Part of Me, poem

"It is our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top"--Virginia Woolf

Photo courtesy of Chloe Drehmer

Part of Me

The house is dark and quiet,
my bedroom feels like a tomb
and for a few seconds
       I am not sure if I am awake or dreaming.

Everything is at once familiar
 but strange as if I'm seeing
 with new eyes.

I reach over
to the empty side of the bed,
remember you are working,
and feel alone.

I say morning prayers
and try to clear my mind.
I read a passage that says
there is no birth and no death.

Part of me says it's a lie
for I have felt both rip
at the sides of my heart.

Part of me understands
the meaning...
We are returned to the beginning
over and over.

How can you give birth
to something that always exists?
How can you grieve
what never dies?

I turn the Christmas tree on
and make the bed.
I need something to remind me
there will be presents and smiles.

The coffee brews and I sit alone
at the table
waiting.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

RIP Jimmy Roger Joseph LeBlond

My father was born in the remote tip of Maine...just over the border was the river of his youth.  He was a man of nature and history and loyalty to the end.  He hated liars and people that weren't thankful for the life and land they lived in.  He was a soldier, a husband, a brother, a father, and a friend to many.  He told you the truth, always.  He loved baseball and wrestling and dogs.  He was a man of the world, but more so a man of this country.

My life with him has been tentative for so many reasons.  I don't remember the very early years as he was gone by the time I was 4 years old.  My mother was hard to live with and I would learn this throughout my life.  I would eventually understand the distance between us was more because of her.

We came together again when I was 10.  He was a stranger that I wanted to know.  I had looked for him out my window for 6 years.  I waited by the mailbox on birthdays and Christmases to see if he remembered who I was.  I never got letters or cards, but I still sat there hoping.  When I was 10 he gave me a garbage bag full of letters and cards he had carefully filled out and labeled with his own return address...all with my name on them and no address to send them too.  I cannot remember this moment, ever, without crying.  I was validated as a person and a daughter.

In those years, he taught me about history, Native Americans, architecture, woodworking, painting, hard labor, games, respect, honesty, truth, how to read maps, how to laugh, fishing, hiking, fiddle head picking, and how to make an apple pie.  I learned that I was only as good as my word and behind all words there must be actions to back them up.  He told me then that he named me  Aleathia because it meant truth.  This is a name that I have done my best in life to live up to though I have not always had a voice to speak it.

In all the years that we have been speaking to each other, but especially when I was 10-12, he always used to tell me "Improvise, Adapt. Overcome.  Semper Fi".  As a child, I am not sure I really understood what that meant.  I knew he was a Marine and in Viet Nam.  I also knew that this war and everything that happened to him there would always keep some sort of steel band around his heart.  For a long time I hated the military, because I felt it stole him from me.  These were childish thoughts for a hurt child.

The toughest decision I ever had to make was when I moved away from him at age 12.  I was not sure what a future with him would mean and my mom had always been there for me despite it all.  Before I left I remember my grandmother Regina sobbing and telling me that I was going to break his heart.  I know that I did.  It was one of the worst feelings I have ever felt.  It may be the one decision in my life that I ever regret.

We stayed in touch over my years in high school and I was so thrilled when he came up to New York to watch me graduate high school with honors.  Sadly, we drifted apart after that.  I wandered around the country trying to "find myself".  I had many journeys and pitfalls, but I always got back up.  I remember reconnecting with him when he lived in Florida and I took a trip down there.  It was a great time and also when I found out that I was pregnant with my daughter Chloe.

Connections between us were hit or miss and part of me was so angry that he didn't make an effort.  I even went to counseling over the subject.  My project was to write him a heart felt letter.  I did this.  6 pages front and back and I sent it.  I never heard back from him so I expected that was my answer...that I didn't mean anything to him.  Years later I found out that he never got the letter and I had spent those years in anger for nothing.

I have to say that my renewed relationship with my father would have never emerged if it weren't for Michael.  We were at my Aunt's funeral and Michael suggested I reach out to him.  We stood outside the funeral home as he smoked and he asked me if I was happy.  I told him I was.  And he said that is very good.  We didn't talk much more and I returned back to New York.  Once home, I comiserated over how it didn't go well.  Michael told me that he felt my father loved me and just because he couldn't show me that love the way I envision it doesn't mean he doesn't love me.

