POWER

I just received power back to my house today after a week of being without, due to the lovely Hurricane Gustav. Some of you may be disappointed that I have no sob story to tell and that in fact I had a great time. My experience is not the type that typically makes the evening news, but that doesn't mean that my experience was atypical. Being the writer that I am, I jotted down notes from time to time about how all was going. Without much revision, I now share these jottings with you.

Tuesday, Sept. 2nd (the day after the storm)

My friend Mary cracks me up. She broke out the margaritas at 3 o'clock today. The drinks come out earlier and earlier as waiting out the storm continues.

Yesterday it was 6 o'clock with Rum & Coke while we were playing Rummy 500. The day before, it was around 8pm with mudslides as we revised my story -- the upcoming one, called "Twenty Five". She read it out loud while my aunt and I listened and laughed and joked around. Mary particularly liked that line -- His skin is copper and glistening. It has the allure of a freshly minted penny, shiny and new. She read it about six times in a row. That was the most fun I ever had revising a story.

So it all began on Saturday. The people came over. We had hamburgers and talked. I have a decent sized house so even with 5 adults and 8 kids, we didn't feel crowded. the kids ate at the kitchen while the adults ate at the dining table. The kids played in the living room while the adults talked in the sitting room.

The power went out Monday afternoon. the kids got out Legos and blocks and card games. the adults played cards and Boggle, and Scrabble. I'm a whiz with word games to I clobbered Mary and my aunt at those. They would come up with 15 Boggle words while I had 36. Eventually, at the end of every game, they would just tell me to read my list since I always had the most words anyway. The Scrabble games were actually pretty close. I beat the others by a margin of only twenty something points rather than the usual fifty or seventy five.

As the evening drew on last night, the kerosene lamps were lit. The windows were open -- no rain. But windy. The sheer curtains billowed regularly. The only sound outside was the surrounding generators. We do not have a generator yet, but we got one on it's way from a relative coming through from Houston. It annoyed me that even in an event as serious as this -- with trees down and shingles torn off -- with my aunt worrying if she'll have a house to go home to and my friend worrying about her telephone company worker husband who had to stay behind -- it annoyed me that even then, we could not experience the sacredness of dark and quiet.

I wanted to appreciate the absence of electricity. I wanted to honor the momentary fear and loss. Yet the generators persisted, resistant to allow a moment of gratitude for all we take for granted. I think it's good to do without once in awhile. It's good to retreat from your normal routine of daily life. To just step back and realize life ain't so bad after all. That really, we should get together with our friends more often, play cares more often, drink more often, stay up late and tell secrets more often.

As I sat alone by the kerosene lamplight, I was transported into times past. I thought about Little House on the Prairie episodes. About World War II blackouts. About Jews hiding from German Nazis. I was grateful that this solemnity was temporary. That I did not need to listen for traveling outlaws or bomber airplanes or soldiers knocking on the door. I was grateful that all my food was still cold and that my main discomfort was the humidity and heat of the night.

After pondering my life by the flicker of the flame -- after the kids were all asleep, Mary came along offering me another Rum & Coke. We talked about our husbands and, well, things we do with our husbands, and, um, things we like for them to do to us. There was lots of giggling and whispering going on. Almost like a junior high sleep over. It was fun.

Yes, the wind and the rain had been bad. Yes, there had been some damage to our houses. Yes, the electricity was out and the night was hot and humid. But our families were safe and we would soon return to our husbands and there would certainly be more to talk about next time.

Wednesday

It is dusk. Again. Still no power. This is the longest I've gone without electricity without the intention of camping or what not.

Spirits are still high. We're just hot and sweaty, all of us. We managed to hook up the washer today so we could run a couple loads of laundry. We hung the clothes out to dry, running some string between the swing set and our neighbor's fence -- the side that wasn't blown down. The clothes aren't drying much though 'cause the air is so damp.

Mary handed out fuzzy navels with a splash of pineapple juice today around 3 o'clock. My aunt and I welcomed them as part of the hour of Divine Mercy.

The kids are still doing well. They miss TV and computer games. But they enjoy the outdoors. The swings, the trampoline, the kiddy pool, the slip and slide. They are tired and hot. They try to switch on the bathroom light. They forget, you know. But they're happy with Legos and fresh Play Dough.

