Category Archives: co-dependence

Detour to self care

Surprise!  I took a detour on the way home! It’s about time!  At the ripe of age of 60, I am finally learning how to take care of myself.

When I left work on Monday night, I knew it was high time for a little self-care.  I was stressed, rattled and burned out.  It was the beginning of my weekend.  What could I do to restore my spirit? Piano practice, walk meditation and even a bit of sleep were preempted in a bid to pack, load and get on the road early Tuesday morning.  Severe weather warnings forecast snow above 10,000 feet and portions of I-70 I would be traveling. The scenery through Glenwood Canyon was gorgeous. Snow was falling to the west and the east of Vail. Georgetown Visitor Center was beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

I lingered there in Georgetown, to fortify my body and emotions for the climb through Bergen Park, Evergreen and finally to the cabin I called home for seven years. I collected my daughter Andrea and her belongings at high noon as previously agreed. 12 o’clock straight up turned out to be lunchtime, so we joined her dad for a quick sit-down meal at Qdoba and then moved forward.  At teatime, we dropped in on an old college roommate in Gunnison. We arrived at AEI basecamp at 6:00 p.m. after a few miles of power driving in the mud and were hospitably welcomed by the staff. A quick unload and a nice evening walk through the woods ended up in the chapel with a piano.  A walk. A piano. I slept well. Another mountain hike next morning continued the work of beauty and restoration on my spirits so I was not in bad shape at all as I made the descent from Black Canyon to Montrose.

And then, it happened. Spontaneously I made the best decision of the day, I turned left toward Ouray.  I checked myself in to the Wiesbaden hot springs and was the only individual in the pool and the vapor cave for nearly an hour.  The first dip had my heart and voice crying thanksgiving. Wow.

Proper self-care requires thought and work.   Good, intentional choices.

Sometimes, self-care costs a little extra in terms of logic – self-talk to keep yourself from feeling guilty. I was raised not to play until my work was done.  Not to take care of myself until I finished taking care of others. I learned early on; my work was never done.  Over the years, I discovered the needs of some others were like a black hole – the more care you lavish, the more they need. While self-sacrifice is an essential component of love, self-sacrifice as a goal in itself is not worthy.

When I am not quite at peace for known or unknown reasons, a combination of good choices seems to put me back on the right track.  Putting yourself on the right track is the only way to stay fit to care for others or work efficiently.

Good choices in self-care may entail leisure, a vacation, a favorite activity.  Many of those activities cost money.  So I work, and I work hard, to be able to afford to take care of myself.

This time my little detour cost me about $50. I had to get through the guilt of spending $50 on myself with nothing tangible to show for it.

It would not have been possible to take care of myself in this way – or even support my daughter with transportation – but for my full time job and a difficult choice I made last August.  I moved in with roommates.

It was a hard choice, because the solitude of living alone is also a way I care for myself. On the other hand, shared expenses leave more wiggle room for travel and spontaneous detours. What do you need to take care of yourself?

Music? A good book? A hike?  Travel? Sleep?  A 60-mile detour and dinner out?

Get on with it ! May you be energized by a new perspective!

Job serenity or job security?

The courage to change the things I can

I will leave, she said.

I will resign. I will pack up my skills and gifts and find someone who acknowledges and values me. I would not put up with this kind of churlish denigration from family members be they parents or spouse.  I have gone the extra mile. I understand contentment in service to others in authority, and I understand gaining freedom when you can. If I would not permit this kind of treatment at the hands of family whom I love, why should I permit it from someone to whom I have no connection other than they hold the stability of my job in their capricious hands?  Is this the time I should choose to gain my freedom? What price freedom?

The wisdom to know the difference

“There is no question.  I have the wisdom,” she said. “I have the skills and the experience to do something bigger and better.”  So she betook herself to the job boards to seek a better life. At that very moment, there were no vacancies remotely suitable to her goals and needs. Too hard. Too soft.  Too hot.  Too cold. Too big.  Too small.

“I will sleep on it,” she said. And she did.  As she drifted off to sleep, she mused on the perfect job; something enjoyable and rewarding in every way; consisting of just the right amounts of people time, alone time and creative challenge.

“I think,” said she on waking.  “I think the job I now have fits that description.  Why should I initiate the grueling unemployment routine just because of one or two persons acting like a bear?”

Then she understood with clarity; often the one thing you cannot change is a person.

 God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference (Serenity Prayer by  Reinhold Niebuhr ).