From that point forward, we started writing each other letters.  We shared our lives and what we had missed.  Sometimes we just talked about the weather, but it was fulfilling.  I was again waiting by the mailbox and this time, there were letters.  In the last year or so we had moved to phone conversations and anyone that knew Pop knew he hated the phone.  I took it as a direct sign of love that he called me every week to talk.  I am going to miss that the most.

This summer, Chloe and I went home for some time with Pop that didn't involve a damn funeral.  We stayed there for 5 days and I feel like that might be the biggest present I could have ever given my daughter...the chance to meet him and know him for the great man he was.  I am happy to have shared meals with him, walked the dog with him, and watered his tomatoes.  I am happy to have good memories as my last memories.

During this trip, when no one else was around he told me that he thought I would have been a great Marine.  I had to hold back the tears because this is the highest honor he could give a person.  It meant that through the years I had Improvised, Adapted, and Overcome.  I had lived my life in some semblance of truth and honor.  That I had fought the good fight and lived to tell about it.

Pop...I am going to miss you.  I am thankful for everything you taught me.  For your quiet love, for your service to this country, for never giving up on me.

If you hear ringing...answer the phone.  I'm calling you every week.  I love you.

Healing Anger (one minute at a time)

Aleathia says:

Today I had intentions of writing about the race, but something more important showed its face.  I was vacuuming the upstairs after bringing up the empty containers from Christmas decorating.  I vacuumed in front of my shrine and wondered why I haven't been sitting more.  The holidays are always hard.  They bring up so many good and bad memories.  They bring up anger when they shouldn't.

Michael told me the other day that he feels like sometimes I need to meditate more, that sometimes he notices things get away from me emotionally and I am all over the place.  These times shift the mood of the house.  I am well aware of my skill to diffuse the house with whatever problem I am holding inside.  It seeps through everything subversively.  At the time I might think I am doing a good job of hiding it, but in truth my family just steers clear of me.  Hell, sometimes, I want to steer clear of me.

So after I put the vacuum away, I stood there looking at the shrine again.  The house was empty and silent except for the noise I was making to keep myself distracted.  I pulled my cushion out and sat down.  I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to sit for long (hip is bad from running and attention span of a gnat).  I said my dedication prayer and one of my texts caught my eye...."Healing Anger" by The Dalai Lama.  There was one dog-eared page in the book so I flipped to it and started to read.

What I read smacked me in the face and made me tear up, because the truth often does that to you.  Here is what I read:

"Genuine peace of mind is rooted in affection and compassion.  There is a very high level of sensitivity and feeling involved.  So long as we lack inner discipline, an inner calmness of mind, then no matter what external facilities or conditions we may have, they will never give us the feeling of joy and happiness that we seek.  On the other hand, if we possess this inner quality, that is calmness of mind, a degree of stability within, then even if we lack various external facilities that are normally considered necessary for a happy and joyful life, it is still possible to live a happy and joyful life."--The Dalai Lama

Now this portion did not make me tear up.  This part was affirming to say the least.  Sometimes I forget the most basic principles of living a good life clouded by distractions, failed expectations, anger, and jealousy.  These are the things that make me human, but do not make me happy.  This next part is what slayed me:

"If we examine how anger or hateful thoughts arise in us, we will find that, generally speaking, they arise when we feel hurt, when we feel that we have been unfairly treated by someone against our expectations.  If in that instant we examine carefully the way anger arises, there is a sense that it comes as a protector, comes as a friend that would help our battle or in taking revenge against the person who has inflicted harm on us.  So the anger or hateful thought that arises appears to come as a shield or a protector.  But in reality that is an illusion.  It is a very delusory state of mind."--The Dalai Lama

I realized at that moment that I have been in a state of anger for several years.  It hasn't been harsh enough until recently for me to see it in myself, but it is there.  My mother died a few years ago and part of me is not sad that she is gone because she micro-managed me all the time.  She constantly made me feel like I wasn't doing good enough or being a good mom.  It was a horrible feeling and when she passed, I knew I would never have to feel like that again at her hand.  But I was angry too. She died suddenly, most likely of an accidental overdose combined with sleep apnea, and she had denied us all a funeral.  Mourning was solitary and painful and full of so many questions.  Sometimes I am angry at myself for not letting her come to visit that Christmas before she died when we first bought the house.  It would have been the last time I got to see her, instead the last time was at a funeral.

I have leaned very little on my faith over the last few years.  In part, I think I have wanted to punish myself...to not allow myself a way of understanding and healing for everything in my life.  I am not sure I can carry those burdens anymore.  My anger is evident to me.  My lack of compassion for the world is painful and unbecoming.