Mary and I went out early this morning for groceries. We, along with every one else in this area, were prepared for a long weekend, but not the entire week. It was strange to see the debris in the streets, all the stop lights out, the produce wilted, the bread shelves bare. No meat available at LeBlanc's. Maybe we'll have better luck at Winn Dixie.

We went to WD and had to stand in line. Only so many people allowed in at a time. I've never stood in line for groceries before. I thought of those stories of Russia -- people waiting hours for bread. I was glad that this was not that at all. We were not bundled up, staving off the sting of the snow, stone faces, gray background, desensitized to the mundane task of waiting for rations. No, we were smiling and friendly, enjoying the return of the birds, making do with whatever was available. Hopeful, not complaining. Just waiting it out, confident that the electric companies would have all up and running maybe by the end of this week.

All the guests in my house came up from Houma -- a city very near the Louisiana coast. I used to live there myself a few years ago. The city is an hour southwest of New Orleans and an hour and a half southwest of here. It's a big small town. Big enough to have several hotels and chain restaurants. But not big enough to be included in the news much.

The news we hear is mostly from Mary's husband who stayed behind for work. Or from phone calls from our Cali relatives who have internet access and keep us updated from the news websites. Everybody is asking everybody what the word is since we can't get it from the radio. The radio announcers talk and talk and talk yet say nothing of importance.

So far, the word is Friday. Come in on Friday during daylight hours. Curfew is between 6am - 8pm. We can't guarantee any electricity or utilities though. And the mosquitos are horrendous. So what's the point of that? Stay here. It might be three days or three weeks for electricity. We have food. We have gas. We have a generator for a few necessary things. And hey -- we got booze!

Friday

The weather chilled off last night, thank God. It was very hot yesterday. I'd never sweat so much while doing nothing. More games of Scrabble and Rummy 500. More Play Dough for the kids. More cooking on the grill.

The drinks came out at 1:30 yesterday. This is getting serious, people. We can't start drinking before noon! But seriously, I'm starting to miss my washing machine. Things are definitely getting uncomfortable.

We still have batteries to hear the lack of news. When we get fed up with that, we play music and dance with the kids. U2 picks up our spirits in the afternoons.

My husband went out yesterday and saw 100-car lines for gas. Luckily we don't need any yet. Lots of people are on the roads today, trying to check on their homes. So I hear there's lots of traffic and closed roads and downed trees and lines for gas.

Mary and I went for a walk this morning. Vacation time is waning. It's time to exercise, to clean up, to organize a back up plan. Houma will most likely be down for a month. We might try arranging the rooms for our guests and some homeschool lessons for the kids. We need to transform this disruption into a part of our routine. Three to five more days for power here. Maybe. I'm hoping the weather stays cool. And dry.

Saturday

Mary got a call late last night. She got power at her house. Still no power here, but it should be coming soon. Mary and her four kids took off around noon after she and I took a walk in the cool, cloudy morning.

I know the clouds keep us cool, but I'm getting a little sick of them. Sick of the grayness outside. Sick of the noisy generators. Sick of the drop-kick Chihuahua roaming around my house. I have a mild headache today and am anxious now for normalcy to resume.

I got to see the stars last night. Beautiful stars. So many of them. Sparkling and brilliant and numerous. I enjoyed them, but the experience was tainted by the incessant drone of the generators all around.

I am thankful for the cool weather. A clean home. Happy kids. Plenty to eat. I am planning on resuming lessons on Monday. I am thankful that this has been great fun and will soon end. Ike is in the Gulf, headed our way. People are worried. Me? I'll say Come on over. We'll teach the kids lessons by kerosene lamp. I usually finish by noon. Then you can make us some drinks while I set up the Scrabble board. There may be a bit of damage to the house. But we'll make the best of it.

Sunday

We came home from church around 1pm and voila! the AC was running. All the windows were open and the AC was running.

Run the dishwasher. Run the clothes washer. Unplug all the cords leading to the generator. It is hot today so we'll close up the house and run the AC. Suck up all the love bugs and the flies. Shoo shoo all of you. Out of my house, you annoying bugs.