 “Anyway,” she said, feeling a bit like Goldilocks, “why should I let one or two bears frighten me?  My boss attempts to motivate with warnings, veiled threats and putdowns.  But, I am self-motivated and care not for posturing. What is there to fear?  Serene and independent, I will stay until it is time for me to go.”

And I, acting as Little Red Writing Hood, affirmed and adopted her perspective of acceptance, courage and wisdom.  Because, after all, daily work is rarely a fairy tale.

 

 

Help Me, and other difficult phrases

I hate to ask for help,” she said. Clichés are often true.  In this case, apples don’t fall far from the tree. Go ahead, Google “Hardest words to say,” and see what you come up with.

I am sorry

I am wrong

I don’t know

I love you

Help me

That is a list I can identify with.  How about you?

Why is it so hard to ask for help?

I fear rejection. They might say no. They may think less of me for needing help.

 

I fear to impose. They might want to say no, yet feel like they have to say yes. They have so many other burdens to carry.  I don’t want to be just one more.

I am independent. I can do it myself. Besides, others often fail me.  If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

If I ask and they help me, they may hold it up to me forever saying, “You would be nothing had I not helped you.”

I want control of the outcome.  They might help, but not help in the way I want.

I need affirmation – support for my plan.  They might offer advice. Opinion.  Tell me how to do it instead of just supporting my plan.

Have you experienced some or all these anxious feelings when you needed help?

What if you need help and you don’t ask for help? You may injure yourself.  You may get burned out, exhausted or ill, trapped. What if you just wait for someone to see your need and offer? You kind of huff and puff and hint and sigh. They may reject you anyway. Seeing your need, they may offer or foist help on you whether you want it or not -give you pink preppie skirts when you needed hiking boots. One way or another, they will doubtless offer advice and opinion.

So why not ask specifically for what you need? Choose your confidant or potential benefactor carefully.  If you need a car mechanic, a medical doctor is probably not a good substitute. A multi-level marketer may not be your best counselor, nor does your great grandma a sturdy piano mover make.  Go ahead and choose with care.  Ask. Then trust them a little bit. A wise helper might teach you how to fish.  They might lend you their fishing gear.  They might have greater insight into your roadblocks and challenges and give wise counsel – a needed boost rather than a ruthless kick in the pants.

But if they say, “Hey, I know you are desperate for money.  Let’s talk about getting you a loan! (or buying lottery tickets – or robbing a bank – or some other get-rich quick scheme).”  Nah! Withdraw your request and run the other way. Helping you spend or helping you into debt is not helping you.

You can ask for help and still remain yourself and guard your heart.  We all need a little help of one kind or another from time to time. May you – and I – have the wisdom and discernment to know when to ask for help and the dignity to receive help without selling out our deepest dreams or indenturing our spirits to shame.

 

For Better For Worse, For Your Own Good

I was one of those people who married in haste and had 11 years to repent at leisure.  But, I didn’t repent.  Instead I poured every ounce of emotional and physical energy into keeping that relationship alive.  I flexed, I smiled, I acquiesced, I became every woman in the world he could possibly desire.  It was not enough.  He genuinely needed every woman in the world to thrive. Possibly the only position that would have sated his boundless drive was the Oval Office.

When he left, he said it was for my own good. I cried. I pleaded.  How could abandoning me be for my own good?  All I wanted was for him to love me enough to be loyal.  Is that too much to ask? He assured me to the last I was attractive. It was not about me. It did not mean I was unlovable.  He was leaving for my own good. During the initial years of separation, I sensed this dimly. The tragedy of sexually transmitted diseases – particularly AIDS- became well known.  I escaped.  Yes, but, I argued, that would not have been an issue had he committed to monogamy. Besides, what is the use of living disease-free if you are also living love-free?

It is for your own good.  As a child, I hated that phrase. In retrospect, I see there were times it was for my good – for my safety. But many times it was for the good of the person in authority – a dominant person insisting he or she was doing it for me, but in reality, getting their own adult way.  That’s what I thought my first husband was doing: getting his own adult way.

It has taken me 25 years to understand fully.  Yes.  It was for my own good.

When I thought I had healed enough, when that first husband had joined himself to another marriage, I felt freedom to love again. So I married. Raised a family. Enjoyed poverty-laced tranquility.  Twenty years later, I left. Not because of sexual infidelity. Not due to physical abuse. Because of financial co-dependence and a complete withdrawal of communication and relationship of any sort.

