth & Punchy at the dining hall - this evening I went to the Lodge with Mother and had dinner. Hell! Wouldn’t you know! Bill Hughes wrote me from Boston - he wanted to come see me in New York this weekend. Two days too late!!

SEPTEMBER 26

Sunday, and a busy one too! This morning we trekked over to Chandler and picked up our little sisters to take them to Bruton - mine, Gin Tunstall, is darling! After the service, we went to the dining hall for the traditional southern fried chicken and ice cream - and then back to the house to prepare for the influx of freshman girls making a tour of the sorority house. The same things were said over and over again - with slight variations of course, and our jaws aching from smiling sweetly as we said them and as we listened. It was fun, in a boring sort of way. Beth, Punchy and I went to the Lodge to meet Mother for dinner. We laughed a lot and were most unsophisticated.

SEPTEMBER 27

School bells chimed again and I am officially a Junior - it’s so impressive being respected for a change! I only had three classes. Dr. Foltin stood us up for Psych and after standing around in the hall for awhile we left for the Wigwam to buy books. I became nasty when I discovered I had to pay $24 for beatup secondhand books too. Marketing sounds fascinating - full of merchandising and advertising, the sort of stuff I want. Rhythms only lasted five minutes, which was a lovely sort of gym class. Mother came to the house this afternoon and offered ideas on redecorating our room. It sounds dreamy! May they materialize! There was a W.S.C.G.A meeting tonight with the usual welcomes & news about a German Club dance for the A.S.J.U. boys. House meeting afterwards and then bull sessions about rushing and sex

SEPTEMBER 28

Right about now we’re in a mad dash of enthusiasm - we’re all out for studies, all out for extracurricular stuff, and all out for improving the house, and KΔ in general. Such a busy little year as it’s gonna be! Money and Banking, Business Enterprise, Statistics and Accounting all involve scads of work and I groan under the weight of it. Oh, for just one snap course - it’d be so refreshing! Mother, Holly Miller and I had dinner together at the Lodge and then I went to the Flat Hat Business Staff meeting. We were assigned ads to get so I will merrily trek around town having people sign contracts and pay money - I hope! We get commissions too. Sorority meeting, though informal, was inspiring in its plans. I hope the spirit lasts! Letter from Edith and Evie

SEPTEMBER 29

A busy day, with classes from nine till 4:30P.M. with time out to see Mother off on the morning train. It seems odd not to have her around anymore. Classes were still interesting except for Statistics lab which really is a stinker. If it weren’t required for my major, I’d gladly toy with the idea of dropping it, but grin 'n' bear it, say I. At 5:00 Beth, Punchy, Lou and I went to a Social Committee meeting for the War Work at college, where plans were made for various affairs to be given for the chaplains, their assistants, etc. After a cone at the Wigwam we watched the review of the A.S.J.U boys out on the football field. It was impressive - a far cry from the football rallies of a year ago. This evening, Midge and I went to chapel at which Dr. Foltin spoke and then I came home, washed my hair, did homework and went to a house meeting.

SEPTEMBER 30

Such a rainy day - I’ve never been so wet - honest! Life perked up though when Mr. Nuguist decided to make our introductory approach to statistics more simple and when I discovered that I like accounting a lot. We walked in the pouring rain to dinner across campus and were drenched to the skin. After our good vegetablish dinner we waded through the flooded paths with the wind blowing the rain in streams upon us to the Colonial Echo meeting - and got ourselves on the Editorial Staff. We were supposed to go to a Big-little sister party in Barrett but by then water was seeping through our rubber boots even and we gave ourselves alcohol rubdowns instead. A letter from Dossie and a card from Bill Boyd from Kansas City “en route to Mississippi”

[catholicismabusedestiny]

My Youth

10.12.2004

While I’d found some approval by helping my mother with the kids – changing diapers, doing dishes, cleaning, laundry and watching the younger ones, all of the changed when I was about 11 when Dad thought that I was “too involved” with the kids which impacted his ability to scare each of them into submission because he knew that’s when I would get between he and the other kids in an attempt to protect and that pissed him off more than anything.  

1.    It’s Ironic, he created the kid I’d become with his Sunday night talks yet held it against me once he felt that his way of doing things was called into question. Many of our “disagreements” never had anything related to me, personally; instead, it usually transpired when he’d do something like telling all 7 of us not to speak or say a word during dinner one night.  However, the baby (Katie in a high chair) began crying shortly after Dad’s “demand” (obviously picking up the energy, fear and anxiety in the room) which is when I stood up and said that “just because you had a bad day is no reason to take it out on us…”   As you can imagine, Dad went ballistic and chased me down the block. He and I had many, many fights that ended up outside - for all the neighbors to see and hear - after I learned that I could never enter a room he was in w/o ensuring my safety by sitting as close to an exit as possible.  

01.12.2005

Without question, the very worst years for the physical and emotional abuse were on Quincy Street; I was very young and, thus, unable to defend myself.  Moreover, I cornered in that back bedroom and didn’t yet have any exit I could run to.  I was trapped! The flashbacks of those early years (< the age of 10/11) has been at the forefront of my work within therapy for a variety of reasons including how/why Mom never defended me from Dad’s anger and rage attacks and, because I was so young myself, there were no witnesses of this behavior.  

However, the neighbors all had to know because that back/blue bedroom was no more than 10 – 12 feet from the neighbor’s house and I screamed and yelled through many of the beatings and confrontations.

06.12.2009

Throughout my childhood and early adulthood one of the most disturbing and repetitive dreams were of being hurt by someone who was a blacked-out figure; I could see and ever hear this person but their face was blacked out, thus, I was unable to see who it was.  However, through therapy and I was able to recall many of those repressed dreams – particularly those that were extremely disturbing such as the person who was blacked out in so many dreams.

Neighbor sexually molested me twice in bathroom while his wife babysat us; and, when I was older (10), a friend of my father did the same thing and these two occasions I remember more vividly because it took place when he’d drive his car (with only me in the car) into this little park down the road where the boat lift was at the end of our street where he backed his car into a parking spot (so that he could see anyone else coming into the parking lot).  

§  Allegedly, he’s stop by our home on days when he knew Dad was traveling and Mom was preoccupied with the little ones; therefore, he’d “volunteer to go to the market for whatever Mom needed taking me with him.

§  To this day, I can describe every detail of his car, inside and out, as well as the huge class ring he wore on his pinky finger of his right hand.  

§  In these dreams, one of the scariest parts was that I was unable to identify the person (they were always just a dark/black portrait of someone); however, during the years of intense therapy and hypnosis, I fought like hell to uncover that black mask so that I might not have such disturbing dreams again and, while we uncovered many relevant details including his identity, it never did eliminate the nightmares but they were less often.

08.04.1995

During the early years (< 8 years old when Dad threatened me with how I was helping to take care of the kids), if/when something was broken, or one of the kids got in trouble, Dad would yell “who did this?”  (i.e. one day the backyard was filled with neighborhood kids and someone threw a baseball through the bathroom window and, within seconds, my father came barreling out the back door and asked “who did this?”); when no one would confess (which no kids in his right mind would do), my father grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the back bedroom and blamed me because “it was your responsibility, you are responsible for what the other kids do and you were not doing your job today..”  SMACK!

Because my father would use terms like being “ashamed” of me and “embarrassed” by my stupidity and clumsiness, I believed him. Therefore, as a kid, the other kids picked up on my how self-esteem and bullied me all through 8th grade. When the school bell rang at the end of the day, I would panic.  How would I get home?  Even though it was a mere three blocks, there’s a bully that would wait for me to get close to my parent’s home, drag me in the alley, take whatever I had on me and even throw my books into the sewer.  Since I would get home after the other kids had been home for a while, my Mother was usually in the kitchen; being totally and completely embarrassed that I couldn’t/didn’t fight back, I’d sneak up the back stairs, go to my room and shut the door while I cleaned up.

My father, believing that it was mandatory for all boys, continually pushed me to play baseball because all boys played baseball in 1967; those four years of little league were AWFUL, I HATED every minute of it.  I wasn’t able to engage in the after school activity that I wanted to (because I had to come home and held Mom) yet Dad would step in on the weekend and force me to do what he wanted me to do (at times I felt that I was living in a cage and only allowed out when there was something menial to perform).  

§  As a result, my father determined what I should do during the week, as well as the weekend.  And, as you’d expect from someone that didn’t want to be there, I was by far the worst player on the teams, thus, when I dropped the ball or was unable to catch the rare fly ball in the right field.  However, the biggest worry or concern I had in the back of my mind the entire time was what Dad would say to me afterwards and he didn’t hesitate to humiliate me even further.  I was miserable each and every moment and constantly worried what Dad would say or do – particularly because he’d constantly asked me “why can’t you be more like Tim and Pat?  You’re an embarrassment to this family.”

§  In retrospect, thanks to years and years of therapy, my father beat me down (physically, emotionally, psychologically), blamed me for things I had no control over (i.e. my siblings), withheld any sort of affirmations or positive reinforcement, labeled me a liar/discrediting the messenger and then told me that I’d never succeed because I was stupid, worthless and unworthy.

12.01.1999

Up until the age of 10 or 11, after the last child was born and about the time where my father came to deeply resent my “responsibility for the kids” – which was beat into me for as far back as I can remember; however, once it threatened his role or, more precisely once I started to get a voice, my father did a 180 degree turn and anything I did around the house or with the kids was not likely to get me in trouble.

7/21/1999

My mother came from a damaged familial dysfunction just as my father did.  While my father’s childhood was much like mine with physical beatings, as well as verbal names, taunts and emotional abuse, my mother’s was emotional abuse due to her alcoholic mother who, as our Grandmother, we use to make fun of because or her forgetfulness after a few drinks.  We knew no better and took our cues from our parents; but, when I was young (< 10 or 11), “Nana” would take the entire family to dinner, often on a Friday night so that we could eat at their favorite Friday fish fry.  While the establishment appeared more to be a bar than a restaurant, they did have seating in a separate room from the bar.