Maybe I'll take a hot bath tonight, although I didn't really mind the cold showers. Maybe I'll bake a casserole dish, although I enjoyed cooking on the grill. Maybe I'll watch a movie tonight, although I always love winning at Scrabble.

As it stands, Ike is no longer headed our way. But we got a few days left to really know. Either way, I'll be thankful for what I've got.

Outside

And you bring me to my knees, again

All the times, that I could beg you please, in vain

All the times, that I felt insecure, for you

And I leave my burdens at the door

But I'm on the outside

I'm looking in

I can see through you

See your true colors

'Cause inside you're ugly

You're ugly like me

I can see through you

See to the real you

All the times that I felt like this won't end

It's for you

And I tasted what I could never have

It was from you

All the times that I've cried, my intentions, full of pride

But I waste more time than anyone

But I'm on the outside

I'm looking in

I can see through you

See your true colors

'Cause inside you're ugly

You're ugly like me

I can see through you

See to the real you

All the times that I've cried

All this wasted, it's all inside

And I feel, all this pain, stuffed it down

It's back again

And I lie here in bed, all alone,

I can't mend

But I feel tomorrow will be okay

But I'm on the outside I'm looking in

I can see through you

See your true colors

'Cause inside you're ugly

You're ugly like me

I can see through you

See to the real you

Staind – Outside

I heard this song today. I’ve heard it before, but today it really struck me. It filled my soul and got all my attention. It opened up for me a new realization. This was how I felt when I cried out to God that I’d be able to help troubled teens with my counseling. These were the unspoken words filling my heart when I was reading my friend’s stories.

I call him my friend, but I never really know if he is. I never know for sure. And that’s probably why I’m so insecure about it all. Sometimes he’s great to talk to. Sometimes he’s a real jerk. But like I said, I’m learning to love without expectation. Not that I have to be a doormat. Not that I have to allow him to smear his sloppy mud-laden boots all over me and stomp on me before forgetting about me completely. But I continue to love.

This song – it’s a stage I went through with him. I don’t completely feel that way anymore. Just about a week ago, I told him that I didn’t mind him picking on me because I needed to toughen up anyway. I needed to be made strong. And hey, maybe he was just the person to do that. But I’m over that now. I talked to him yesterday and he picked on me quite a bit. I didn’t mind. I didn’t get angry. I didn’t get tears in my eyes. I didn’t crack. I was detached and objective and outside of my emotional always-take-things-personally self. It felt good to be that way. To just hear a person’s opinion – his opinion – and not immediately react to it. To just consider it as a possibility and nothing more than that.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so secure in my understanding of myself and my life. Perhaps I owe it to him. Perhaps I owe it to grace. Perhaps I just needed to be a few days older than when I was acting so ridiculous and insecure. Perhaps this will all pass and I will be crying soon again. But man, I’ll enjoy it while it lasts. I'll enjoy being outside of all that nauseating self-loathing.

Focus

Something is different today. That detachment has returned. Self confidence. Focus. An understanding of where I'm going. I'm not lost in my dreams today. I'm not overly concerned with what my friend thinks of me or if he thinks of me. I am my own person today. I am good.

motivation to live properly

I nearly died last night. Again. I wish I remembered the whole incident. Maybe it would motivate me more to live properly.

My husband told me that I stopped breathing. He shook me; I gasped for breath. He listened to my heart; it was racing. All I do remember is rolling over and continuing on with my dreams. Dreaming, dreaming, always dreaming. Sometimes I feel like I fail to live in reality at all. And yet, sometimes, like when I'm in the midst of a spiritual battle, reality seems more real than ever before. That may seem odd to you -- she feels like reality is more real when there are spirits involved -- but it doesn't to me.

In any case, I woke up and listened to my husband's account of how I had nearly suffocated in the middle of the night and I resolved that if I was going to go out, it wasn't going to be with a neglected house and children. I was going to leave my legacy: the place would be orderly, the children would be attended to, dinner would comprise of colorful balanced side dishes, warm and on the table. I would not be leaving this earth with laundry undone and the floor unswept and library books which had still not yet been read to the children. No sir. Not me.