Some will ask, “Where in this scenario is unconditional love? Where the Proverbs 31 concept that a woman will do her husband good all the days of his life?”

Another woman pointedly said, “You need hang in there.  Take control. Just tell him how it has to happen. Save that marriage by taking charge.”

But, I knew my man. I knew that his phrase, “I can’t,” however faintly or despondently uttered, was true. I resisted the urge to force him to change into someone he could not be. Nor could I remain in that situation without my knee-jerk reaction of taking responsibility for issues that were not my own. In my removal of myself, I gave him freedom to step up to the plate and take responsibility.

It was for his own good-and for mine-that I leave.

Only then did I understand my first husband. Yes.  It was for my own good. He knew  himself. He did not have the moral fortitude to change. Rather than make empty promises, he set me free.

I knew myself.  It was impossible for me to stay without continually picking up responsibilities that were not my own. Rather than coerce change from my second husband, I walked out, leaving the gate ajar behind me, hoping, hoping, he would follow.

Love allows choices.  To allow another person to choose and to take responsibility for their own actions -for better or worse – is for their own good.

 

Memories of the Past

“Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”  Elizabeth Bennet in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.

I have a friend who is expert at moving on.  Make that, moving on and succeeding.  If anyone wins at life she does. Dealt a series of unfortunate relationships, she is still able to plot and plan for the future and surface on top.  Is she always cheerful, effervescent?  Hardly.  Is she in robust physical and mental health? Negative.  But she is able to embrace – to acknowledge the good in her memories of past relationships.  That makes it possible for her to savor past good while moving forward into the unknown.  Part of this is due to a no nonsense course of forgiveness.  Instead of continuing mired down in failure, she yet has hope in mankind and man in particular.

For me, it is frequently dangerous to embrace the good memories.  I might slide down the slippery slope to my past. I am still stalled at the idea that forgiveness means overlooking or forgetting and going back to the way things were. I like to do things right.  I am mortified when I do something wrong.  I am a great fixer. I feel I need to begin again at the stage things began to go wrong. I am Don Quixotic in my need to right the un-rightable wrong; straighten all the crooked rugs of my wake; square everything up to perfection.

Over and over I need reminders: Move forward.  Onward.  Forgive.

Quit using your freedom as an opportunity to repeat the past. Or as biblical wisdom indicates; you are called to freedom!  How do you again return to the beggarly way you used to live?

To think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure, is most certainly healing – maybe not reconciling. In my current WIP (work in progress) – my casual attempt to run alongside  NaNoWriMo – the main character is exploring the idea of forgiveness and moving forward.  How about you?  Do you wallow in the past?  Or do you think only of the past as the memory brings you pleasure?

Guys, Hey Guys, Can We Just Be Friends?

I cannot tell you how bland, uneventful, or one-opinion-sided life can be with only female friends.  So guys,  I need you in my life.  Can we be friends?

There is nothing quite like working or socializing with someone who “gets it,” intellectually or intuitively.  Confidence, as they say, is sexy.  So is knowledge and intelligence. Compassion. Kindness. Professionalism.  I want this chemistry in my relationships with the male gender. Actually, I consider myself blessed when chemistry like that happens in my female friendships, too.

But there is a huge difference.  I don’t go into female friendships thinking, “how long can we trade ideas, enjoy each other’s company, before this turns into a physical commitment?”  Honestly, I crave physical intimacy too.  But what I want is a whole relationship, not just the physical part.   And I will never know how ennobling male / female relationships can be if I don’t have a chance to observe you in action, discuss ideas, compare notes.

I am a strong and capable independent woman.  There are times you are strong where I am weak – usually in matters of physical exertion, such as removing a lug nut. But please don’t condescend to me, begin to instruct in all disciplines, act lordly or expect my undying adoration just because you had the brute strength or extra height to fix an engine or place something on a tall shelf.

There are times I am strong where you are weak.  My strengths lie in areas of intuitive analysis, financial responsibility, spatial harmony, social appropriateness, artistic design. Maybe yours do too.  Perhaps we overlap in some strengths.  That’s good. It makes for more common ground and understanding. Please acknowledge my strengths instead of assuming male superiority in all areas of life.

I can also be strong where I would rather be gentle such as resisting physical advances.  Inevitably that strength comes at a cost. I buckle on my self-control. My armor appears leathery and standoffish.