My anger has also come at work.  I have to say that I have felt betrayed in some way.  This could be real or imagined, but my state of mind at the time didn't help but to further the anger along.  Deep down I have been hurting and hiding.  This is something I learned long ago when no one was ever there for me when I had times of pain, sorrow, and disappointment.  I knew that I could count on myself...that I always had my own back.

But now I have people that love me.  Michael always has my back...and my heart in mind.  He is a strength that I rarely tap into, because I am afraid of how ugly my insides are sometimes.  It isn't fair to him or to my darling child to hide inside myself.  It isn't fair to my co-workers who have had to put up with my very disconnected attitude.  Healing always starts from within.  A person has to be willing to heal, willing to let people in, and decide to see the light in the world. I think this is my time.  I hope this is my time.

Thank you for listening.

Fall Apart, Come Together

Aleathia says:

Yesterday was pretty interesting....unexpected.  My friend Vicki gave me a ride home from work because I wanted to make sure Michael had the car for his 5 am shift.  She drove me home after an uneventful shift at work and sitting in my driveway we had a good old fashioned bitch session. It didn't make me feel better or worse about what we were discussing until the end.

Vicki said to me that in the end we are not obligated to the manager or the senior leadership, in the end we are obligated to the patient.  We are obligated to take care of them and care for them.  I sat there with that a minute.  I took it with me while I ate breakfast, while I fed the dog, while I took a shower, and as I fell asleep.  It was there when I woke up.

That evening Chloe came home from her father's and was kind of douchey.  Before she went to bed I called her out on it and she told me that her father had wanted her to string the lights on the Christmas tree this year and she was super proud to be able to get to do it.  She told me that he proceeded to criticize how she did it and then in the end, in front of her, took down all the lights she had strung and put them back up himself.  She told me she went in the bathroom to cry and he picked on her.  His obligation as a parent is to nurture and love her.  His obligation is to take care of her.

We stood in the hallway having cleared the air and she went to bed more sure of herself and with the knowledge that our tree would be more fun and less stressful.

Later that night, Michael and I had a few beers and started talking.  I talked about what Vicki had said and about what happened to Chloe.  I told him I am at the point in my job where I hate going there.  I feel on edge and burnt out and brimming with compassion fatigue.  Michael was good enough to remind me that there must be something wrong with me, because the conditions at my job hardly ever change and that he notices sometimes when I am centered and feeling strong the job never matters, but when something is wrong, it matters a lot.

I sat there with it trying not to cry in the bar.

I love this man so much.  He never lets me fall on my face or take for granted that I have all the control in the world over how I see and move through the universe.  I feel lost and I am not sure why. I do know that I have jumped on the wheel of samsara again and so here I spin around and around getting no where.  It might just be time to jump off again and find a place to sit.

Catch Me If You Can, I'm the Gingerbread Man

Aleathia says:

My first ever 5k race is quickly approaching.  This summer I started out with a couch to 5k program because for my whole life, even as a kid, I did not like running.  Why bother to run you ask?  This is a great question.

I had to think about it for a long time.  Why after a lifetime of not running do I want to start running at age 42?  I think there were a lot of subversive reasons for starting.  So many of my co-workers run and go off to events with each other.  They have this whole other life that I was not included in because I didn't run.  Most of the time I am not a joiner.  I have been a go at my own pace, loner type person for a long time.  Deep down like every other human in the world, I desire to belong to something.  I want acceptance.  I want to fit in.  Also as I age I am beginning to find that I am facing potential health problems that if not taken care of now, will render me pretty poor in the future.

I have rheumatoid arthritis, a thyroid problem, an ovarian problem, and a weight problem.  This combination creates pain of all kinds, blood pressure problems, and systemic stresses.  I hate taking medication and with all of these problems the medicines have started to find their way into my life and my body.  Frankly, it gives me the creeps.  I know, I work in the healthcare field, and maybe this is why it bothers me so much.  I see people younger than me who have just let life go and are on 20 medications.  It isn't the life I want to set before me.

I also wanted to prove something to myself.  For years I have told myself that I CAN'T run.  I'm too old or too fat or too arthritic.  This is not the attitude I was raised to have.  This is not the attitude I want to raise my daughter with.....if it's too hard, just give up.  This is not an option.

When I started running I was afraid of many things.  I was afraid I would have a stroke.  I was afraid of pain.  I was afraid people would judge me.  I was afraid to be secretly made fun of.  I was afraid of giving up under the pressure of it all.  But something amazing happened.