My memories are more of a flash during those times.  I can see Nana at the head of the table and my father at the other end with Mom and all of the kids along the two sides of the long table.  We would often sit on the side of the restaurant where there was a large porch we could sit under.  Ironically, I recall the food being quite good, good enough to still make me hungry when I think of the place.  The place is long ago torn down but it was down along a road that stretched from Hinsdale through Westmont (running east west).  While it was closer to Westmont, it was the same road in which Notre Dame Church is on – which is where my parents were married.

Compared to my Mother who was wound up quite tight and her sister who was wound up tighter than just about anyone else I know, Nana was much more of an open, talkative, progressive individual who pictured herself somewhat as Auntie Mame.  I remember when they still had their house in Clarendon Hills, Nana would ask if I or Tom could stay overnight with her; I don’t have any memory of being there with Tom but I do recall sleeping in my Mom’s old bed and getting up around 11pm to watch a late TV show with Nana.  Nana’s most favorite line (usually said after she did something or forgot something and was being teased for it) “You’ll remember me when I’m dead and gone” and she was right!

06.20.2009

Since I’ve had the longest memory of any other sibling – particularly through the most difficult years of Mom and Dad’s marriage (when they were in their 20’s with severe financial constraints, and had experienced the fire or the car accident when Patty was born), I felt that I more-or-less became the enemy.  

Whenever I’d bring up anything from the past (i.e. my very first memory of the fire and how awful Dad treated this 3 year old son), I was told I was wrong and, even worse, that I was a liar.  

Mom had a script of sorts from which she wanted friends and relatives to believe; therefore, whenever something I’d say that was in conflict with said script (of make believe), I honestly felt as though I was being attacked.  

Mom didn’t want people to know about the abuse on Quincy (and her concern for covering over this period of time was less about what Dad did and more about what she didn’t do); however, given how often I’d try to run and, eventually, was able to do just that, the neighbors all knew exactly what was going on.  Thus, anytime I said something neither of them liked (like calling them out on specific things from the past), rather than have a discussion and clarify facts in question, they both just labeled me a troublemaker and a liar from an early age through their later years.

§  Moreover, since much of what occurred was behind a closed door with only my father and I in the room and most of the other kids too young and unaware of what was occurring, there recollection of that time and those events is quite different that mine and, if there’s anything I’ve learned from all of this therapy is the honesty and openness is paramount and NO ONE has the right to tell you what did or didn’t happen to you.

For my Dad, nothing I did was good enough – school grades, athletics – he ridiculed me daily as “you’re stupid… you’ll never amount to anything…  you are a complete embarrassment to the family… your Mother and I ashamed to have you as our son…  why can’t you be like Tim and Pat???…”

§  So many specific images of this time have appeared to me in memories even as I entered my 50’s, at least once a week, I’d wake up from a dream of someone chasing me to hurt me and it’s so emotionally disturbing that I wake up in a sweat.  

05.12.2008

With my father being gone most of the time and not possessing any real parenting skills himself, my father ordered me to take on the role of the leader @ 3 years old and, if I failed and one of the kids wandered off or got in trouble, I was the one responsible for what happened.  In fact, one therapist went so far as to say that your Dad “robbed you of a childhood by not letting you do kid things and by mandating that the other kids were your responsibility” - until such time as I began to speak up. I was about 10 or 11 when this occurred and, as you might imagine, this angered my father immensely yet it was him who trained and/or disciplined me to do precisely what I was doing…  taking on the responsibility of my siblings.  

It’s ironic that by having forced me to be the “leader” at a very young age while not providing me with anything resembling positive reinforcement acceptance; therefore, I went about not only trying to be the leader but I would do many things at a young age when not even asked (hoping to be recognized); thus, whether it was doing the dishes or changing diapers, I did it; but, by 10 or 11, it was over. He then immediately started resenting me for the precise role he forced me into taking; it was true irony lost on my father.  Moreover, because I began speaking up for myself and others, anything I said was not valid because I was a liar.

As a child, I remember relatives and friends of my parents being concerned or worried for them. Not only did they have six kids within ten years, there was a house fire in 1962 that was my very first memory.  With my parents having drinks on the neighbors back porch, I and my two younger brothers (one of them < 3 months old) were asleep in the boys back bedroom when a spark from the heater stuck a mop stored in the same closet at about the same time as my father walked over to check on us.  With the fire centered in the middle of the house, both the front and back doors were blocked by the flames; therefore, my father – thankfully – closed our bedroom door, opened a window and picked me up and had me jump down to the ground, then it was Tom’s turn (Tom was 2 and I was 3); then, my father screaming at the top of lungs for me to take responsibility, stop crying, take care of your brothers as he tries to have me take my 3 months old brother from his arm.  

Unfortunately, however, I was too scared, confused and afraid to do anything but stand there and cry; thus, as my father continues to yell at me to take my baby brother, the neighbor next door shows up and takes the 3 month old from Dad’s arms after which my father jumps out the window himself.  However, he was still very mad at me for “failing to take responsibility for his brothers..”   this was something I heard every day until I was about 12, which was about the same time we moved from Quincy to Thurlow.

05.30.2008

In addition to the fire, my Dad had a bad car accident shortly after the fire on the exact same day as my baby sister was born and, to this day, I can recall bits and pieces of that entire scene which landed the entire family in the hospital. Then, in 1968, the year my father was promoted into his sales role (the same year as the 6th child was born), he does a dumb thing by trying to start my Mom’s old car by pushing it down a hill and then tripping the clutch.  

Curious what he was going to do, I took a seat in the front yard and watched as the car got moving at a good clip down the hill; then, as my father goes to jump in the car and trip the clutch, he realizes the doors are locked and he can’t find his keys. Therefore, with several neighborhood kids around, he gets in front of the car to stop a 1963 Ford 500; once he realizes he cannot stop it, he yells at everyone and takes a big dive to get away from the car.  However, he didn’t dive (or jump) far enough and the car ran over his legs.

The 6 kids, the fire, the bad accident and then Dad getting run over were things openly discussed by the adults as some sort of Irish curse.  Simultaneously, if you look at the one picture of me (> 1 year old) with Dad and my Great-Grandmother, my father was rail thin at that time, he looked almost gaunt yet, by the mid-60’s (when he forces me into little league which I hated and was awful at), he’s a pudgy overweight man (which was the highest weight he ever weighed).  According to Mom, many decades later, she stated that the first ten years of their marriage was the worst; Dad was downright scary and I didn’t know how much until the first time I stayed at a friend’s home.  

Mom admitted to me that during those years my father drank martini’s every night and then get angry.  She attributes his heavy weight at that time to the drinking which, as I learned later in life, was known among friend and family as was the things he’d say to me. On many occasion, he’d get angry with me while someone outside the family was present and witnessed what was being said to me.  

06.01.1990

“God is not willing to do everything, and thus take away our free will and that share of glory which belongs to us” – Niccolo Machiavelli

My early formative years were not all that happy; I was teased a lot in school, I woke up afraid and went to sleep fearful, I didn’t get great grades and I came home right after school to be Mom’s helper.  Aside from that, I did lots and lots of praying; usually I prayed for my parents, grandparents and siblings; but, I also prayed a lot to feel safe, to do good in school, to be well liked and to make these weird feelings inside of me to go away (that last one was continuous).

During middle school, 13, is when I first began to push back on the horrendous things/names he would call me such as “you’re worthless, you’ll never amount to anything, you’re a failure, you disgust me, you are an embarrassment to your mother, we’re ashamed to have to call you our son”; however, the most commonly expressed sentiment that hurt the most was “why the hell can’t you be more like Tim and Pat” – which is the sole reason (I believe) he stated that  was an embarrassment.  Simultaneously, having been forced up to that point to “take responsibility for your siblings”, I also expressed sentiments about issues impacting them which was the point where my father didn’t want me to  have any part of taking care of my siblings.  

Since the ONLY positive reinforcement I ever received was my helping Mom take care of the house and my siblings, I now felt that I had no role within the family whatsoever.  My father no longer had any use for me other than as a punching bag and someone he was “ashamed” of.  As an adult who’s spent decades in therapy, this transitional period within the family. Not realizing how much my home life was affecting my mental health, I began to have extreme problems with my stomach – especially after eating; therefore, I wasn’t eating much and felt like crap.  Thus, at 14, entering my freshmen year of high school (1973), the family pediatrician diagnosed me with a Peptic Ulcer and then took my Mother to his office.  

Curious to know what the heck was going on, I crept up to the door and listened as the doctor (obviously familiar with the family dynamics) told my Mother that “you need to find a different home for Mike to live in, at least for a while, or I’ll admit him as a psych patient but he’s not to go back to the same environment”

Thus, shortly thereafter, I went to live with the Wilson’s.  When I did finally return, I was now 6 foot and, after John’s Mom (a Shrink) coached me to express my feelings and emotions, is when the worst of the fights and arguments Dad and I took place.  I was not “as scared” of him, I knew

(if I had to) I could fight back and I’d also learned to always sit near an exit so that when/if he did explode, I could run which I did.

07.23.1999

My Favorite Kid Memories!

My relationship with my maternal grandfather was quite special.  While it really didn’t start until I was about 12, it was the first (and, at the time only) relationship I had outside of the immediate family; and, given how the first 13 – 14 years of my life my Mother was pre-occupied with the younger children to even know what I was doing much of the time.  Therefore, when Pop-Pop asked me (his eldest grandchild) if I wanted to spend the day with him I jumped at the chance and, as a result, some of my most favorite childhood memories were my time with him.

When we were very young, Pop Pop didn’t want anything to do with this ever increasing posy of grandkids that would take over his home; I remember him on those Sunday nights when Nana got inspired and cooked a huge Sunday night dinner for 20+ (when both the Brachle’s and the Russell’s would attend).  Those were treasured memories of Nana.

It was presumably pre-1970 when these dinners “routinely” occurred; Nana had a large nice dining room table (that was usually piled under a bunch of boxes and other crap).  However, when she got inspired and went all out, she and Pop would sit at the heads of a table with more than a dozen young grandchildren scattered about); these events took place, as at least I recall, after a Sunday afternoons at the Polo Fields (a place we older kids considered our playground on Sunday afternoons).  

