All posts by hebrew awakened

If I require a label, then call me Hebrew. Reality is that I'm a practical gal, mostly. One of the human race, ya know? I think everyone has the ability to learn, to succeed and to grow - I also think everyone has the tendency to just be and never advance. The best thing we can do for ourselves is to reach deep and find ourselves, and then be true to our Creator - for our design was not accidental, it was with purpose. :)

Who Knows

This may be my last post. During a phase of my life, I blogged to express, to emote; to feel that I was sharing. Sharing pain, sharing snippets that don’t tell the whole picture. Sharing what I thought was important. And that’s the thing – the importance – who knows?

What I do is mine, my memory, my error, my understanding, my belief, and my feelings. Important to me. And some close to me.

So, I will leave now with the sharing that I think plenty of humans are worth it. No matter their memory, error, understanding, belief, feelings, location, skin, body parts and marks, etcetera etcetera etcetera.

Errors got us here. Let’s do something beautiful and find a way to tell each other in person.

Before I go- if you have not heard of Danielle Ponder, you must search for her and listen to a song. She is the new voice and she sings of being, of pain, of coming into one’s own – of justice, of brokenness, of hope. She’s pure star.

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Timing

Vacation time past, I am assembling the photos from various cameras, saved to various storage spaces.

This was a vacation for the books, a family get together – hubby and I with our sons, and daughter-in-law and grandchildren. It was made especially sweet because the grands are now old enough to register enjoyment of their surroundings.

This is the second time we’ve vacationed together. During their childhood, our sons did not have the opportunity for family vacations. Sure, we would titz off to a local water hole and camp for a weekend as often as we could. But money constraints, time constraints and availability of paid time off kept us close to home. So, for our 25th wedding anniversary, we assembled the group and vacationed an hour away from this current vacation spot. Great memories were made. Good enough that we were prompted by our sons to do it again.

We had a more grand location this time, the home we chose to rent was very nice and situated in a remote location. The focus was on relaxing and enjoying nature and each other. We did both well.

There were views like this to the left, right and center. Situated on a point, we were surrounded by lake life and activities. My favorite view was from this same morning. A heron (one of so many I could not keep count) had alit on a floating object early this morning, and remained atop the object for more than two hours as the underlying river current took it for the ride. I would refill coffee, fix my breakfast, wander the decks and return to find the heron still adrift, not affected by other travelers as it relished the ride.

Appropriate to our vacation: a slow relishing of the ride. Boat rides, swim stops, visits to area sites, trying new food stops, drinking and enjoying one another, floating on the water, watching the wildlife and skipping rocks.

Time to get back to routine. Very glad for sweet memories like these to reflect upon.

Grand – ness

Often, I ponder writing again. Then I consider that I am not who I was when I wrote before… so how to begin?

It came to me finally – where to find my voice, my inner priority.

I have a grandson.

I haven’t posted – I haven’t spoken – much about him

He’s grandpa’s boy, really. They are sweet together, they are. I am so glad that Grandpa Rick has this, this grandpa thing with this grandpa’s boy.

But he’s my grandson. I cannot convey to you the depth of this. This… grandma to a son of my son thing. This stretch of heart across two generations. You don’t know, you can’t fathom what I feel…

We bonded, like his father and I before, he and I. At his early moments, his bonding body stage, the tiny moments… I thank you Sara – I don’t know if you know what it meant to me to have the tiny baby to matronly breast period of bonding, feeling, remembering and knowing that this tiny person was a heart thief, an extension of heart moment that I recalled from decades before… I love that you allowed me this time. How very thoughtful of you.

His dad and I shared that bond. That sameness of feel, that love and connection – that pride. A son. Such a wonderful, proud experience it was to raise my son.

He has heard my pleas. I know I could have done better = and he won’t hear it.

No. You did fine and I’m doing it the same way.

He makes me so proud. My Son. My Sonshine. He is the best of me, the best of his dad. He is a very fine man. You should know him – he is an honor to know and to observe.

He chose a very fine spouse, a corresponding strength. I don’t have relationship skills like I should for caring for women. I have learned habits that need repair, rewiring. I don’t know how to befriend… to trust and care for one of those persons once defined as vile to me, a thing to avoid. A little bit of truth seeping out – those who are abhorrent of women do great damage to their daughters’ relationship skills. Just sayin’.