My running family at work is just that....a family.  Never once did they look at me funny when I started running.  Every one of them was there to encourage me to keep going, to keep trying.  I have lacked this sort of faithful encouragement my whole life.  If you look at me, I am not a runner, but never did the seasoned runners at work say a bad word.  If anything, they gave me hope.

Runners are a different breed of human.  They have to love and hate themselves at the same time because running hurts.  You use muscles you never knew you had.  The pain is sometimes so unbearable yet I find myself saying "one more block" or "five more minutes" because that is what Michelle would do or Stephanie would do or Karen would do.  They have been my champions. They have helped me fall in love with something that is teaching me about my own body, about my strengths and weaknesses, about my mental health, and how to be together with a history of people while still being very alone.

When I run, no matter where I run, people say things like "keep it up" or "great job".  It makes me want to push harder and achieve more.  It gives me a strength of spirit that I never expected.  Every run is a learning experience.  Every run I find my groove, sort of like Stella, but in a different way.

The Selfless Elf 5K is to benefit the Food Bank of the Southern Tier and as of today it has over 800 runners signed up.  We will be running to feed the people of our community and I can't think of a better thing to run for.  If you run or walk, you can still sign up to participate.

Richard Renaldi, Photographer

Aleathia says:

A week or so ago something ran through my FB feed.  You know how it goes...a constant stream of videos and meems and political opinions.  Mostly I skip over things if I look at all anymore.  It can be a complete mind suck at times.  However, there was a video posted from a major news network about a photographer named Richard Renaldi who went around the country taking pictures of strangers, together.

The concept is to place two or more complete strangers walking down the street in a photo together and have it seem as if they know each other.  The anxiety around this concept is palpable to me.  I can put myself in their places and understand what it must be like to put all of your beliefs and values...all your prejudices aside for a few moments and take this picture.

Many times these articles don't stick with me long enough to bring them to you.  Many times it is only momentarily inspiring, fleeting.  But I have been thinking about these photos, about these people and thought it would be something more people should see.

Richard Renaldi is a Chicago native who obtained a BFA in Photography from New York University. He has had his work shown all over the world and this year he was named a John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Fund Fellow.  You can visit his website for a listing of his shows and access to more of his collections.

Now I am proud to present some of Richard Renaldi's photographs from "Touching Strangers":

Andrea and Lillie, Chicago, 2013

Annalee and Rayqa, San Francisco, 2012

Chris and Amaira, Chicago, 2013

Ekeabong and Andrew, Venice, 2013

Elaine and Arly, New York, 2012

Hunter, Margaret, and Abigail, New York, 2013

Tari, Shawn, and Summer, Los Angeles, 2012

Every Road Has An Ending, poem

Every Road Has An Ending

Early morning rain spreads a sheen
over the new blacktop the city laid down
this summer after digging gas lines
through the neighborhood.

It smells of wet leaves
and mushrooms,
of endings and church bells,
of memories best left in the ground.

My legs move me up the hill,
heavy and tired, but still finding
the electrical impulses to fly one foot
ahead of the other. I feel all my years
on this earth in the bones of my grinding right hip.

I'm surrounded by gold leaves
and the sun warms the back of my head
without asking. The hills come alive for a minute,
surfacing beneath clouds that threaten
more rain and this makes me think of you.

You who've I've not consciously brought to mind in months,
you who I can't find in my heart to forgive for both living and dying,
for you who has left me in limbo one last time.

My nose runs and my eyes water
captured here, sun warmed and heart cold,
waiting for the winter gray that will swallow me
whole
again
and keep me from living in the moments
that matter most.

Aleathia Drehmer 2015

Spinning Wheels

Aleathia says:

This Sunday was a hard shift...busy and acute and short handed, but this is nothing new.  Night shift is notorious for doing more with so much less.  Those of us who brave it, who commit to the lifestyle understand we are a different breed of human.  We sleep when the sun is up (if we sleep at all), we are bossy and courageous, we hardly get time to eat or go to the bathroom, and we often laugh away the pain we feel every second we are at work.  It is hard to explain to day people...to "normal" folk because it is something you have to live.  It sinks into your bones and replicates.