It was not unusual for us to spend a couple Sunday afternoons a month playing at the Polo fields while the adults watched the games; and that took place because one of their classmates from St. Isaac Jogues (where all of us attended school the first 8 years of our education) was a jockey.

In fact, I was a baby-sitter/friend of the family to Jackie and the boys (which is precisely the point of this story), because Pop Pop decided that he wanted to get to know and hang out with his eldest grandson.  Therefore, from about 1971 – 1973 (12 -13 for me, Pop Pop would pick me up after school, or on the weekends, and we’d go to the family’s farm.  In fact, it was those stables where he and his buddy taught me to ride a horse; other times he needed to run an errand and would leave me with Jackie Murphy and her boys at the family’s plush pool grounds.  

Since few individuals used the pool, whenever Pop Pop picked me up I took a towel and swimsuit and usually met up with the Murphy’s at the pool.  We’d done this “paling around” thing for two summers in a row (Pop Pop wanted a connection with his eldest grandchild before he died); and, even upon his passing, the Murphy family would come to Goldview Hills/Quincy St., pick me up and take me with them out to the farm to ride horses and swim; it was a great scape for me to get away from home and the Murphy family parents (jack and Jackie) felt comfortable leaving their sons with me at the pool so they could attend to other things on the farm.  After all, I knew how to swim and their two sons were 3 and 5 years younger than I while I was 10 & 11 at that time.

However, my very most favorite story of Pop Pop (who was the ultimate Archie Bunker) occurred when I asked to go to McDonalds that day and he said ok.    Having been there many times before, I grabbed his hand and went to the counter where I learned that this was his very first time inside a McDonald’s or any other fast food establishment.  It was as if he was stoned, he starred at everything as a child walking into a play room of sorts.  It’s a very fond memory of him.

When we went out, we went to Polo games, hung out at the jockey’s bar and remained a man about town with everyone within the Polo industry.  While Pop Pop was not directly in Polo, he had worked for (and was very good friends with) the family that owned everything, the Polo Fields, the players and the vase real estate (which employed Pop Pop but I have no idea in what capacity)

Since both Nana’s and Grandma’s houses sold in late 1971, the same year we moved to Thurlow St. in Feb of that same year, we inherited much furniture from both of those sales.  Fortunately, however, we had one summer where we could easily ride our bikes to either Nana’s or Grandma’s and, since they were in the process of cleaning out every crevice from their homes, as a 11 or 12 year old kid, I was helping them to pack and clean for many months.  

I don’t really know about the other kids but, as the eldest, Dad would offer me up every time someone moved or needed help and I never received a dime for all my work until I sought it out for myself at 14 and 15.  During the time that Dad loaned me out to help his friends, I recall helping the Burgers move twice (to/from Downers Grove), the Murphy’s to Clarendon Hills, the Rezeks, and a few families from church.

Nevertheless, for that one summer in 1971, both sets of grandparents were a mile away and I remember being quite happy on my bike one day that I now had somewhere to go when Dad was yelling, screaming and chasing me. Funny how I was so young but I can recall some incidents and events so well – especially those that involved me J-  what else am I going to remember?  I guess I remember these situations so well is that they were happy and joyful experiences where Dad was nowhere to be found and people treated me with such kindness – which happened rarely and even more seldom post-1971.

12.04.2004 – my 46th birthday!

I remember my father sitting me down on many Sunday evenings to more-or-less threaten me to take responsibility for my siblings after I get out of school. I also recall being picked on, beat up and made fun of by other kids (for having no self-esteem whatsoever), as well as my father who used the same repetitive phrases to describe me as “worthless, never amount to anything, an embarrassment to Mom and Dad and not worthy of their love; but the one that hurt the most and, thus was said most often: Why the hell can’t you be more like Tim and Pat?’ (the most frequent phrase my father uttered; I still recall vividly the last time it was said to me and how upset at my father I became.  I’d just completed my freshmen year of college).

As I’ve learned over the years, most-to-all of Mom & Dad’s friend’s, as well as Uncle Chuck & Aunt Jackie, witnessed first-hand Dad’s verbal and emotional abuse referring to me as a “disappointment, lazy, stupid, irresponsible…” which was never something I felt the entire family needed to know about…  it embarrassed me immensely and something I prayed about for years.

Mom & Dad’s “first 10 years” was something that their friends, our neighbors and the extended family were all part of, knowledge of and worried for; all of these parties  became very worried for both of my parents.  During this period Dad’s weight shot up to 50 – 60#’s.  And, while I felt that something strange was going on from time to time.  Simultaneously, I’m trying to remain safe…  I would do my best to avoid him altogether.  

08.23.1995 My Teen Years                                                                                    

Because of the amount of stress and anxiety I was under in my early teens, I began to experienced stomach aches/pain so bad that I couldn’t eat or even walk some of the time. In fact, I started missing school because it; therefore, as she often did as I had other health challenges and very bad allergies as a kid, Mom took me to Dr. Tracy.  And, when Dr. Tracy concluded I had a peptic ulce, he took Mom behind a closed door (which I, of course, listened to through the door). Dr. Tracy said “we need to do something today!”  “why today my Mother asked?”  “Because I don’t want Michael going back to the house at this time”  Dr. Tracy said: “you have two options:

2.    You can find a place for Mike to stay for a while or I

3.    will admit him to the pediatric psych ward”

At that point they both came out of his office to talk with me and, given what I’d heard and was told, I knew that Dr. Tracy knew that I was not in a healthy environment and I believe Mom all but confirmed it for him.  What I remember most from that talk was a sense of “ease” and of “less-ness” or a weight being lifted.  

I didn’t have to go home but where would I go...   the hospital was the last place I wanted to go.  Thus, while Wilson and I hadn’t been friends long, I sensed his P.hD. Mother knew a lot of what was going on; thus, she was very supportive and encouraging of me. Long story short, I went to live with the Wilson’s for about a month during which time I saw a Shrink (once) and, truthfully not wild about going home but I felt I had to (even though, later on, I lived with the Wilson’s on and off for years).

§  During my time with other families, which I had a lot of early-on, I explained to my Shrink that I “count and obsess a lot more when I’m at home and I’m able to do my homework easier somewhere else” (my concentration is better away from home….) Most of all, I’m fearful much of the time at home and that fear influences other things.

08.01.1998

In a life-time of living with ADD and OCD, the main “coping” method(s) I developed (after seeing that Shrink one-time) was to take the people apart from the situation; get to know people and not get real close to just one or two people but many as possible.  My main method has always been the same (and HEAVILY influenced by Barbara Wilson P.hd. Psychology) is to be open & honest with everyone (model the right behaviors).  While I could fill a library with the number of companies in which I developed some form or durative of open and honest communication.  

In fact, of the probably 100 Employee Handbooks I’ve written the past 30 years, each/everyone starts with setting a cultural tone by stating “if/when there’s ever an issue or problem, your first point of contact is your manager to engage in an open and honest dialogue.

10.10.1993

Saved My Life: During my freshmen year of high school, which was the first time I was not enrolled in a Catholic school, I was fortunate to have fallen in with a group of kids that were somewhat diverse (although, the word diverse in Hinsdale meant red hair; I didn’t meet any person of color until College); within this group were John Wilson and Bruce del Solar whom I began to take road trips with to Morris, IL. Milwaukee, WI and, for every Christmas Holiday from 1975 – 1984, we loaded up both our downhill and cross country skis and headed to the Wilson’s cabin in White Hall, MI.

Early on in our friendship, I came to realize that both of these guys possessed a great deal of compassion, integrity and kindness; I also more-or-less bonded with their respective Mothers, actually parents.  Given that John’s Mom was a Psychologist I’ve told every therapist I’ve seen since that Barbara Wilson was my first therapist.  While I never spoke of the details of what transpired between my father (since I didn’t want to admit to a single soul of the cruel, hurtful and awful things he would say to me consistently; in part, because there was a big part of me that believed what I’d been told during my childhood).

10.17.1993

Both John and Bruce’s Mother’s loved me and I loved them; they always stated, professed and modeled behaviors towards me that were supportive, positive, reaffirming, trusting, respectful and credible. Whether their son(s) were home or not, I would sit with their Mom’s, drink coffee and talk about life’s goals, disappointments and their support for who and what I was.   And, at that time, who and what I was a friend, a friend to their son.

Both Mothers were also incredible intuitive; they’d raised their sons in a more permissible environment than mine and they knew that their son(s) “if left to their own devices” may not always made the best choices.  Moreover, in the mid-70’s there was no such thing as MADD or any PSA re: drinking and driving; and, as minor with a penchant for pushing limits, drinking beer and smoking marijuana was a regular weekend activity.  On occasion, the limits were pushed even further.

John, Bruce and their respective Mothers were glad that I was present for our trips and weekend festivities.  With the imprint of “being responsible” practically tattooed to my head, I drove anywhere we went 90% of the time; my sense of direction was always better than anyone else’s.  Evidentially, my father’s continual push for me to “take responsibility” was deeply engrained by the time I was a teenager.

Additionally, I often partook in the partying atmosphere less than my friends as it was important for me to stay in control; therefore, I consistently made sure that everyone got home safe and sound and, when certain activities might appear to be getting out of control, the guys listened to me when I said that something was “not a good idea” or “it’s time to go home.”  I won’t go so far as to say that I kept us all out of trouble; but, our group did need someone to take responsibility, whether it be driving or not partaking in certain activities, so that the larger group had a “Mother” if you will J-

11.02.1993

In any event, while it was never stated, their Mom’s knew that I would take care of their sons if/when they got out of control which, at that age, was something that did occur on occasion.  In fact, there are many, many stories of me taking the lead; for example: when, during one ski trip, I was sick and tired of being told I was an old granny when it came to driving and that, even though it was snowing like crazy, the friend in the back seat criticized me constantly for how slow I was going; therefore, I pulled over and say “ok, you drive!” and, within minutes, we were sliding/skidding sideways down the interstate as everyone in the vehicle was screaming.  

