Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Downward Spirels
Many, many years ago when I was in grade school, I attended a Parochial school. Rumor had it that from this elementary school came the "smartest" kids of the 3 elementary schools that made up our High School. I don't think that this was anything statistically proven, but being I attended this school, I always heard this. The method of teaching in this school worked well for most kids.
I started out one of 52(!) first graders. I remember very little about the first few years there, but it was likely easy for a little girl to remain anonymous, so things were OK for awhile. I think I was hard-wired a shy introvert, but on top of that, I operated best then and now at slow speed. I also grew up in an alcoholic home where, I have learned, that feeling invisible is not uncommon. I probably felt secure being anonymous since that is what I was used to. My problems came when the class dwindled down to a tolerable number of students and I was noticed.
In my school, when anyone was instructed to read aloud in any subject, they had to stand up at their desk. I don't suppose this bothered anyone else, but it made me feel conspicuous. This simple case of stage fright made made me stumble over the words, which made the stage fright escalate into something akin to panic. This, of course, made stumble even more.
Then someone decided that our school needed to adapt a self-paced, reading program called SRA. At a certain time each day we all picking up our color coded folders for each level of ability. I don't remember what the highest color level was, but the lowest level was bright orange. The color on the folder with my reading material in it seemed like a neon light! I felt like everyone could see that I was on the lowest level, and I felt stupid. The folders contained cards with stories written on them, and after the stories were questions about the story testing your comprehension and speed of your reading. I don't remember how we were timed, but I always ran out of it. Sometimes I didn't even have time to finish the story. Consequently, I didn't answer any of the questions, and technically got them all wrong. When I was able to finish I did answer some questions, they were always correct, but I couldn't move on until met all the requirements. I was on the orange level for a long time.
Thinking back on all this now, I believe my low self esteem came from my grade school reading experience. I came to believe that slowness equaled stupidity. We live in a fast-paced world. My slowness caused fear that others were always judging me poorly. That fear caused me to fail and that failure caused me to feel so uncomfortable that I didn't want to be around people. All of this probably added to my poor employment record, which brought on shame that I felt like I could not take care of myself financially-like a "normal" person.
My life suddenly makes sense! I have uncovered where the shame I have been carrying with me for years came from. I think this may be a major breakthrough for me as much as realizing that my Higher Power was there by my side through it all.
Friday, February 20, 2015
And the Dream Means...
I have always paid attention to my dreams, sometimes for deeper meanings, or, if for nothing deep comes to mind, they make for interesting story ideas. Dreams are by nature irrational and scattered. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, so to speak.
Not long ago I dreamed that I was on a long airline flight with people I knew well enough to be comfortable with but I didn't know who they were. I also couldn't tell you where I was going. I saw a vision in the dream of what seemed to be a picture that represented my life. Everyone on the plane had a picture of their lives too. Each one of us on the plane, including myself. Had to take a portion of that picture, like a piece from a jigsaw puzzle, with them. That's about all I remember of it, now. I awoke thinking "hmmm, that was interesting" and dismissed it.
But then I had that same dream again last night, I woke up and took notice. This one was a little different. The flight legnth was the same but the since the plane was smaller, the trip was longer. This time I remember being more annoyed with the whole thing more than I was in the previous dream. There were people bowling in the aisle, for some reason and I was trying to get a smart-phone to work. But the same nondescript people were there, and we all had to take that puzzle piece of our lives with us. I saw a thumb and for finger peal a piece of the puzzle out.
I have absolutely no training in dream interpretation, but, hey its my dream, I can interpenetrate it how I like. Right?
This is how I see it. Having the second dream means that I didn't pay attention to whatever the message was before and now it has become more urgent. I think that both planes represent a confined space that means stress of some sort, and the "trip" is not endless. I need to be patient, whatever the stressful situation is it will not last forever. When I saw the jigsaw puzzle of life, I simply knew it was a little piece of hell in our lives we must take with us wherever we go. The thumb and forefinger means we have a choice of what little piece of hell we take with us.
Be patient, this too shall pass. And, by the way, you can't run away from yourself. Life will never be perfectly blissful. OK, Higher Power, I get it now.