When I set out to be a nurse I had a plan for myself.  I started on the night shift because it was available and because I decided it afforded me the most time with my child.  I would miss the sleeping hours and the school hours.  For the last 12 years this has worked for me, but as my body gets older and my patience a little shorter, I find it harder and harder to work the shift.  I love the ER and I have really put my blood, sweat, and tears into the place.  My mind is always cranking out ideas on how we could make it better and more efficient....how it could be a better place for everyone that works there.

In the last few months, there was talk of maybe adding an assistant manager to the unit and that position would encompass much of the work I already do for my boss outside of my job duties.  I have loved doing this extra work because it meant I was helping my manager who really wants great things for us and it gave me a sense of passion about moving forward.  In my mind, I know I could do this position.  I have certain strengths that would elevate what my manager is already doing.  I have a certain gift for organization and numbers, but this morning, reality set in.

The position requires the person to be an RN, preferably a BSN, or on the degree track with attainment in a set amount of time.  I knew this a month ago, but I really had pulled the wool over my own eyes thinking the world was a different place and that the experience, passion, and groundwork already achieved would be enough.  It isn't.

It sort of crushed me today to realize that what I have to offer doesn't mean anything to upper management because I don't have a string of letters behind my name.  I could get a degree, but I don't want it just to make someone else happy.  I also don't want to be on the fast track to run the unit.  In this phase of my life I want to be working towards more time with my family, not less.  I cried a little today understanding that my inherent gifts can't be validated.

I have never been the one to fit in anyway.  I have been on the fringe of everything for my lifetime. I'm generally an observer and this time I threw myself out into the center ring.  Sometimes you have to jump.  Sometimes you fall.  My reactionary heart got the best of me today.  I was angry at so many things.  I wanted to quit my job.  I wanted to stop doing all the extra things I do and I still might.  I miss taking care of patients.  I miss having that little section of the unit that is my bubble and I can concentrate on giving great care instead of running around trying to keep the unit together.

I just want to have a full life...not full of just one thing over the other, but a well rounded and loving life.  In the end, as much as I would have wanted that position, it is a blessing to not be in the running for it.  This means I get to jump off the wheel a bit and keep focus on what truly matters....love and life and my two best people in the world who never let me down.

I Am A Mother of a Teenage Daughter...and I Love It.

Aleathia says:

Holy Hannah!  It has been over a month since I posted, but not without great reason.  Life has been happening people, lots and lots of life.  I have been taking online courses to further my education at work.  They aren't official classes in the sense I get credit for them, but what does that matter anyway if I learn and retain the knowledge?  Does it only count if I have a piece of paper?  Wouldn't it count more if I could actually use the knowledge at work and share it with others?

I am still running, or what I call running, despite a few muscle strains.  I run when I tell myself I can't.  I run when I want to and when I need to.  I don't go more than 2 miles most of the time, but each time I run more of that 2 miles is running rather than walking which I find to be an accomplishment.

We have been having dog problems of the worst kind.  Diarrhea in the house...repeatedly, which leads to anger which leads to the ugliest part of me pushing to the surface.  It really has showed me how easy it is to lose my compassion in the face of samsara.  I can hear myself yelling over things the dog cannot control.  I feel myself have guilt, but still not shut my mouth.  I had to go running the one day to think about things.  Marshall was abandoned and then imprisoned and we saved him.  It took him a long time to really trust that we were going to keep him.  It took a long time to show the physical extent of his separation anxiety which in the beginning was howling and a bit of pacing.  It is now full on loss of bodily functions.  Part of me wanted to take the easy road and take him back to the pound.  The other part of me understands what it is like to be abandoned and yelled at all the time for things you don't understand.  All he knows is that we are his pack and he is lonely when we aren't here.  I get that.  I am lonely when my family isn't around either.  So, we (more me) have come up with a plan: more activity, probiotics, and less vocalization one way or the other about good and bad. Bad attention is still attention as far as he is concerned.  It has been a journey...a messy, stinky journey.

I have been filling my life with work and sewing and reading and crafts.  It seems like there is not enough time in the day to squeeze all this life in.  In addition to that I am still trying to be a great girlfriend and a great mom.  I'm trying to not burn out at work, but feeling less successful at that then all the rest.  I have been doing the same thing for the last 8 years with the only change being it is getting busier and more stressful.  People are leaving and moving on.  I just don't want to get bitter in my job.  I love what I do, it is just overwhelming most of the time.