It seems like the male relationships I have cultivated these past few years have been with younger men. Largely because I feel safe with a man half my age and can treat him like a son.  I can discuss a wide range of topics, try on differing opinions, banter, spar with vocabulary and innovative ideas, truly love and be loved and no one gets emotionally unhealthy.  No one gets hurt because no one has expectations -especially me.

There is so much I want and need to learn from men. I am not only intensely loyal, I am willing to give friendship back wholeheartedly.  Can we just be friends?  Can we share encouraging hugs and deep thoughts as I do with my girlfriends?  Can we really esteem and ennoble, maybe even transform each other?  Guys, I am longing to know, can we just be friends?

 

 

Patti Hill, Gilbert Grape and One Tin Soldier

When I first saw the movie, “What’s Eating Gilbert Grape,” I sat and wept quietly at its conclusion.  My brother, a fan of the film, questioned my tears. “It has a happy ending,” he argued. But I could not bear the relentless burden of caretaking and parenting of a parent that Gilbert was called on to carry.

I feel the same crushing weight for Amy in Patti Hill’s story, “The Queen of Sleepy Eye. “ The mother is relentless in her dependence on Amy.  No 17-year-old should be called on to raise a parent.    This type of dependence demands boundaries, but it is a bit ticklish for an underage child to set them and still remain respectful to the parent. But here’s the rub; Amy herself is not perfect.  She scolds.  Some of her actions are scoldable.  She judges and her pride goes before a fall. Been there, done that.  I’ve also made promises with the best of good will and self-control and then broken them.

This is a book every Christian should read. Using your children for your own glory or sustenance is a theme oft repeated in life.  Manipulation is a tool frequently employed by many parents, but not often acknowledged in Christian fiction – which this is.

The first third of this book reads like a textbook psychology case study.  The later portions are for Christians only.  Were you raised steeped in the same type of Christianity as I was?  A few decades ago, we would have grieved for every last character as they fell from Grace. With tears in our eyes, we would have shaken the dust off our feet and moved on just like some of the church people in Hill’s book.  But the ending Patti Hill crafts is an ending where, with the reader’s sympathy and understanding, the characters fell into Grace.

And oh, how I loved the hippies, and Patti’s portrayal of Paonia.  Wait, that was Paonia, wasn’t it?  And I know these church people, which, unfortunately, is why I shy away from Christian fiction these days.

Are you a baby-boomer?  Do yourself a favor and read this book.  It will resonate like “Forrest Gump,” or “Gilbert Grape,” or “One Tin Soldier.”

What is Love?

I suspect many of us have spent our whole lives moping about crooning, “Where is love?” rather than asking, “What is Love?”  Just what exactly am I searching for? Waiting for? Languishing without? What is love?

“Love is not love  which alters when it alteration finds

In light of that definition have I ever been loved?  Have you?  In a Shakespearian way?  Exactly what does he mean?  Does he mean the love is so strong it does not go away when it finds a blemish, an alteration in the beloved?  Or does he mean love does not try to change or alter the beloved when it spies something out of the ordinary?

Love is patient, love is kind,  it does not envy, it does not boast, it is not…”

Why is it easier to discern what is NOT love, than to state clearly what is?

Here’s a bit of tuneful wisdom from Older Ladies by Donnalou Stevens.

Are there any age limits on love?  Is it only for the young?

Lana Del Ray sings, Will you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful?

I particularly like the phrase, “I know you will, I know you will, I know that you will.” I have to admit, no.  I have never been loved that securely. Yes.  There are those who have said they loved me, but, you know, alterations.

I wonder; does familiarity breed contempt?  Is the idealistic pure and chaste from afar the only guarantee? After all, as long as love remains unrequited, you alone may chose to remain true, without the responsibilities or constraints of a mutual relationship.  Is consummation the death knell for love and interest? Do you agree with Elizabeth Bennet that one good sonnet will kill off love?

What does it profit you to play hard to get right up to the alter – and then lose his love only because you secured him?

Jane Austen tends to write heroes and heroines who continue to love tenaciously against all odds.  But is everlasting love an old idea limited to 18th century novels?

Do not discount the fidelity of today’s young.  Though old, I am privileged to have friends in their 20s. Some, though young and worldly, would never cheat.  That would not be love. One loves strong enough to carry a torch for a lifetime, with or without a resolution. Another 20-something of my acquaintance is fated to be in love with someone already taken – yes, married, and yet chooses to remain honorably silent.  While you can neither suppress or conjure feelings of love, you can choose your actions.