Once we landed (surprising safely) in a huge snow bank within the median on the hwy., the first car to come upon us was a cop. Given that things were going on in the backseat that weren’t exactly legal, everyone immediately got out and stuffed anything they could into the 6’ snow drifts all around the car. Meanwhile, I took the lead with the cop telling him we were all ok, that we were headed north to ski.  Since the car (Bruce’s family’s Chevy Suburban) was surrounded by deep snow on three sides, it appeared that we’d be going nowhere fast; nevertheless, the cop got out and, with the 5 guys we had in the suburban, they were miraculously able to push us/me (since I was now driving again) out of the snowbank.  Suffice it to say, I drove the entire rest of the trip.

12.02.1993

The first time I lived with the Wilson’s it was shortly after I was diagnosed with the peptic ulcer (circa 1974/75) and, by the time I was a freshmen in college, I’d lived with both families for extended periods of time.  Accordingly, not only was I viewed as responsible, hardworking and very kind, no one was ever critical or had a problem with anything I did or said and, more than anything, I (for the first time) felt safe when I’d wake up in del Solars guest room.

The truth is, if not for the continuous influence, positive reinforcement, unconditional love and never-ending compassion of these two families, I know that I would be dead today (and would have been dead since my early 20’s).  Absent any approval, positive reinforcement, frequent affirmations, ongoing respect and unconditional love, I would have gone off and become a drug addict, or worse. I had zero self-confidence when I met these two families and, to my surprise, they believed that I was an honest, forthright, open, kind, considerate and loving kid that was in need of compassion, acceptance and respect.

Everything I’d been told up to this point in my life was negative, critical and even condescending yet, with the support of these families, I saw a real future for the first time in my life.

BTW - While seeing my first “real” therapist (following the first disasterous therapy sessions I had in grad school at Marquette’s University psych counseling center -  of a Catholic institution - where I was told to “deny your feelings, don’t think about it, don’t give into it, it’s a sin.”), he/Mark had guided me through the “coming out” process (when I was 25/26) whereby I told my family (with books, periodicals and other resources that, to this day, I never saw again) and my friends.  My friends (namely Bruce, John and their respective families) were my greatest worry; and, to my surprise, my friends were instantly my greatest support mechanism now and then.

That said John’s Mom, the psychologist, and I grew to be quite close when I stayed with them often in high school and then lived with them for an entire year of college.  During that year of college, with John, his brother and his Dad gone, it was John’s Mom and I much of the time, thus, we had many, many talks yet - this was a time - when I didn’t know for sure that I was even gay.  However, while she laid dying in a nursing home in 1984 (a few years before I’d “come out”), she had a conversation about me with John, her son, which I wasn’t aware of at the time.

FOOTNOTE: When I did finally come out to John (Circa 1986), I was somewhat surprised that he didn’t know and absolutely thrilled that he didn’t care so long as I was happy yet - as I told him - he got choked up and teary eyed and said “OMG, this is what she meant!”  In reply I said “what the heck are you talking about??”  John replied that, on his Mother’s death bed, she told him that “there’s something about Mike that you will need to support him in and accept.  It will be difficult time for Mike but you’ll need to be there for him.”

At the time John’s Mom said this (and nothing more) to him, he was dumbfounded and didn’t give it a whole lot of thought; however, once I told John I was gay, a light bulb went off and he got choked up.  As John told me what his Mother had said I too got all choked up.  I’d realized that she knew I was gay well before anyone else (including me) but, being the psychologist that she was, she knew the precise was to handle it and, in doing so, how best to prepare my best friend, her son, John.  WOW!

08.11.1991

As a teenager, my behavior and conduct was a direct result (or rather payback) for those years on Quincy Street.  I fully admit that I said some awful things to my Mother i.e. “why the hell do you stay married to this tyrant?”

§  I said many hurtful things to Mom during my high school years and I deeply regret that and even apologized to her for it. My hope that when I did apologize in my mid-20’s that it would serve as a first step to the open and honest dialogue I pushed to have with her for the following 3+ decades to no success.

I fully admit that, as I got older and wasn’t as threatened by Dad’s size and authority, when he went off the rails and started going off on me or something else, I’d speak up;  I even, at times, went so far as to push his button when I knew he was unable to reach me.  However, because I’d always been labeled as lying, no one ever supported me or took my side.

Prior to the Ulcer, I tried to do everything to not be noticed by Dad but, by 14, I was almost as tall as him.  Things changed in the new house, I was bigger, much more aware of being trapped and of how not to…   this lead to a lot of chasing which led to the disowning and kicking out (3 times total: once for bringing up a criticism of the catholic church; the second for spilling small amount of paint I spilled while painting the garage door and the 3rd time was “you live under my house, it’s my rules…”   I think he must have hated the fact that not only did everyone know he threw me out but anyone I went to would have offered me a bed.

One thing was a huge wake up call for me! During the months and year I lived in both the del Solar and Wilson homes I learned that I was not the cause of the fighting.  Instead, I was valued, listened to, encouraged, affirmed and believed to be a bright, capable, honest and responsible young man which is why both Bruce, John and their respective families knew, if the guys were out with me that I was the the responsible one who would ensure that each person got home safe and sound.

As even the guys will confess, we know that a high power was with us much of the time because, even though I did take on the role of Mother to the two of them much of the time, we took unnecessary risks in retrospect and, while inexperienced youths are part of the equation, this was BEFORE anyone had any sort of “driving while drunk educational campaigns.  You can ask anyone over 55 what their, and societies attitudes, were about drinking and driving.  In short, there were none, nor did the cops enforce it.

06.22.2007

First major depressive episode was sophomore year in high school; I was diagnosed with a Peptic Ulcer and Dr. Tracy was intuitive enough to know what my home scene was like. While the doctor didn’t know that I was eavesdropping his dialogue with my Mother as they went into another room but I recall vividly what he said to her: “you either need to find another place for Mike to reside for a while or I will admit him into the psych ward for his well-being.  

§  After the visit with the doctor, I brought the conversation up with my Mom in the car and told her that I had a standing invitation to stay with the Wilson’s anytime I want; it’s very close to school and his Mom is a Shrink on top of it (his mother was inspirational; I could discuss anything with her yet she seemed to know things before I ever disclosed them).

Thus, Mom agreed and I headed over to the Wilson’s.  This was the first time I stayed away from home for a while, the other times occurred later when Dad would through me out and disowned me, the choice was to hospitalize me, or remove me from my parents home – went to stay with my best friend in Wisconsin.

§  Father drinking was still quite bad when I was a teenager… irrational behavior.  He resented my interference is his judgment – especially as it related to discipline with my siblings as I would get between him and whoever he was mad at. Also, family pattern of my father hating his oldest brother and me being the eldest son.   Generally, it was after the second Martini that things went sour.  Moreover, anything I may have mentioned about the past was aggressively discredited as my lying.

Consequently, my father threw me out of the house my Junior and Senior years of high school and then again, after only a few weeks, upon my return from my freshmen year of college (which was the last time I ever lived there again); when he threw me out, he forbid me from returning and claimed to “disown” me twice.

§  The first time I had spilled paint on the garage floor when I was 16 so I went to live with my friend John’s family;

§  The second time was more serious, I was 18 and had to live with Bruce’s family for several months my senior year.  The reason for that occasion was due to the fact that I questioned Catholicism so I was beat up, kicked out and disowned for a second time.

§  Each/every time I was living at home, or not, if/when my name ever came up my father would do nothing but bad mouth me and call me a “rotten kid.”  Therefore, my siblings grew up believing everything Dad said “Mike was a rotten kid”; the younger they were the more I was gone and the more they heard these types of things about me.  Everything was my fault, especially when it came to any fights or arguments in the house whether I was home or not.

§  I never even thought that I had an actual father; instead, it was as if he was a Warden to be feared and avoided, which is precisely what I and my brother did.

01.01.2015

“The greater the difficulty, the more glory in surmounting it” – Epicurus

I respect the response above; however, it’s in direct conflict with my memories (between the fact my sister was the eldest daughter who could do no wrong and I was someone that my father openly condemned and ridiculed in front of other people who have expressed their concern for me as a kid and would invite you to do things where you’d be gone when your Father was home.

This explains so much because, as a Kid (11 – 14), I began being invited on different family outings, cookouts and even 3 or 4 vacations for me to allegedly “baby-sit” yet I did what the family did i.e. golf for the first 2nd, 3rd, 4th time(s) etcs..  Obviously, dealing with real feelings at this time of my life was virtually impossible ( i.e. being diagnosed with a Peptic Ulcer in 1973 @ 14 years old).  

I was a rolled up ball of mess and they all saw it and tried to do what they could. While I was living in Chicago in the years preceding our parents lives, I got to really connect with Mom and Dad’s old friends and they, like Uncle Church, they felt comfortable enough to tell me how they were concerned for me…

Influenced by church services and motivated by finding methods to better cope with the stressors in life, I’ve picked up on some of the teachings that could be of great benefit to me including the following: 

“Pray that you would release your burdens and anxiety to God and embrace the peace He wants you to experience. “Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.” Philippians 4:6-7 MS

AND:

“Pray that you would not be ruled by a spirit of fear or anxiety. “For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline.” 2 Timothy 1:7

[dcnativegal]

It is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through some stages of instability -- and that it may take a very long time. (de Chardin)

My mind, my heart, is awake and brave.

I do not know my mind and heart as separated. I know myself, through a glass, darkly.  Physician, heal thyself, applies to me, although I’m a mere social worker.

Today I am all about metaphors and clichés.

I have been about healing myself since I sought out psychotherapy in the 10th grade: I was the first self-referred adolescent anyone could remember at that public clinic in DC. I have been healing the betrayal of a limited and dangerous faith, Christian Science, since that morning I discovered that my grandmother was cold and stiff in her bed at the age of 65, dead from preventable causes. I went on to school that day, after telling my little sister to go tell Mom that Nana had died. I was 15. It was that year, 1975, that I called Bullshit on how I’d been raised. I started in earnest to separate the wheat of the many gifts and legacies I was given, from the chaff of illness, limitation, cruelty, which grew up right alongside.