Which brings me to the topic of conversation....teenage daughter.  I have to tell you that through all the years I have heard mothers bitch about teenagers and how horrible it is to parent them.  I tried my best when I was a teenager to be good.  I am sure I added a few gray hairs to my mother's head, but for the most part I was good.  I worked, got good grades, didn't drink or do drugs, was involved in plays and choirs and sports, and I did volunteer work.  I had a messy room, but I did chores and at one point was a caregiver to my infirmed mother at the age of 14 when no one else would help.  In essence, I didn't have time to be a teenager.  I went from kid to adult, but it suited me for the most part.  I was always older and quieter in my heart.

I have spent all of Chloe's life trying to raise her with respect, honesty, kindness, and individuality. These were things not given to me as a child.  I was given fear, authority, loneliness, and a be like everyone else attitude.  I never had a voice or an opinion.  Chloe is different from the other kids at school.  She knows she is and in the beginning I thought she may have had a social disorder.  She had all the signs on paper, but in the end it was a case of late blooming.  She is turning into this wonderful young lady who is respectful, kind, smart, funny, and sometimes eager to move on to bigger and better things.  Michael has been a great influence on the shaping of my little girl.  He was and always will be the "cool kid" that I never was and has such a way of presenting the world that makes Chloe take notice.  She looks up to him and I love that.

I love this time in her life where she is blooming and growing and discovering what it is she wants out of life when she leaves here.  In history class, she has to pick current event topics and the things she chooses makes me proud...makes me know that she is listening when we have our dinner talks about what is going on in the world.  Most of all I am happy that she loves talking to me and sharing her world with me honestly and openly.  She gives me the opportunity to share my life experiences with her in a way that might influence how she makes decisions for her own future.  I have always been brutally honest with her and in my heart I feel like she respects me for that.

In a time when so many of my friends are having horror stories to share about their teenagers, I feel lucky and blessed and so happy that I made the choices I did when she was younger.  It is always a risk.  You never know if how your captain the ship will end in stormy weather or not.  I hope we stay the course and keep moving forward in positive ways.  Life isn't perfect and she makes mistakes, but I always tell her that it is the mistakes we make that give us the best opportunity to learn if we have the courage to look at it that way.  We are not perfect.  That is such an unattainable idea, but we do have in us the ability to give the best we can do right now.  Life is an ever changing journey.  There is a rotation between ups and downs and we have to not get too lost in either of them so that we see the wonder there is in both.

9/7/2015 Run, Run as Fast as You Can

Aleathia says:

Wow.  It has been a long time since I have posted something and an even longer time since I actually fired up the computer and not my phone.  Summer has been interesting.  It has mostly been filled with sewing, sprinkled with television and gardening, and enjoying my family.  But most interestingly is that I have started running.

(crickets)

I KNOW!

I have never been a runner.  I have been the girl with the art pad or the book in the corner watching other people play sports or do what normal kids do.  It isn't that I don't like to play sports or be active, but that I have always been a bit lacking in the grace department as well as the confidence department.   This makes sports a bit awkward.

Most of the girls at work partake in running....they do half and full marathons, they run 5K's, they run the Ragnar, they get muddy at the Warrior.  I see all of the pictures and I think about the fun I am missing, about the friendships I am not building because I am sitting at home.  I feel left out.

I know that running is a strange sport.  You are the only one who can make yourself move forward, yet you can run in groups while still maintaining your own individual mountain to climb.  Running has scared me on so many levels with failure being on the top of the list...embarrassment very closely behind.  So why did I chose to start it?

My life has been littered with deaths in the last 5 years, as I have mentioned before, and most recently my step-father was killed in an accident.  Both he and my mother induced the most amount of fear in me in my life.  They made me want to hold back.  Now they are both gone and I realize that I don't have to fear them and most importantly I don't have to fear life.

I set out to use the couch to 5K app on my phone.  I thought I would try it.  If I failed at it, at least I wasn't too afraid to try.  At least I didn't give up on myself before I started like I usually do.  I completed my third run yesterday.  My legs didn't fall off.  I didn't have an asthma attack.  I didn't feel embarrassed about the way my extra weight shimmies with every foot fall.  This alone is a personal accomplishment.

I won't lie, the runner's high is pretty awesome and the way my muscles burn makes me feel more alive than anything I have done in a long time.  My goal is to run the Selfless Elf 5K in December with the rest of my ER girls.  It is hard to visualize me running it based on where I am right now, but I am going to do it.  I have to do it.  Just for me.