My fate is of a different nature altogether.  Have I ever really loved?

There were times I began to love. Something got in the way.

I fear that if love is freely given, it can be freely taken away. So I panic and grasp and rush to people pleasing – to codependence – to insure that doesn’t happen.  Guess what?  It dies on me. Either I smother the beloved, or I burn myself out. That is not love. But what is?

A Precious Journey: Chapter 2

In Chapter 1, My Precious Left Me, Traveler stumbles on a cave and meets the Man.  You can find and read Chapter 1, on the pull-down bar, Precious’ Journey.

Chapter 2: Traveler goes to the city

Now the traveler had become curious to know more about Precious. He was heading through the City anyway, so he stopped at the bakery to inquire if anyone remembered her.

He could hear the chatty voice before he pulled open the heavy glass door. “Yes, it was a trunk showing and everything was half off!  Half off, I tell you! And they wouldn’t take a credit card.”  Obviously, she caught sight of him because she turned away and checked her hair in the reflection. “ Te he. Isn’t that awful?  Well, gotta go.  Someone’s coming in.   You know how Mr. Baker gets if I don’t greet the customer right away.  No, it’s a he not a bride. Call me later.”  She whirled her chair around, and stood, self-consciously smoothing a skirt that would not have been out of place on a high school ingenue – or perhaps just two inches longer.

“May I help you?” she emphasized each word separately.

“Ah, yes.  I hope so,” said the traveler.  “I am looking for information about someone who used to work here – a  woman named Precious.”

“She left her Man.”

“So I heard.”

“I knew him first – before he met Precious.  He was pretty good looking in high school. Hey, but that was 20 years ago. I’ve been thinking about running up to the cave and checking on him – seeing if he needs anything. ”

“Do you know why she left him?”

“I don’t know.  I’m pretty sure it wasn’t any of the reasons I wanted to leave my man.”

The raised eyebrows of the traveler gave her permission to continue.

“No.  Precious didn’t think I had grounds. It was something about tough love. Oh, she listened to me; I mean she listened to me on break.  Precious frowned on girl talk when we were supposed to be working.  Said something about an honest day’s work for wages or excellence and best effort – those kinds of words.  I didn’t get how not talking was honest.  I like to get it all out there. I’m honest about my feelings. She must have been on the side of the boss.  Come to think of it, I think she was in cahoots with the boss. Cause she got the boss man to give me a second chance after I messed up on the wedding cake orders.  She must have sweet talked him something fierce. Anyway, Precious, she says, ‘Phyllis, I talked to the boss.  I told him I thought you would be a fast learner if I took a little time before work each morning to show you how cake decorating and ordering work.’

So, I asked her, ‘how do you know all that?  About sugar cane and powdered sugar? And white cake flour coming from wheat?  Did you learn that because of your man being a horror culturalist?’  She said she learned all that – that she learned how to cook and how things work when she was still living at home in high school. Can you believe it?  She actually cooked while she was in college. And, she baked bread to earn money while her man was in grad school!  That’s how she landed the job at this bakery.  I guess she even did a wedding cake for one of her friends.”

“Did you say the husband of Precious went to grad school?”

“Yes, that’s what he did.  In high school, he always wanted to be a botanicalist.  But then he changed his mind and became a horror, horror…” “Horticulturalist.” prompted the traveler.

“Anyway, but, he didn’t finish.  At first, I thought Precious said he didn’t finish grade school.  I knew that wasn’t right on accounta me knowing him in high school. She explained to me the different levels of schooling.”

“So you met Precious at this job?”

“Hey, it is just about break time now! I’m really glad that phone hasn’t rang while we were talking.  I’ll take a smoke break even though I don’t smoke. But you could buy me coffee. I don’t have any money – my man took away my debit card – but you can buy. You don’t mind, do you?  He didn’t say I couldn’t drink a latte, he just said I couldn’t buy more than one a week.”

“And ya know,” she said, patting the traveler’s arm. “It would be good for me to be seen with you. I wouldn’t mind, not one little bit.” The traveler acquiesced.

Tall latte. Short iced mint.  The traveller collected them from the counter and sat down in the moulded booth across from Phyllis.

“So, you don’t think Precious left her man for the same reason you wanted to leave yours?”

“Nope.  No way.  My man took away my Old Navy and Macy’s charge cards!”

“You don’t say.”