And of course, I would leave letters for everyone. Letters of how I felt about them and how much they meant to me and how I prayed for them and wished them well and how I would continue praying and that my spirit would always be with them, even if I were gone. But then, all that is probably rather unnecessary, since I send my sentiments constantly.

My grandparents are still alive. A few months ago, I sent them the letter I would read as their eulogy. Is that crazy? Rude? I didn't think so at the time. But as always, I tend to doubt myself. When I wrote it, I figured, "Why should I wait until they're gone to tell them how I love them?" They appreciated the letter. But still, it's a little...strange.

I have some crazy insane need to tell everyone everything about myself. Expose all my struggles and vulnerabilities. It's not so much that I'm looking for sympathy. It's more that I want others to know they're not alone. Maybe they want to be alone. I don't know. I try to give to everyone the things I never had. And that's why I'm always listening to others, sharing with others, relating to others. For ten years, I dreamed of being a counselor to teens, mostly because when I was a teen, I never had a good counselor. I started a natural birth meetup group, mostly because when I was pregnant and planning an out-of-hospital birth, no one was around to answer my questions. I have often taken up projects simply because I wished someone had done it for me. Perhaps that's the wrong way to approach life. I don't know.

My friend told me he doubts that it's understanding he wants. That took me by surprise. Doesn't every person in the world want to be understood? Doesn't every one want to know that he's not alone. Doesn't every one want to relate to others somehow? Isn't everyone in the world just a little bit needy like me? I'd like to think that. But perhaps that's not reality at all. Perhaps I should just keep to myself and volunteer information only when asked. Perhaps I've been going about this friendship thing all wrong. Maybe nobody is really interested in knowing my whole life story. It's my life story, maybe I should just keep it to myself. Write an autobiography. Get it published posthumously. Get something published anyway.

It's not understanding he wants. Perhaps that's why he claims no god. So what does he want then? I wonder if I'll ever know. I pray for him. Often. I pray he'll get whatever it is he really wants. Whatever the Lord really wants for him. Do those things coincide for him? Do they coincide for me? For the vast majority of us? Probably not. But I pray the Lord's will be done, in any case.

discipline

"I need your discipline. I need your help." That's what he said. I was so determined to do it. But the very next morning, I struggled. The urge came over me and I gave in. The urge to talk, the urge to make contact. The need for attention, for acknowledgement. It just overwhelms me. I can't seem to hold back. But I must. I must.

I feel so out of control sometimes. So unorganized, so unfocused. I should map out my day, I guess. Map out my time -- my week, my month, my year. Schedules. I should treat myself like a child until I can behave like an adult again.

If I can make it through this, I will be able to make it through anything. I should take up running again. Discipline. Discipline.

come oh wise men, come

Sometimes our hearts are like dark caves. No natural light shines through. What is within us seems immensely black and scary and hopeless. But the Lord showed me that if we allow His light to shine within us, we will see that the cave is filled with beautiful sparkling crystals and reflective pools.

Tonight, I got an image of the three wise men. They were journeying toward that cave. They were bringing their precious gifts. And the cave was no longer a void of darkness. The star of David was shining above it. It was the stable, occupied by the Holy Family. The animals were there and the cave had been full of stench. But Mary filled it with the perfume of roses. And Joseph spread the fragrance of lillies. And Baby Jesus wafted forth the beautiful scent of a newborn begotten of the most pure virginal womb.

I await the wise men. And I long to be able to receive their gifts. I invite the Holy Family to settle into the cave of my heart and to flood out the stench with their lovely frangrances.

journey back to the sunshine

I had a long talk with my husband last night, trying to figure myself and all my crazy behaviors out. I generally feel like men are much wiser than women. Maybe it's my family. I don't know. But I have grown up with the perception that women are emotional weaklings who need men to point them in the right direction, to help them see the big picture, to smack some sense into them when they're freaking out about the milk being left out on the counter for a whole half an hour and how it's going to spoil if it's not put away now and does my daughter really think that money grows on trees and how am I going to pay the bills, etc. etc. etc. (And no, that whole line was not taken from my history as a parent. It was something I experienced when growing up, okay?) Anyway, I find that the men who were in my life were rather wise and stable and had a good grasp on the big picture.