Apparently, it’s a lifetime pursuit.

One thing about moving to so radically different a physical location (DC to Paisley) is that the usual thoughts and routines were stripped from my consciousness and I was plopped down as if by helicopter into a new world. I’m still learning where I am, physically. I’m still discerning the subtleties of Eastern Oregon etiquette. I am not known, yet, not very deeply, so I have settled into a now familiar loneliness. Nevermind “Question Authority”. I question everything. What I knew Before, without thinking a whole lot about it, floods in and fills up the spaces that had been stripped by the new environment, flooding in like the water does after an underwater earthquake. Past memories pull away, so strangely. And then flood back in a tsunami.

Which is why what I’ve been writing since I got to the Oregon Outback feels like memoir. My awareness is filled with the Before, alternating with The Brand New. It makes my brain full to overflowing. Some evenings, I go to bed at 7pm. I dream of cities.

**

For the past month or more, I have felt tears very close to the surface, multiple times a day, and they spill over if I let them.

Because…

·       I have been living in this skin for almost six decades

·       I am well trained and broadly experienced as a clinical social worker for three decades

·       And I am ­­familiar enough with my own experience as a client in psychotherapy…

I know that something is up. I am living in the midst of not knowing what it is. Which I can actually tolerate, although I do so hate crying at the beginning of a work day because part of my brain is just mush after that.

I had a big cry at the beginning of a work day recently. I noticed later in the day, that I was looser and more open with my clients, a bit braver with my questions of them, a bit more tuned in. I also had to monitor myself in a different way that the usual self-monitoring. I had to see if my inner turmoil was skewing the session, more than usual. A big part of being a psychotherapist is working to keep my shit from contaminating their shit. Or maybe I could pick a nicer metaphor. How about I keep my water colors inside myself, and let them paint their own picture with their water colors.

A recent Sunday morning’s tears came from the embarrassment and frustration of psyching myself up to go to the Catholic Church up the hill from my house for the first time here in Paisley, dressing up just a bit for the occasion, only to find that once again I have miscounted which Sunday it is. This parish meets 1st and 3rd Sundays. And it was Fourth Sunday. Dammit.

I deeply hunger for church. I feel guilty for feeling so needy about the comfort of church. The Episcopal Book of Common Prayer puts it this way: “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.”

I hunger for all of it: solace, strength, pardon, AND renewal.

Valerie and I are beginning to be recognized at the Episcopal Church in Bend because we’ve been there more than once, and we are greeted with smiles of recognition. I’ve enjoyed the Episcopal flavor of Eucharist in Coos Bay, Reno, Nevada, Eugene, Salem, and Lakeview, who’s parishioners you can count on two hands. I’ve hung with the Lutherans, Quakers and the UUs in Klamath Falls and the Methodists in Fort Klamath.

I went to Paisley Community Church the weekend before my attempted Catholic crashing, for the first time in 4 months. It is such a lovely building, with the big bell that gets rung by a child at 9:30am every Sunday. I see familiar faces and they smile back at me. By now, I know half the congregation by name. I hear prayers and concerns, announcements. We sing songs with the words projected stage left from the altar, and some of them I recognize. How Great Thou Art made an appearance. Not a favorite, but I knew it.

What killed me was the sermon. It was preached in what Valerie explained to me is a typical evangelical style, not planned out, but extemporaneous, so the “Holy Spirit” can edge in there. How I received it was, well, negatively. I was not tuned into his channel. Especially when I hear the name Jezebel, and talk of watching out for the Devil, after weeks of #Metoo, as millions of women reveal they, too, have been sexually harassed or assaulted. I was not having it.

I’d much rather watch out for God than the Devil. I do not go to church to find God but to share God, as Alice Walker points out In the Color Purple. I couldn’t share. The sermon was a sincerely delivered, garbled mess, as far as I could discern. It left me bereft.

What I hunger for is a story. Tell me a story.

I also hunger for familiarity, because familiarity triggers the epic mystery of ritual. After 40 years of the Collect for Purity, I weep from the missing of it:

Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name; through Christ our Lord. Amen.

I feel better just reading this aloud.

I am trying to remain as open as I can to the spiritual gift of new challenges, including evangelical preaching. Among my questions: how to remain open without pulling a muscle?  I seek spiritual nourishment and I am starving. I’m going to seek out the Catholics. At least the liturgy is familiar.

**

I’m met with a brand spanking new psychotherapist for the first time in October, in Bend. I’ve decided that a monthly, rigorous archeological expedition of my psyche would be good. I miss my former therapist, The Wizard, who never failed to leave me feeling better and more functional after 50 minutes with her. But the three phone calls we’ve had since my move west are just not enough.  I need the in-person three-dimensional interaction.

It always feels a little scary to see a new therapist. I can relate even better to my clients’ experience when they first see me: they must wonder who the hell this woman is who wants to know such personal stuff.  I was going to be picky in selecting a new therapist, and I asked for recommendations. Then I checked what’s covered by my insurance, and looked to see if LGBT is on their list of interests. Not that being queer is an issue for me now, but I so don’t want it to be an issue for my therapist because if it is, her water colors will most definitely smear into mine. I don’t have time for that. Seriously. You don’t have to know much about what it is like to be gay, but I do not want to sense on any level that you think it is a bad thing, some sort of disability, something freakish. I mean, I’ve gone through a spell of crying daily, for god/ess’ sake. Your homophobia will not help me.

Turns out there is such demand and so few therapists that I had to get on several waiting lists. Finally, this one gal called me back. I saw her for 80 minutes on a Wednesday on the way to a training in Portland. I like her. She seems smart, kind, experienced. I impressed her; I was trying to. I want her to like me, so that when she hears the stories of my ruined parts, she will hold them in context. I will see her once a month.

I am reminded of Anne Lamott:

I asked a friend of mine who practices a spiritual path called Diamond Heart to explain the name recently, because I instinctively know that Sam and I both have, or are, diamond hearts. My friend said our hearts are like diamonds because they have the capacity to express divine light, which is love; we are not only portals for this love, but are actually made of it. She says we are made of light, our hearts faceted and shining, and I absolutely believe this, to a point: Where I disagree is when she says we are beings of light wrapped in bodies that only seem dense and ponderous, but are actually made of atoms and molecules, with infinite space and light in between them. It must be easy for her to believe this, as she is thin, and does not have children. But I can meet her halfway: I think we are diamond hearts, wrapped in meatballs.

Anne Lamott, Plan B

 ­­**

There are lots of metaphors and explanations for psychological distress, and for the prospect of trying to grow and change out of patterns of behavior or thought that do not serve me or help me serve others. I spent much of social work school trying to diagnose my mother. It was the side gig of my Master’s Degree.

Apparently, sometimes, the brain inherits traits and characteristics in the DNA, and genes get flipped on or off depending on environment. Sometimes the in-utero environment makes an impact. Did you know that when a family has a series of boys, one of the younger ones might be gay? I know of three families in which this is true, including my own.

I read somewhere that when a mother is anxious, the fetus will be bathed in cortisol, the stress hormone, and then once born, they are more likely to be anxious as a child. It certainly seems intuitive that an anxious child picks up anxiety when the mama is anxious.  In childhood, the child does everything within its power to capture the attention and love of the mother.

“The key role of the 'good enough' mother [is] adaptation to the baby, thus giving it a sense of control, 'omnipotence' and the comfort of being connected with the mother. This 'holding environment' allows the infant to transition at its own rate to a more autonomous position.  The good-enough mother...starts off with an almost complete adaptation to her infant's needs, and as time proceeds she adapts less and less completely, gradually, according to the infant's growing ability to deal with her failure." (Winnicott, 1953)

“Failure” sounds harsh, but it is inevitable that a mother fails her child because it is impossible to meet every need, in fact it is not a good thing to have every need met. However, there is a basic minimum, the Good Enough, and my mother could not meet it. Although she did the best she could.

My sister and I both survived our mother, and when we look back to our ancestors, we’ve concluded that we are pretty darn high functioning, given the heritage.

I do wonder at the trauma my clients have survived, and how lucky I was. Of the highest possible score of ten in the test, “Adverse Childhood Experiences,” most of my clients score a 5 or more. I do realize that having a troubled childhood is not a competitive sport: I must deal with what I was dealt and take responsibility from there. (I scored a 3: https://www.ncjfcj.org/sites/default/files/Finding%20Your%20ACE%20Score.pdf)  As my first therapist once told me, it is okay to acknowledge our own deprivation. Perhaps an early step of self-care is this acknowledgement, and the beginning of healthy self-soothing.

Unhealthy self-soothing is rampant: for me it’s over eating and over spending. I don’t feel that there is ENOUGH for me. I need MORE. And yet I have plenty.

There is

Always

Enough

And

Enough

Is

Plenty

Guillermo in Simply Living: The Spirit of Indigenous People by Shirley Jones

 Although I KNOW I have enough, somehow, I don’t feel it. I don’t act like I have enough.

All kinds of behaviors and ideas about myself came from being an anxious child in an anxious, chaotic household. Without psychotherapy, I slowly return to my default position: anxiety and self-doubt. Psychotherapy is like physical therapy, for me. Without it, I tend to deteriorate. Ongoing therapy taps into my strengths and I get stronger, again, over and over. Depression and anxiety are the default positions, but not my fate. It’s like diabetes: it cannot be cured, but it can be managed.

I do realize how much I use the word HUNGER as a metaphor. Or maybe it is reality. We can hunger for love.

***

The triumvirate of healing for me is, talk therapy, psychotropics, and self-awareness. Oh and church.

After finding a therapist, I also saw my family nurse practitioner. I did not intend to go in there looking for a new antidepressant, but as we discussed my chronic illnesses, and my discouragement, I cried pretty much the entire time. Tears have a way of sending up an emergency flare, don’t they? Within the hour, I had a new antidepressant. It is my third one. Prior to starting each of the three, I had daily crying jags that I could not stop.

The very next day: no tears. Either I’d cried myself out, or the subtle shift of chemicals stopped up the leaky tearducts. Either way, I’m grateful. New psychotropics?  Check.