7/22/2015 Going Home, Part 2

Aleathia says:

I returned this week from a trip to my hometown to see my Pop and his wife Carol as well as my Meem.  This was the first long trip I have taken with my dear Chloe since she was about 10 years old. It was a fun time in the car playing alternating choices in music. She endured my old folks music and I made it through an entire CD of Pierce the Veil without vomiting. There was some great crossover likes with Green Day, The White Stripes, and The Postal Service. She even sang along to some Aretha Franklin and only looked at me slightly weird when I played The Smiths.  We had time to talk and laugh and just hang out together without the pressures of regular life.  I think we really needed this; I really needed this.

We were supposed to stay at Meem's house, but my Pop really wanted us to stay with him so we chose that option instead.  It was probably for the best because my grandmother has a bit of a hoarding problem and it was evident when I went over there and she answered the door in a sweat and was trying to pick up her space so we could actually walk in the house.  I had feared this would happen, but what can I do when I live 6 hours away?  My mother had helped her originally pare down and keep it down, but over the year and a half she had fallen back to her old ways.  Most of the living spaces were just cluttered, but the kitchen was an atrocity.  Both Chloe and I had to hold back the tears at how our beloved Meem was living.  No 82 year old should have to be like this.

Despite all of this, she looked to be in good health and good spirits for turning 82.  Both Chloe and I jumped right in and started to clean.  This has to be done with a delicate hand when you are working with a hoarder.  They have a strange attachment to things of no personal value.  It has nothing to do with the items as much as it is the blanket that covers them, the hoard keeps them safe from the outside world.  I told her everything I was going to do before I did it.  I asked her advice when making rearrangements and as we went further into the hoard she was more and more willing. It took me 4 hours to redo her pantry which is no bigger than a small walk in closet.  It took me at least 4-6 more hours to do the rest of the cupboards in her kitchen.  When I left, her dishes were clean and all her walk ways were cleared up.  My biggest fear was her falling in the night and no one would ever know it because she doesn't often answer the phone or the door. When we were done, she thanked me for unburying her, for being so kind with her things, and considerate of her unusual collection of empty yogurt cups.  Most of her food was expired and I told her that she needed to be careful before she ate anything.  We would have needed a therapist if we were throwing the food away.

On her 82nd birthday we were going to take her out to dinner, but Pop and Carol suggested we have her over for a cook out.  We made chicken, hot dogs, hamburgers, baked beans, salad, potato salad and the neighbor made her a pumpkin birthday cake.  Just a small amount of my Pop's family came along with a few of their neighbors. The weather was perfect.  Meem was so surprised when we came out of the apartment with a candle lit and everyone sang her Happy Birthday. She was unusually outgoing and talkative.  She had a certain glow about her.  When I was walking her to the car to take her home she told me in all her years it was the best birthday party she had ever had. Tears brimmed in my eyes as well as Chloe's and it felt so good to be human and vulnerable and compassionate at that moment.  Meem has been my heart for so long.  Her quiet love and understanding one of the most beautiful things I have ever known.  It was my personal honor that she had such a great night and that this gathering of people gave her a feeling of warmth and confidence.

Chloe and I had plenty of time to spend with Pop and Carol.  We had been working on our relationship for a few years now, but it is different to spend physical time with someone.  I was especially happy that my daughter got to spend time with her grandparents and get to know them as she has not really had the opportunity.  This is my fault in great part and the other part was sometimes distance and time.  I should have made more of an effort and I didn't, but from this step we take another.

There were lots of times of laughter and so many early mornings (6 am is NOT sleeping in!) and good food. I took Chloe to the best hot dog stand I know...Buster's!!

There were walks with the dog and teaching them how to use the computer and beautiful, comfortable silence that only happens with people you love.

Geocaching Horseshoe Falls-DNF

Geocaching Baldwin Park-Yay we found one!

Geocaching Terryville Waterwheel-DNF

Recently, Chloe and I started geocaching.  For those of you not in the know, it is like treasure hunting without treasure.  It is often physically and mentally demanding (especially if you are directionally challenged).  It takes patience and perseverance. When you find it, you feel elated and high and so proud of yourself.  When we don't find the cache we are a bit disappointed but hell if it doesn't make me want to go back.  It is like knowing you are standing next to the red X on the ground and just can't see it.  It makes me feel alive for some reason.  I drag Chloe along even when she doesn't want to because two sets of eyes are better than one and hell if we all couldn't use a little more exercise.