Granddaughter – I have a granddaughter. One more also as, in my heart, I adopted a sweet young woman in her youth – what a great time I had knowing this sweet and inquisitive beauty! I digress – this granddaughter who is my own – so special and so loved in a new way – this is my heir, my blood, my continuance of a line tossed across the generations by my own grandmother, my mother’s mom. Hated by others for who she was and the life she lived, she… was gone so young. She gave me an idea of my matronage line, German. passed along to me when she faced her short future, as she planned her last years. My identity.

My granddaughter is how I continue that, how I learn how to have a female relationship. Her mother is helping to prep me – thankfully, she is an understanding and nurturing mate for my son. Mother to my granddaughter and my grandson. and a fine spouse, a loved woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt.

My grandson. The reason for this post. I love them both so much, but I have not given the truth. My grandson will hold, for me, a place special in his own right. He is the son of my son, the inheritance. Male continuance. Something I believe strongly.

Grand – ness.

Garden Oasis

Here’s a peek at some of the goings on at our home.

This year will be a partial food harvest, partial seed harvest in the garden. Stocking up seed for next year, experimenting with new planting zones, trying new foods and expanding growth zones – all while my better half works away on the other side of the yard to build a storage and patio area.

The Storm

Coming out of the storm was nearly as harsh as when it began, and it was an intense storm that gave so little warning.

An ER procedure and then just over 24 hours later, the near death unresponsive low oxygen state, and calling in estranged family – only for the reaction to be tornadic, and not the type you get warning of.  Instant and violent – he vented his hate, his fury, his rage on my husband.

Left broken, ice packs, EMS assess and urgings for treatment, my man – the man of the house – sat quietly with his pain.

The storm raged on in the minds and emotions, and then – he’s awake!  Low oxygen and 24 hours taking toll, this person is a shell of dad, not the same and great loss of functions suddenly.  Distrustful and displeased and confused.  The need for aid assist, the need for the estranged to access the life before it is gone, the need for safety for the whole family  is now swirling for purchase.

Nursing home – I had told him he could die here.  I never ever intended for him to go to a home.  Necessity ruled.  So the move was set in motion.  And the danger assessed, and mental pictures examined and felt.

We left our home and my dad in care of other family.  We were too tramatized to remain while the gears of paper spun.  Runaways, feeling like strangers exiled.   Silence was demanded so that family on hubby’s side was not alerted – no need to retaliate.  And this is where I finally hit my knees and cried out to YHVH, this is when I recognized that I owed confession.  I hoped for safety.

When access was finally made by the estranged – in the nursing home – we returned to reclaim our safe space.

Immediate needs were to remove dad’s presence, his belongings, his care needs, his treasures from our home.  Remove triggers.

Then set in place the handoff – all property now ensconced in one metal clad box, and his instructions stilll loud and clear ‘those things are mine until I am dead’ – we made terms clear on expidited ownership change for the metal box.

Then try to live – the eye of the storm is not calm, it’s subdued.  You know the pressure, the lingering eery feel of what’s likely is felt by all.  Daily.  But not for long.

Then the final.  And the estranged and his sister held dad as he died.

Then waiting.  Will this trigger?  How about that?  Which event is likely?  Then he is missing… not checked in at home… then he is reported found by an old friend, and close by.  Then waiting.  And planning a funeral by phone, trying to stay out of sight, and signing and paying and … then remaining home while my dad was recognized and lowered into the ground,  video taped for later viewing because view I must – I will need the closure.

stretched

Family dysfunction is everywhere.  We’re all touched by it in some manner.  Sometimes it takes everything you have, your money, your family, your heart, your life… and sometimes it comes out in the open and someone sees through the storm and into the brokenness, sees that a change is required.  Change is the only choice you get or it continues.

So we took down the noise makers stationed around the property hastily.  We removed the rakes from their bed on  the ground, put back the blocks and bricks and pails stationed as trip hazards.  We decided to take back sanity, to let go of fear – to tell terror that its time was had.

And we enjoyed a restful shabbat.

We’ll move forward, without relationships past – with better or new or fewer.  Those are determined by the participants.

Be the change.

Remembering…

Fear and terror are things not oft encountered in my life.

Crazy patterns of potential fear, yes. Not true fear and terror mixed and felt.

My father died and in the dying, we family fell into our affected parts, with expected and unexpected changes to each day… each moment.