***

Self-awareness is risky because it can fall so easily into self-absorption or self-pity. The worst is self-delusion. Tell the truth to yourself, if to nobody else.  Self-awareness means I notice my thoughts, moods, what comes out of my mouth, to make adjustments, to query myself, what’s going on? Why such caustic cynicism? Why so many f-bombs?  

Depression can express itself in irritability, in the lack of pleasure in usual things, in the over estimation of some things and under estimation of others. My former fiancé once said, life is a shit sandwich, and every day a bigger bite. Depression is the glass half empty. And it lies.

Sometimes, when I am in a darker place, it has meant that too much is going on at one time and I am simply overwhelmed because of stressors that are not my fault. What got me into therapy with The Wizard back in 1999 was what we both eventually referred to as an emotional multi-car pile-up. Many external stressors were wearing me down and my internal leaning is to anxiety and self-doubt. I leaned so far, I fell over.

Is that’s what’s going on now?

Some very old emotional stuff got stirred up in September. My ongoing and mostly unsuccessful struggle with pancreatitis makes me feel bad and is wearing. My work is challenging and it’s not just the pain of the clients I see. I am deeply disappointed in my failure to get my shit together in one important area (that would be my finances) and the self-beration is corrosive, not to mention the stressor of the consequences (poverty). Wouldn’t it just be easier to change my behavior instead of berating myself for behaving in the old, familiar ways?

The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

Behavior change is not easy. Insight helps but it is not enough.

Like many people, part of my sadness comes from the dying of the light, as fall turns to winter in the northern hemisphere. I share this with millions. (It’s called Seasonal Affective Disorder.)

I listened recently to a podcast on managing money called Bad With Money. The host is a ‘creative’ who happens to have bipolar disorder. Her guest on that episode also had bipolar, and she spoke about spending money wildly when she’s manic.  She’s built in some safeguards in her life to prevent her from doing this. She also has friends give her feedback if she’s getting too ‘weird.’ How wonderful is that. People who gently say, hon, I think you’re getting a little wound up here…And this creative woman can say, oh shit, thanks for pointing this out! And she goes into radical self-care mode, and maybe adjusts her medications.

Yeah, it would be helpful to have friends like that. My gentle, totally unneurotic partner picks up a number of my craziness clues. Mostly, I observe myself. I am the turd around which the world revolves, after all. (Once again, Anne Lamott.)

Ever heard of Maria Bamford? She has struggled with OCD, bipolar disorder and a bunch of other things, and she is on top of all of that, mostly through ‘better living through chemistry’, which is to say she finally found the right drug for her. Depakote, as it turns out. She is an actress and comedian and quite wonderful. She has had to spend her entire adult life figuring out how to survive (literally, to not kill herself) and then, finally, thrive. It is hard work! She is well worth watching to see how she does the thriving thing: her art is standup comedy. An inspiration for wee neurotic me.

So.

I am aware that something is a bit more stirred up, a bit looser, a bit more aware of the echo of old pain, than usual. I am not sure what to do with this awareness beyond what I am doing, which is, a bit of bibliotherapy (writing about it), seeking out a new therapist on this side of the continental divide (done), switching antidepressants (done), and looking for church (ongoing.)  I am also lucky to be going on a weeklong retreat that my incredibly loving and generous only sibling is paying for, in mid-November. I will have the luxury to concentrate on me and only me for a bit. (Warning: the following is metaphor frappe.) I go in the hope the part of me that is the observing ego can revisit some old tender places, cast an eye, and an ear, to listen to the echo of the old pain, and practice self-healing, self-forgiveness, to be whole for a minute, to allow the pain to wash over me. I would like to orchestrate the old pain, the long ago deprivation, into a cleansing bath, like the conductor does in the video I’m of late obsessed with: a concert in Verona Italy, with Peter Gabriel singing a haunting version of David Bowie’s Heroes. Watch the YouTube video and see this lithe man swing his arms ­­­­so that all the violins will conjure up the sweet agony of the music. (Google

Peter Gabriel - Heroes (Live in Verona 2010) - YouTube

and watch him yourself.)

Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water. After enlightment: chop wood, carry water.

Before mental health is re-established: show up for work, show up for the people who love me, practice self-care, and crochet. After mental health is re-established: show up for work, show up for the people who love me, practice self-care, and crochet.

Here is one of the most comforting bits of writing I’ve ever found, for times like these. The thing is, the unformed unknowing never ends. But that’s okay. It has to be okay. I am trying, always to “accept… the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense, and incomplete.”

 Trust in the slow work of God.

We are, quite naturally, impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.

We should like to skip the intermediate stages.

We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new,

and yet it is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through

some stages of instability -- and that it may take a very long time.

 Your ideas mature gradually --

let them grow, let them shape themselves, without undue haste.

Don't try to force them on, as though you could be today what time

(that is to say, grace and circumstances acting on your own good will)

will make them tomorrow.

 Only God could say what this new spirit gradually forming within you will be.

Give our Lord the benefit of believing that his hand is leading you,

and accepting the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense, and incomplete.

                                                          Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

 depression anxiety de Chardin therapy

[fitnesshealthyoga-blog]

New Post has been published on https://fitnesshealthyoga.com/the-greatest-show-the-fitnessista/

the greatest show - The Fitnessista

Hi friends! Happy Monday! I hope that those of you who are off today are enjoying some downtime and relaxing. I’m definitely thankful for an extra day off and a day to get my life together before we leave! The girls are playing hooky from school for a good reason and I’ll share more info very soon. 🙂 

What did you do this weekend? I’d love to hear what you were up to. We ended up spending a lot of time with friends, lots of time outside, and quite a few fun activities. I didn’t a lot of work done, and definitely didn’t take a lot of pictures. Sometimes it feels good just to be and enjoy, ya know?

Friday morning, we met up with some friends and their kiddos to walk around the Botanical Gardens,

(this is my spring garden inspiration!)

and I had a Beautycounter video conference call. 

That night after gymnastics, we met up with another group of friends for our weekly pizza date, then hung out my mom’s house for a little while. Saturday morning, I caught a Peloton class with Robin, and later that afternoon, madre and nana watched the girls while I went with a couple of girlfriends to the U of A game and out to eat.

The Cats won (yesssssss) and we headed to Tito and Pep for dinner. It’s one of the newer spots in town and the reviews are amazing, so I was excited to give a whirl. Kyle also said that “It was good” which is chef speak for “It’s incredible” since he tends to be picky about restaurants. I mean he makes delicious works of art so you can’t really blame the guy. Turns out you need a reservation for trendy places on a Saturday night (oops) so since a 2-hr wait wasn’t in the cards, we ventured to Pastiche instead.

We ordered cocktails called the Hammer (with gin, cucumber, black pepper) and they were very fresh and delicious. My salmon was perfectly cooked, but as usual, the company was the best part of the meal. 😉

Sunday morning was Pancake Sunday, and after a couple of chores, we met some friends to see the Zoppe Family Circus at the Mercado downtown. The circus was very charming and old-timey. They didn’t use a ton of flashing lights or crazy set changes. It was pure acts of talent, super strong acrobatics, and silly clowns. The girls all got a kick out of it. 

(I was singing, “The Greatest Show” in my head the.entire.time even though sadly there was no Hugh Jackman to be seen.)

(Also Liv really, really wanted that creepy clown toy. I might casually hide it in the closet while we’re sleeping, just to make sure it doesn’t come to life and walk into my room.)

After the circus, we walked across the street to the courtyard and drank margaritas while the girls ran around and played. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday. 

The rest of the evening was chicken, veggies and pasta in the Instant Pot, church with the fam, and a late bedtime after enjoying the lunar eclipse. It was a low-key and lovely weekend, so I’m ready to spend today blitzing, catching up on work, and getting packed for our trip.

While I’ve got travel on the mind, I have a question for some mamas out there if you wouldn’t mind helping me out. Later this spring, we’re heading to Vancouver for a cruise. What do you do with car seats from the airport to the hotel? Do you bring your own? Is there a way to order a taxi that has carseats? Pretty much every time we travel we rent a car, but for a cruise, it doesn’t really make sense. I’d love to hear any ideas!

Off to catch a strength training workout (I’m going to do this one) and then pack. I’ll see ya in the am with my fitness predictions for 2019.

Have a wonderful day!

xo

Gina

Source link

[anamorales]

the greatest show

Hi friends! Happy Monday! I hope that those of you who are off today are enjoying some downtime and relaxing. I’m definitely thankful for an extra day off and a day to get my life together before we leave! The girls are playing hooky from school for a good reason and I’ll share more info very soon.  

What did you do this weekend? I’d love to hear what you were up to. We ended up spending a lot of time with friends, lots of time outside, and quite a few fun activities. I didn’t a lot of work done, and definitely didn’t take a lot of pictures. Sometimes it feels good just to be and enjoy, ya know?

Friday morning, we met up with some friends and their kiddos to walk around the Botanical Gardens,

(this is my spring garden inspiration!)

and I had a Beautycounter video conference call. 

That night after gymnastics, we met up with another group of friends for our weekly pizza date, then hung out my mom’s house for a little while. Saturday morning, I caught a Peloton class with Robin, and later that afternoon, madre and nana watched the girls while I went with a couple of girlfriends to the U of A game and out to eat.

The Cats won (yesssssss) and we headed to Tito and Pep for dinner. It’s one of the newer spots in town and the reviews are amazing, so I was excited to give a whirl. Kyle also said that “It was good” which is chef speak for “It’s incredible” since he tends to be picky about restaurants. I mean he makes delicious works of art so you can’t really blame the guy. Turns out you need a reservation for trendy places on a Saturday night (oops) so since a 2-hr wait wasn’t in the cards, we ventured to Pastiche instead.

We ordered cocktails called the Hammer (with gin, cucumber, black pepper) and they were very fresh and delicious. My salmon was perfectly cooked, but as usual, the company was the best part of the meal.