Because of my close proximity to Massachusetts, I was able to meet up with my Forked Road mate, my 555 publisher Joseph Bouthiette Jr.  We had been friends for years on the internet and more than once he has pushed me to write when I thought there was nothing left in the tank.  He was just as fun and quirky in person as he has been online.  He is a man with so much knowledge and drive and has a head full of ideas that often baffle me and move me to explore my own mind.  It was fun to share a dinner experience with him and his lady Kaylee.  My kiddo was even more outgoing than usual and asked him questions.  Normally she sits there like a silent partner.  It was good to see her have a bit more confidence in herself.  It also means Joe was cool as hell to bring this out in her.

We decided in the end to come home early.  It was blistering hot in Connecticut and I missed Michael so much.  I missed my home and my dog and my garden and the view from my sidewalk.  I missed my bed and my routines.  There is nothing like visiting your hometown, but nothing better than going home. There is nothing like having the opportunity to have a place you love so much you can't stand to be away.  I have longed for this my whole life.  I finally have it.  I feel like a million bucks.  I feel blessed as hell.

7/12/2015 Going Home

Aleathia says:

This week I prepare to go home for the first time since my mother died.  I hadn't really had time to think about what that means to me until today.  I am not exactly sure how I will feel about seeing all the familiar sights of home knowing that I won't have to wait 3 hours for my mom to get ready to go anywhere or smell her perfume or hear her incessant talking about whatever squirrels her brain.  This isn't a sad trip by any means.  It is a trip of new beginnings which can be just as scary as sorrow.  I'm opening my heart to whatever comes my way.

I turned 42 this year and the true meaning of life reveals itself when we are ready to see it.  I am blessed in so many ways.  I have nothing to complain about though I usually can find things to blather on about when I'm not mindful.  I'm hoping to DO as little as possible this time around and enjoy what summer has to offer as it offers itself.

This year my Meem will be turning 82 years old.  I know her days are numbered as she reaches the sunset of her life and I have looked up to this woman my whole life.  She has always been my rock; a silent partner of courage.  It will be great to see her again and I hope she has been doing well.  I call, but she hardly ever answers the phone.  That is just how she is...mostly silent and wise and very happy to be in her own company for long periods of time.

This trip will be the first time my Pop has had a chance to get to know his grand-daughter, really know her as a person.  Their encounters in recent history have been awkward exchanges at funerals or when she was too young to really remember.  I hope it is the beginning of a wonderful relationship, because he is a pretty amazing man.  The stories of his adventures in this great country have always seemed fantastical to me.  He is a man of patience and perseverance.  He is honest to a fault.  He is a man of quiet love.  All the best things in my life I have learned from him despite our scattered time together over the years.  Many people talk a good game, he just lives one.

This trip will be about spending time with family, laughing, talking, and sharing ourselves in an honest way.  I might even get to meet a few friends whom I have known online and who I have collaborated with as a writer.  Who knows....we might even work some geocaching in there too.

7/3/2015 Liliana Porter, artist

Aleathia says:

It is the wee hours of the morning and for some reason I cannot sleep and do not feel like myself. Maybe it is the dregs of this full moon phase pulling me in theoretical directions.  One cannot be sure. So like all good modern folk, I started to troll social media and remembered that I had a Tumblr account.  I thought it would be good to see what was floating around in the art world that I had not yet seen.

I came across a post from someone in my feed about an artist named Liliana Porter.  I am often not sure what attracts me to certain kinds of art and I love how the brain is so independent in that way.  Liliana Porter is an artist originally from Argentina but has been living in NYC since 1964.  Her work takes on several different medias including photography, works on paper, works on canvas, and installation art.  When I started looking through her gallery of work I could not help but miss Cy Twombly.  There is something about the vast amount of white in her work and the way images are placed on the canvas that give me the same delight as Twombly's work does.  I was lucky enough to see an installation of Twombly sculptures in Chicago several years ago.  It was also heavy on the white.

If you would like to read more about Liliana Porter you can visit her website.

Here is her artist's statement:

"In the last years, parallel to photography and video, I have been making works on canvas, prints, drawings, collages, and small installations. Many of these pieces depict a cast of characters that are inanimate objects, toys and figurines that I find in flea markets, antique stores, and other odd places. The objects have a double existence. On the one hand they are mere appearance, insubstantial ornaments, but, at the same time, have a gaze that can be animated by the viewer, who, through it, can project the inclination to endow things with an interiority and identity. These "theatrical vignettes" are constructed as visual comments that speak of the human condition. I am interested in the simultaneity of humor and distress, banality and the possibility of meaning."

Works on Paper

Works on Canvas

Installations