So I mumbled to my husband about how horribly embarrassed I was that my friend said I was hardly faithful at all and that I was quite ridiculous as far as Catholics go. This was humiliating for me to face since my friend rejects religion altogether. I mean, I should be a good example, a faithful witness, somebody that somebody else might possibly want to be like. Apparently, I have been none of those things. I have simply been ridiculous.

That was hard to take. And the worst part was that I instantly knew it was true. I'm not always like this, but sometimes I fall into this mode where I use my religion in a superstitious way. Like if I just say enough rosaries and enough divine mercy chaplets, if I say the right prayers the right number of times, if I call upon the right saints and use the proper title of Mary when seeking intercession, then all the cards will play together and help me have the winning hand.

Deep inside, I know this is not the way the Lord intends us to indulge in the fullness of truth. But still, I tend to be quite controlling and so sometimes, even though I don't think it consciously, I try to make God my puppet, my vending machine. And I get annoyed, disappointed, sometimes desperate, and very rarely enraged when things don't work out the way I had planned they would.

My husband put it well: "You need to allow God to work through you. You cannot try to work through God." Yes, that was what I was trying to do. Sad, but true.

In my efforts to prioritize my life and to stop being so self-focused, I have taken up teaching again this week. We've been off of school work for about seven weeks now and there has been no order in the house, no routine to our lives. It has allowed me to become quite self-absorbed. It has allowed me to stop really being a mom and to just sort of referee the sibling squabbling. My husband even had a dream last week that he was in the truck following the van and all the kids were in the van and no one was driving it. He was feeling my absence in the family. My non-presence despite my being home all day every day.

But yesterday, I started my journey back toward the sunshine. I read books to my kids and took them to the library. I washed the dishes and folded the laundry and made the beds. I listened to my kids. I listened to my friends. I listened to my husband. I re-engaged myself into their lives. Today, I went out to lunch. I took care of my business. I listened my my music which makes me feel so much like me. And tomorrow, I plan to run a race -- a 2-miler. And I will run it with a friend of mine. I never feel more like myself than when I'm running. And it's always best when running with a friend.

When I was teaching this morning, I realized that I was returning to normalcy. By guiding my boys in their lessons, I was able to take on the adult role. I was able to be calm and steady and encouraging. I was able to stop being like a kid myself.

I do firmly believe that homeschooling is best for my children and for our family. But I realize too that it is best for me as a mom. It fulfills my need to be needed. It helps me know that I'm making a difference in some one's life. It enforces that feeling that I crave -- that I truly am unique and irreplaceable, that no other person can do this job as well as I can. Sometimes I am tempted to think that I'm doing it just for me, but I've prayed about it often and I do believe it's best for all of us.

Watching my sons learn, I realized again the truth of what my husband said last night: "Every person is on his own journey. You cannot make him go in any particular direction. You can only point the way and give him encouragement. But ultimately, you have to let him make his own decisions and discover things on his own." I didn't just discover this last night. But like I said, life goes in cycles and sometimes I have to rediscover it and accept it in an even deeper way than before.

I don't like to harp on hurts and I don't like to blame everything on my father's absence in my life, but I do think it has affected my entire outlook on who I am and how I perceive my relationships with other people. I grew up knowing that my father's abandonment wasn't my fault, but somehow always deep-down believing that it was. I realize now that I've carried around this notion -- I'm mostly over it, but I still cling to it from time to time -- that if I had just been a better little girl, if I just could have controlled myself more and not been so naughty as a two year old, the man that should have been my protector and my rock and my reassurance would not have walked out of my life. I understand now that I've always thought that if I could just do everything right and control my emotions and be better than I am at the moment, then I could change the men in my life to be the persons I always wanted them to be. Hearing myself now, it seems incredibly ridiculous. And that brings us back to where we started -- my ridiculousness.

I understand -- once again, in a deeper way this time -- that I cannot change anybody. I need to just be myself. I don't need to be perfect. I just need to be who I am. The people who accept me accept me and the people who don't don't. That's just the way it is. It's not my fault if they choose to move on. I can be loving and kind and merciful and forgiving all I want. But in the end, I cannot force anyone to do anything. And in the end, I need to be all those things with myself as well.