Dysfunction, once an outlier, permeates every life. We all get what we get – damn! I cannot remember what dad told me that his dad said… something like ‘troubles, there’s enough to go around’.

True. Yes.

This was the first true terror and absolutely knowing that I could not help my most prized friend, my husband, my other half… and the sound of the crunch to his facial bones will not easily fade from my unwanted recall.

You see, there is an anger – a rage – a total fucking hatred… and it visited my safe domain last month. It attacked my husband because he stood up to block access… to.me.

Sometimes we can prepare and other times we can only say, oh god, oh fuck, oh my….

FORGIVE ME YHVH, FOR MY FATHERS AND THEIR FATHERS HAVE SINNED AND DONE EVIL AGAINST YOU…

and I accept my punishment. And then hope,

We all owe death. Come as it may.

I hope for less fear and terror.

Understanding

The pressure to be accepting, accepted, get an approval stamp… I have a hard time giving nod to anything and everything. Some things confound me, and I believe it’s okay for me to be confounded. That leaves some things not accepted, not things that I can absolutely say are okay. I don’t truly know – I only know what I believe. That’s how we’re wired, ya know. We each know what we believe.

But I can understand. I can say ‘yes, you are able to hold your own beliefs – and make choices accordingly’. I understand that.

I think it’s as simple as right and wrong. Whose, who’s right and whose, who’s wrong? I only know what I believe.  What do you think?

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Being

As you may have seen, there was yet another post from me that was rife with sadness and depression – surprised?

My fifties have been rough. Life is just hard. I don’t hold down the corner on hard life – I know this – that’s just forgotten in the worst of the feels.

What I wanted to accomplish going into this blog was to show ‘real’. Not some trumped up or over-edited version of fantastic. Real life – real life as an outsider who lives by deeply held beliefs. I do forget to show the joys and triumphs and outright fabulous pieces though – I keep those held closely to me. I’m selfish about so many things.

Normally I have an optimistic outlook. Yes. Really. I can typically see the best of a situation and frequently point out those upsides out here in the reality of it all. The view is on slower reaction time when the situation is directly involving me, but still the upsides are easy to find.

Update – I didn’t report the lightbulb situation. I recall a time when I heard tales from a youth about a job being intentionally done poorly so that the youth could be fired from the job. I issued corrective advice at that time, of course. But I feel certain that this situation is the same – not an intentional action toward me but rather a reaction to a detested job. This will out itself. And – I installed one of the bulbs and it is lighting my space as it should. Not so bad, eh?

This leads to where I want to go today. Being. Being the change we want to see. Changing the world one kindness, one stance, one crazy notion at a time.

We can you know. I can. You can. We can change the world.

Be the change.

I choose this life of holding Torah as my personal guide, the lens through which I view life. This lens has to be inspected to make certain I haven’t tried to force others to see through it, or judge by it. It’s my lens, my direction, my intention, my purpose. We each have our own.

If we were to acknowledge that we are all given the choice to have our own lens and not apply our lenses to others, that just might be a good change, eh?

Be the change.

Setbacks

Once several personal items stack themselves upon each other, one little inconsequential thing will create in me a monumental setback.

Lightbulbs. This time it was lightbulbs.

Still not back in the swing of brick and mortar shopping, I place orders online and go to pick them up. Sometimes items are deemed unavailable for pickup and move to the shipping status.

Thus the lightbulbs arrived via delivery to the house. Plainly marked on the box – pictures of lightbulbs across the front and back – it was obvious what was being delivered.

My dad reported that he had arrived at the door to meet the delivery person, as he has the prime perch to see what happens out the front of our home. Just as he opened the door he witnessed that the driver stood 10′ from the porch and launched the box, delivering it by air mail to the porch.

What the absolute fuck?!?!

Why.

My genuine optimism, my faith in the combined struggles and overall goodness of people was blasted by this one asshole who made an intentional act of destruction at my front door.

Now, every inconvenience, insult and putdown that I’ve stuffed and dealt with has been pulled out for inspection, infusing me with smallness and weakness and… depression.

I’ll suck it up and get back to doing the most awesome best I can with the hand that’s been dealt…

First step should obviously be to contact the delivery service and complain, then return the box… but I’m paralyzed by the feelings, the reluctance to make confrontation when I feel this overwhelming underwhelm. So the unopened box sits at the receiving table near the front door to accuse me of my inabilities to deal with life.

Setback, the box of setback.