Sunday morning was Pancake Sunday, and after a couple of chores, we met some friends to see the Zoppe Family Circus at the Mercado downtown. The circus was very charming and old-timey. They didn’t use a ton of flashing lights or crazy set changes. It was pure acts of talent, super strong acrobatics, and silly clowns. The girls all got a kick out of it. 

(I was singing, “The Greatest Show” in my head the.entire.time even though sadly there was no Hugh Jackman to be seen.)

(Also Liv really, really wanted that creepy clown toy. I might casually hide it in the closet while we’re sleeping, just to make sure it doesn’t come to life and walk into my room.)

After the circus, we walked across the street to the courtyard and drank margaritas while the girls ran around and played. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday. 

The rest of the evening was chicken, veggies and pasta in the Instant Pot, church with the fam, and a late bedtime after enjoying the lunar eclipse. It was a low-key and lovely weekend, so I’m ready to spend today blitzing, catching up on work, and getting packed for our trip.

While I’ve got travel on the mind, I have a question for some mamas out there if you wouldn’t mind helping me out. Later this spring, we’re heading to Vancouver for a cruise. What do you do with car seats from the airport to the hotel? Do you bring your own? Is there a way to order a taxi that has carseats? Pretty much every time we travel we rent a car, but for a cruise, it doesn’t really make sense. I’d love to hear any ideas!

Off to catch a strength training workout (I’m going to do this one) and then pack. I’ll see ya in the am with my fitness predictions for 2019.

Have a wonderful day!

xo

Gina

The post the greatest show appeared first on The Fitnessista.

the greatest show published first on https://immigrationways.tumblr.com/

[jonasmaurer]

the greatest show

Hi friends! Happy Monday! I hope that those of you who are off today are enjoying some downtime and relaxing. I’m definitely thankful for an extra day off and a day to get my life together before we leave! The girls are playing hooky from school for a good reason and I’ll share more info very soon.  

What did you do this weekend? I’d love to hear what you were up to. We ended up spending a lot of time with friends, lots of time outside, and quite a few fun activities. I didn’t a lot of work done, and definitely didn’t take a lot of pictures. Sometimes it feels good just to be and enjoy, ya know?

Friday morning, we met up with some friends and their kiddos to walk around the Botanical Gardens,

(this is my spring garden inspiration!)

and I had a Beautycounter video conference call. 

That night after gymnastics, we met up with another group of friends for our weekly pizza date, then hung out my mom’s house for a little while. Saturday morning, I caught a Peloton class with Robin, and later that afternoon, madre and nana watched the girls while I went with a couple of girlfriends to the U of A game and out to eat.

The Cats won (yesssssss) and we headed to Tito and Pep for dinner. It’s one of the newer spots in town and the reviews are amazing, so I was excited to give a whirl. Kyle also said that “It was good” which is chef speak for “It’s incredible” since he tends to be picky about restaurants. I mean he makes delicious works of art so you can’t really blame the guy. Turns out you need a reservation for trendy places on a Saturday night (oops) so since a 2-hr wait wasn’t in the cards, we ventured to Pastiche instead.

We ordered cocktails called the Hammer (with gin, cucumber, black pepper) and they were very fresh and delicious. My salmon was perfectly cooked, but as usual, the company was the best part of the meal.

Sunday morning was Pancake Sunday, and after a couple of chores, we met some friends to see the Zoppe Family Circus at the Mercado downtown. The circus was very charming and old-timey. They didn’t use a ton of flashing lights or crazy set changes. It was pure acts of talent, super strong acrobatics, and silly clowns. The girls all got a kick out of it. 

(I was singing, “The Greatest Show” in my head the.entire.time even though sadly there was no Hugh Jackman to be seen.)

(Also Liv really, really wanted that creepy clown toy. I might casually hide it in the closet while we’re sleeping, just to make sure it doesn’t come to life and walk into my room.)

After the circus, we walked across the street to the courtyard and drank margaritas while the girls ran around and played. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday. 

The rest of the evening was chicken, veggies and pasta in the Instant Pot, church with the fam, and a late bedtime after enjoying the lunar eclipse. It was a low-key and lovely weekend, so I’m ready to spend today blitzing, catching up on work, and getting packed for our trip.

While I’ve got travel on the mind, I have a question for some mamas out there if you wouldn’t mind helping me out. Later this spring, we’re heading to Vancouver for a cruise. What do you do with car seats from the airport to the hotel? Do you bring your own? Is there a way to order a taxi that has carseats? Pretty much every time we travel we rent a car, but for a cruise, it doesn’t really make sense. I’d love to hear any ideas!

Off to catch a strength training workout (I’m going to do this one) and then pack. I’ll see ya in the am with my fitness predictions for 2019.

Have a wonderful day!

xo

Gina

The post the greatest show appeared first on The Fitnessista.

the greatest show published first on https://olimpsportnutritionde.tumblr.com/

[marketerarena-blog]

weekend things

Hi friends! How’s the day going? How was the weekend? Hope you had a great one. Ours was a fun mix of friend time, family time, and getting things ready for some traveling coming up. I’d love to hear what you were up to!

Our Friday night started off the same way it has for the past month or so: margaritas and dinner by the pool with friends. I’m SO looking forward to all the fall things + the cooler weather, but I’m definitely going to miss evening pool time. We’re living it up as long as we can! When I got home, I put all productivity aside and watched John Mulaney on Netflix until I fell asleep.

It was kind of a rough sleep night (P was up 3 times, and she usually sleeps so well), but when we were up for the day, I made the girls breakfast, put on a show for them, and hopped on the spin bike for a 30-minute Tabata class. I felt so tired until I started moving my legs and when class finished, I felt like a new person. It’s funny because I haven’t been sweating much for workouts lately – I think I may have been phoning it in a little – but after I finish a Peloton class, I’m drenched in sweat.

(I have no idea where the poses come from but it’s hilarious, amazing, and a little scary all at the same time.)

Saturday was ballet day + brunch with nana at Prep & Pastry. We shared a bunch of different things:

a Nutella croissant

(this is what dreams are made of, friends)

a maple bacon dossant

(this was mostly for Liv since she loves bacon)

and.. get ready for this… horchata-drenched churro French toast. I can’t even.

Nana and I also split an avocado toast. It was a bread festival in the best way possible. Kyle was able to stop by, too, so we were able to catch up  with him. For all of my local friends, he’s doing a plating event if you’d like to check it out!

The rest of the afternoon was low-key, and later that evening we met up with friends for dinner, 

then took Coco (Uncle E’s dog) a new treat for her 1st birthday.

We think she liked it.

Sunday morning, we had breakfast at home and headed to the mall to walk around. We hung out at madre’s for a bit, went to church, grabbed groceries, and later that evening, I saw Les Miserables with my mom and Alexus.

Les Mis has ALWAYS been one of my favorites (even though it gives me flashbacks to my 6th grade solo, which I bombed haha) and I feel like I’ll never get sick of the music. I’ve seen it live a handful of times, and even loved the movie because Hugh Jackman. This particular touring company was incredible, and as always, I fought crying and had chills for about 90% of the show. 

And now, “Do You Hear the People Sing?” will be stuck in my head for the next 10 days.

Today, it’s back into the school routine and I’m taking an Orangetheory class later. The last few classes I’ve taken have been awesome (and so challenging), so I’m pumped. 

Here’s what’s coming to the blog this week:

– A post about making time to work out + my tips to get it done!

– New podcast episode! Talking hormones with Candace Burch

– A full-length HIIT and Strength workout video. I hope you love it!

Happy Monday, friends! Thanks for stopping by the blog today and I’ll see ya soon.

xoxo

Gina

The post weekend things appeared first on The Fitnessista.

https://askfitness.today/weekend-things/

[loradmurphy]

A Handmade, Vintage Styled Wedding in Lancashire

This post A Handmade, Vintage Styled Wedding in Lancashire first appeared on The Wedding Community Blog

Jessica and Antony had a clear vision of how they wanted their wedding day, and they created the most beautiful vintage styled wedding. Every aspect of this wedding was handmade or upcycled, which saved them a fortune (although it meant many weekends rummaging at car boot sales!).

We love the decor; the cute handmade bunting with gypsophila between the flags at the entrance to the church looks amazing, and the abundance of pretty vintage crockery and jugs used as the table decor and the beautiful handmade seating plan in the old frame all bring this vintage styled wedding together perfectly.

Jessica’s wedding dress is just stunning and looks incredible with the beaded vintage style cape. The beautiful bridesmaid dresses in sage and blush pink really complemented her dress too.

If you are planning a vintage wedding then you’ll get loads of inspiration from Jessica and Antony’s day, captured perfectly by Delicious Photography…

Handmade or Upcycled

“All our decor was either handmade or upcycled, and most was a result of my mother in law’s creative eye and amazing skills. I knew exactly what I wanted and was very particular about it being perfect. We didn’t have a big budget but luckily we had time, so most weekends were spend in charity shops, goose clearance shops and hundreds of trips to various car boot sales throughout Lancashire!”

Emotional

“A lady who used to own a florists in Ramsbottom arranged my flowers. They were perfect – exactly what I wanted. When she turned up with the flowers she thought I didn’t like them due to my overly emotional response. However, that was due to my chief bridesmaid having just given me a beautiful gift of two pin on brooches for my flowers, with a picture of my gran and nana who are no longer with us.

Bargain Bridesmaid Dresses

“I bought my Justin Alexanda dress and and accessories from The White Gallery in Ramsbottom.

“The bridesmaid dresses were a bargain off AliExpress. I’d heard horror stories of Chinese dresses, but my experience was very positive. They sent me fabric samples and the communication between us was fabulous. I cannot fault them and the fit was beautiful.”

Some Very Intoxicated People

“Rather than hire a bar we came up with the idea of a ‘free bar’, which didn’t cost a fortune. We asked every guest to bring a bottle of either gin, vodka or rum to put behind the bar, and we provided three barrels of real ale. It worked out very well, although it resulted in some very intoxicated people by the end!

“I didn’t want a wedding cake as I saw it as a waste of money when we were already on a tight budget. Plus I knew it wouldn’t get eaten and we’d be left with loads of cake! So, my aunty made a five tier pavlova as it’s my favourite dessert.”