“He told me I had to quit shopping and start cooking.”

“You didn’t cook?”

“Are you kidding? I went to secretary school.  I know how to type. I was trained about proper office at tire. Then, of course, I have to have something fun to wear when I’m not at the office.  We go to baseball games on the weekends. So I was always busy shopping the sales for the best deals. I didn’t have time to cook.  I work so I can shop. After the stores close, I stop for carry out on the way home.”

“Your husband got tired of carryout?”

“Yeah, I thought that was the real reason.  I think he was trying to control me into coming home after work and cooking dinner. He said it was because I had charged more than I made that month. My Old Navy card was maxed out.  He said he had paid my store cards.  But if they were paid, what’s the harm in me shopping?  I think he just wanted a homestyle meal.”

“So, he took your charge cards and insisted you come home after work and cook?”

“Can you believe it?  Always before he was okay with having dinner late.  He didn’t get home until nine anyway because he was working an extra job. I was ready to leave him.  Next day, I was asking around work for a roommate. Then me and Tiki and Precious went on break.  Tiki, she’s the one that got me this job in the first place.”

“So you met Precious at this job?”

“Well, yeah, we came at the same time, but, I really got to know her better when they were going to fire me.”

The traveler raised his eyebrows quizzically.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it, since I had been to secretary school?”

The traveler nodded just enough to nudge her forward.

“It was the wedding cakes.  I still don’t see why they should be so expensive.  I was just trying to help out the brides.”

The traveller murmured appropriately.

“The wedding cakes, you know, with three tiers? Well, they are three or four hundred dollars.”

Again the traveler nodded.

“But, on the next page over – it’s the third pull down tab on the website – there are all these cakes separately. 6” two layers for $10.  8” for $12.00.  10 inches for $18.00 and that big one on the bottom?  only $30 bucks for the round one or $35.00 for the square!  So, this one bride came in, and she was really on a budget, poor really.  And I added up the total and was telling her to buy them all separately for under a hundred dollars!”  She laughed.

“Did they have frosting on them?”

“Now how did you figure that out?  Are you a baker? That’s exactly what Precious explained to me.  I don’t know how she did it, but Precious knew how to do just about everything. She could type and she didn’t even go to secretary school. She could write the wedding cake orders and she wasn’t a baker.”

“So, Precious was pretty smart?”

“Yeah, Kiki said she was fastididus, fastdious,

“Fastidious?”

“Yes, only in a good way, not a bad way.”

“So, Precious thought it wasn’t a good idea to leave your husband?”

“Not Precious and not Kiki.  Kiki said you’re just supposed to stay together no matter what.  Marriage is for life.   The only reason you should leave your husband is if he hits you or if he is, you know, having an A-fair with someone else.”

“Many people feel that way.”

“Precious said it sounded like maybe my husband was doing an invention, an indevention,”

“Intervention?”

“Yeah, that’s the word, tough love or something.”

“He paid off your cards?”

“Yep.”

“And then he said you couldn’t use them anymore?

“Yep.  Boy, was I mad. I said I wasn’t going to live anymore with a man that mean.”

“What did Precious say about that?”

“She said maybe he really did love me, cause after all, he paid off my charge cards.  She said maybe he just wanted to get my attention about overspending. I said I didn’t see how taking away my charge cards was loving.  She asked did he give me some grocery money for the cooking.”

“Did he?”

“Not any cash!  All he gave me was a grocery card with two hundred dollars on it.

A grocery card! Just thinking about it made me so mad I started bawling again. And then Precious said, she said it was a waste of energy to cry.”

“So Precious didn’t show any sympathy?”

“She said, ‘why cry when you can do something about it?’”

“Did she want you to get back at him?”

“She said I should do an experiment.”

“A science experiment?”

“Yes, sort of.  She wrote me instructions.  Go to the Grocery store.  A list of things to buy. How to mix the ingredients and put them in the oven.  There was supposed to be enough for that dinner and some left-overs for my lunch the next day.”

“Did you do the experiment?”

“Yes, and I gotta say, it tasted real good. My man thought so too.  ‘You did good babe, real good,’ he said. He said he was proud of me.  He called me his little kitten. Then he told me some other things that would make you blush if I repeated them.  And we, well, we kissed and made up.”

“So, he wasn’t being mean after all?”

“Naw, he said he was sorry he had to take my charge cards and I couldn’t have them back, but he would try to make it up to me by adoring me,” she giggled delightedly.  “So Precious, each day she wrote me an easy recipe.  She told me I could still keep on shopping as long as I did it in the grocery store.”