Risqué But Hilarious

“The best man’s speech was particularly memorable due to his extremely risqué but hilarious jokes. It’s a good job we were expecting nothing less. He’s been best friends with Antony since Year Seven at High School so he had plenty of stories to share.

“The most memorable moment though would have to be at the end of the night. The party was still going with but we decided it was time for us the leave. We only live down the road and were staying at home on our wedding night. So, we took a can of beer from behind the bar and walked home hand in hand, before Antony carried me over the threshold.”

Images © Delicious Photography

Ceremony Venue: Holcombe Emmanuel Church, Holcombe Brook, Greater Manchester

Reception Venue: Groom’s Parent’s Garden, Rawtenstall, Lancashire

Bride’s Dress: Justin Alexander, from The White Gallery, Ramsbottom

Bridesmaid Dresses: AliExpress

Groom and Groomsmen Suits: Next

Flowers: Friend of Bride’s Mother

Pavlova: Bride’s Aunty

Camper Van: Funcampers

Decor: Handmade and Upcycled

This post A Handmade, Vintage Styled Wedding in Lancashire first appeared on The Wedding Community Blog

[anamorales]

the greatest show

Hi friends! Happy Monday! I hope that those of you who are off today are enjoying some downtime and relaxing. I’m definitely thankful for an extra day off and a day to get my life together before we leave! The girls are playing hooky from school for a good reason and I’ll share more info very soon.  

What did you do this weekend? I’d love to hear what you were up to. We ended up spending a lot of time with friends, lots of time outside, and quite a few fun activities. I didn’t a lot of work done, and definitely didn’t take a lot of pictures. Sometimes it feels good just to be and enjoy, ya know?

Friday morning, we met up with some friends and their kiddos to walk around the Botanical Gardens,

(this is my spring garden inspiration!)

and I had a Beautycounter video conference call. 

That night after gymnastics, we met up with another group of friends for our weekly pizza date, then hung out my mom’s house for a little while. Saturday morning, I caught a Peloton class with Robin, and later that afternoon, madre and nana watched the girls while I went with a couple of girlfriends to the U of A game and out to eat.

The Cats won (yesssssss) and we headed to Tito and Pep for dinner. It’s one of the newer spots in town and the reviews are amazing, so I was excited to give a whirl. Kyle also said that “It was good” which is chef speak for “It’s incredible” since he tends to be picky about restaurants. I mean he makes delicious works of art so you can’t really blame the guy. Turns out you need a reservation for trendy places on a Saturday night (oops) so since a 2-hr wait wasn’t in the cards, we ventured to Pastiche instead.

We ordered cocktails called the Hammer (with gin, cucumber, black pepper) and they were very fresh and delicious. My salmon was perfectly cooked, but as usual, the company was the best part of the meal.

Sunday morning was Pancake Sunday, and after a couple of chores, we met some friends to see the Zoppe Family Circus at the Mercado downtown. The circus was very charming and old-timey. They didn’t use a ton of flashing lights or crazy set changes. It was pure acts of talent, super strong acrobatics, and silly clowns. The girls all got a kick out of it. 

(I was singing, “The Greatest Show” in my head the.entire.time even though sadly there was no Hugh Jackman to be seen.)

(Also Liv really, really wanted that creepy clown toy. I might casually hide it in the closet while we’re sleeping, just to make sure it doesn’t come to life and walk into my room.)

After the circus, we walked across the street to the courtyard and drank margaritas while the girls ran around and played. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday. 

The rest of the evening was chicken, veggies and pasta in the Instant Pot, church with the fam, and a late bedtime after enjoying the lunar eclipse. It was a low-key and lovely weekend, so I’m ready to spend today blitzing, catching up on work, and getting packed for our trip.

While I’ve got travel on the mind, I have a question for some mamas out there if you wouldn’t mind helping me out. Later this spring, we’re heading to Vancouver for a cruise. What do you do with car seats from the airport to the hotel? Do you bring your own? Is there a way to order a taxi that has carseats? Pretty much every time we travel we rent a car, but for a cruise, it doesn’t really make sense. I’d love to hear any ideas!

Off to catch a strength training workout (I’m going to do this one) and then pack. I’ll see ya in the am with my fitness predictions for 2019.

Have a wonderful day!

xo

Gina

The post the greatest show appeared first on The Fitnessista.

the greatest show published first on https://immigrationways.tumblr.com/

[anamorales]

weekend things

Hi friends! How’s the day going? How was the weekend? Hope you had a great one. Ours was a fun mix of friend time, family time, and getting things ready for some traveling coming up. I’d love to hear what you were up to!

Our Friday night started off the same way it has for the past month or so: margaritas and dinner by the pool with friends. I’m SO looking forward to all the fall things + the cooler weather, but I’m definitely going to miss evening pool time. We’re living it up as long as we can! When I got home, I put all productivity aside and watched John Mulaney on Netflix until I fell asleep.

It was kind of a rough sleep night (P was up 3 times, and she usually sleeps so well), but when we were up for the day, I made the girls breakfast, put on a show for them, and hopped on the spin bike for a 30-minute Tabata class. I felt so tired until I started moving my legs and when class finished, I felt like a new person. It’s funny because I haven’t been sweating much for workouts lately – I think I may have been phoning it in a little – but after I finish a Peloton class, I’m drenched in sweat.

(I have no idea where the poses come from but it’s hilarious, amazing, and a little scary all at the same time.)

Saturday was ballet day + brunch with nana at Prep & Pastry. We shared a bunch of different things:

a Nutella croissant

(this is what dreams are made of, friends)

a maple bacon dossant

(this was mostly for Liv since she loves bacon)

and.. get ready for this… horchata-drenched churro French toast. I can’t even.

Nana and I also split an avocado toast. It was a bread festival in the best way possible. Kyle was able to stop by, too, so we were able to catch up  with him. For all of my local friends, he’s doing a plating event if you’d like to check it out!

The rest of the afternoon was low-key, and later that evening we met up with friends for dinner, 

then took Coco (Uncle E’s dog) a new treat for her 1st birthday.

We think she liked it.

Sunday morning, we had breakfast at home and headed to the mall to walk around. We hung out at madre’s for a bit, went to church, grabbed groceries, and later that evening, I saw Les Miserables with my mom and Alexus.

Les Mis has ALWAYS been one of my favorites (even though it gives me flashbacks to my 6th grade solo, which I bombed haha) and I feel like I’ll never get sick of the music. I’ve seen it live a handful of times, and even loved the movie because Hugh Jackman. This particular touring company was incredible, and as always, I fought crying and had chills for about 90% of the show. 

And now, “Do You Hear the People Sing?” will be stuck in my head for the next 10 days.

Today, it’s back into the school routine and I’m taking an Orangetheory class later. The last few classes I’ve taken have been awesome (and so challenging), so I’m pumped. 

Here’s what’s coming to the blog this week:

– A post about making time to work out + my tips to get it done!

– New podcast episode! Talking hormones with Candace Burch

– A full-length HIIT and Strength workout video. I hope you love it!

Happy Monday, friends! Thanks for stopping by the blog today and I’ll see ya soon.

xoxo

Gina

The post weekend things appeared first on The Fitnessista.

weekend things published first on https://immigrationways.tumblr.com/

[anamorales]

weekend things

Hi friends! How’s the day going? How was the weekend? Hope you had a great one. Ours was a fun mix of friend time, family time, and getting things ready for some traveling coming up. I’d love to hear what you were up to!

Our Friday night started off the same way it has for the past month or so: margaritas and dinner by the pool with friends. I’m SO looking forward to all the fall things + the cooler weather, but I’m definitely going to miss evening pool time. We’re living it up as long as we can! When I got home, I put all productivity aside and watched John Mulaney on Netflix until I fell asleep.

It was kind of a rough sleep night (P was up 3 times, and she usually sleeps so well), but when we were up for the day, I made the girls breakfast, put on a show for them, and hopped on the spin bike for a 30-minute Tabata class. I felt so tired until I started moving my legs and when class finished, I felt like a new person. It’s funny because I haven’t been sweating much for workouts lately – I think I may have been phoning it in a little – but after I finish a Peloton class, I’m drenched in sweat.

(I have no idea where the poses come from but it’s hilarious, amazing, and a little scary all at the same time.)

Saturday was ballet day + brunch with nana at Prep & Pastry. We shared a bunch of different things:

a Nutella croissant

(this is what dreams are made of, friends)

a maple bacon dossant

(this was mostly for Liv since she loves bacon)

and.. get ready for this… horchata-drenched churro French toast. I can’t even.

Nana and I also split an avocado toast. It was a bread festival in the best way possible. Kyle was able to stop by, too, so we were able to catch up  with him. For all of my local friends, he’s doing a plating event if you’d like to check it out!

The rest of the afternoon was low-key, and later that evening we met up with friends for dinner, 

then took Coco (Uncle E’s dog) a new treat for her 1st birthday.

We think she liked it.

Sunday morning, we had breakfast at home and headed to the mall to walk around. We hung out at madre’s for a bit, went to church, grabbed groceries, and later that evening, I saw Les Miserables with my mom and Alexus.

Les Mis has ALWAYS been one of my favorites (even though it gives me flashbacks to my 6th grade solo, which I bombed haha) and I feel like I’ll never get sick of the music. I’ve seen it live a handful of times, and even loved the movie because Hugh Jackman. This particular touring company was incredible, and as always, I fought crying and had chills for about 90% of the show. 

And now, “Do You Hear the People Sing?” will be stuck in my head for the next 10 days.

Today, it’s back into the school routine and I’m taking an Orangetheory class later. The last few classes I’ve taken have been awesome (and so challenging), so I’m pumped. 

Here’s what’s coming to the blog this week:

– A post about making time to work out + my tips to get it done!

– New podcast episode! Talking hormones with Candace Burch

– A full-length HIIT and Strength workout video. I hope you love it!

Happy Monday, friends! Thanks for stopping by the blog today and I’ll see ya soon.

xoxo

Gina

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