“So, you said Precious didn’t ever cry when she could do something about it?”

“I only saw Precious cry just that once.”

The traveller raised his eyebrows.

“It was that same week.

We were on break again and Kiki was saying how married people should always stay together no matter what. She started telling a story about how her parents stayed together. And Precious, she acted really funny.”

“Did Precious agree with Kiki’s story?”

“No, I don’t think so. But, I didn’t really get why Precious was crying.  It was just a story, something about a man who ate and ate.  It reminded me of the joke where the doctor tells a man to watch his weight and the man says, ‘so I just got my weight out here where I could see it,’ he he.”

“So, a story about a fat man made Precious cry?”

“It was Kiki’s dad.  He got fat while her mom was getting thinner and thinner.”

The Traveler tipped his head to the side and waited.

“Kiki was home-schooled.  That way her mom saved a lot of money on clothes. They were poor so her mom cooked a lot of beans.  Kiki says her mom was a self sack official for the kids.”

“Self-sacrificial?”

“Yes, that’s it.  So Kiki’s mom just ate a little bit and she divided the rest between the kids and made sure there were lots of beans in her husband’s lunch.  Later on they found out Kiki’s dad was just going to McDonald’s and buying himself a hamburger for lunch after he finished the beans.  Then, at night, he would run errands and buy himself another hamburger.”

“He was starving his wife and kids and getting fat himself?”

“Yes.  Isn’t that awful?”

“What did Precious say?”

“That’s what was so strange.  ‘Cause Precious, you know, she’s the one who says, ‘There’s no use crying over something if you can do something to fix it.‘  She was crying. Without making any noise.  The tears were just running down her cheeks.

”And then she said, real quietly she said, ‘I think neglecting someone to the point of starving them while you got fat – might be a good reason for leaving.” Kiki and I both stared at her.  Then she stood up because it was time to go back inside.  And she said something else, but it sounded like maybe she was talking to herself.”

The traveller leaned forward attentively,

“Do you remember what else she said?”

“‘It’s not always about food. There are other ways to starve a person.’ What duya think she meant by that?”

The traveler stroked his chin thoughtfully, and rose.

“Say, it’s about time for me to get back to the office.  Would you mind getting me a refill? One for the road, so to speak.”

He walked Phyllis back to the stoplight, saw her safely across the street.

“One more question,”  he said.

“Do you think Precious left her man to become a Goblin Princess?”

“What?  Precious?”  she sputtered.  She tossed her head coyly, “Well, now, I might think of becoming a Goblin Princess – ‘specially if someone was to give me all the gold and jewelry I wanted.  But Precious?  What would the men see in her?  Precious is more steady and self-sackaficial like Kiki’s Mom – only she dresses nice.”

Note:  in Chapter One, the Man accuses Precious of leaving to become a Goblin Princess.  You can read the first chapter by choosing, Precious’ Journey from the tab at the top of this page.

 

Life is like a pair of eyeglasses

Many years ago – in a past life – I worked as a dispensing optician.  Yes, I was certified to help people see clearly – to improve their vision.  I’d like to think that is what I still do through my writing, my music and my work.

Life is like a pair of eyeglasses.  Sometimes the thing you think will work is exactly the opposite of what is needed.  “My glasses are sliding down my nose.  Tighten them up,” is a common request heard by an optician. There are several adjustment options for loose frames; tighten screws, bend the earpieces, curve the front – or the front corners – to name a few. But in reality, if the glasses are sliding down the nose, the frames may be adjusted too tight.  It is like squeezing a water balloon; the tighter you squeeze, the more the water escapes and bulges on either side of your grip.

Relationships are like that, also.  You can hold on to people you love too tightly – or too loosely – with equal result.  Either extreme and someone dear may slip out of your grasp, be jettisoned away like a Tiddlywink.

Recently, someone endeavored to remind me that relationships take self-sacrifice; giving up of some (or all) things you want to do personally in order to give more to the relationship or family. I agree.  I am no stranger to self-sacrifice.

However; life is like a pair of eyeglasses.  Sometimes the thing you think will work is exactly the opposite of what is needed .

You can never love too much-but you can hold too tight.

You can never love too much – but you can do too much.

You can never love too much – but you can smother another’s initiative when you steal their opportunity to give reciprocally by your insistence on giving all.