Not long ago I dreamed that I was on a long airline flight with people I knew well enough to be comfortable with but I didn't know who they were. I also couldn't tell you where I was going. I saw a vision in the dream of what seemed to be a picture that represented my life. Everyone on the plane had a picture of their lives too. Each one of us on the plane, including myself. Had to take a portion of that picture, like a piece from a jigsaw puzzle, with them. That's about all I remember of it, now. I awoke thinking "hmmm, that was interesting" and dismissed it.
But then I had that same dream again last night, I woke up and took notice. This one was a little different. The flight legnth was the same but the since the plane was smaller, the trip was longer. This time I remember being more annoyed with the whole thing more than I was in the previous dream. There were people bowling in the aisle, for some reason and I was trying to get a smart-phone to work. But the same nondescript people were there, and we all had to take that puzzle piece of our lives with us. I saw a thumb and for finger peal a piece of the puzzle out.
I have absolutely no training in dream interpretation, but, hey its my dream, I can interpenetrate it how I like. Right?
This is how I see it. Having the second dream means that I didn't pay attention to whatever the message was before and now it has become more urgent. I think that both planes represent a confined space that means stress of some sort, and the "trip" is not endless. I need to be patient, whatever the stressful situation is it will not last forever. When I saw the jigsaw puzzle of life, I simply knew it was a little piece of hell in our lives we must take with us wherever we go. The thumb and forefinger means we have a choice of what little piece of hell we take with us.
Be patient, this too shall pass. And, by the way, you can't run away from yourself. Life will never be perfectly blissful. OK, Higher Power, I get it now.
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Southside Story
Now for something really different! I wrote this story many years ago for a creative writing class in college. I type this whole damn thing (I hate typing) to share with you because I thought we all can use a break from my usual mind numbing ruminations. Hope you find it amusing!
Being that Mr. and Mrs. Christian decided it was their calling to do something for the good of humanity. They purchased an old, limestone house that they intended to fix up and rent out. The house happened to be large enough to cut in half and make it into a duplex. If it was a duplex, they could help twice the number of families and make twice as much money. Mrs.Christian said they felt like it was the right thing to do because the people of Southside needed proper housing.
The neighbors of President street had seen all of this before. Something about the old limestone house seemed to attract do-good-ers who opened their to some of the strangest people in Southside,.
Before the Christians bought the house, a slightly obese, dark haired man about 19 used to hang out there. He always wore the same thing, baggy cut-off jeans and and a torn white t-shirt. He would spend all day just riding a bicycle in circles in front of the house, all the while holding a large radio on his shoulder that played loud music.
Another, who frequented the limestone house, was a tall blond kid who always seemed to have a deranged grin on his face. He had four upper, front teeth missing which made him look like a vampire. His favorite pastime seemed to be chasing people up and down the street.
When the Christians rented the place, a whole new dimension came to Southside.
Southside is the part of town that time forgot--and so did any urban renewal project. In fact, it is the place where urban renewal refugees came to live.
Some of the neighbors have called this place home for decades. The neighbors stick together, especially when it comes to complaining. They have all seen the neighborhood go under, and all have their own story to tell about it.
Wilma Anderson has lived next to the old limestone house for 35 years. She has spent many sleepless nights because of the noise and steady stream of people coming from there at all hours. She works with Mrs. Christian at the nursing home. Mrs. Christian goes out of her way to avoid Wilma.
The Waggoner's, on the west side of the house, were hosts to a police shoot out on their own front porch awhile back.
All the neighbors have had a battery stolen from their car. If they had two cars they lost two batteries. There is a battery store in the neighborhood that advertises "hot batteries".
Doug and Ginger Davis are the youngest of the neighbors. They purchased the large, green house across the street from the old limestone house, shortly after their marriage a few years ago. The real estate ad called it a "stately older home" and the stary-eyed newlyweds thought it was. They bought the house in the Spring when the yard was filled with violets and the little city park behind the house was quiet.
What they didn't know is that in the summer that park overflowed with kids. The kids would get so loud that the Davis' would have to yell just to hear each other, even if they were standing in their kitchen. They were always greeted by the words "f*** you" spray painted on the shelter house wall that they could see from the window. Those were fitting words when you consider the activities that took place on the picnic tables.
One night, after hearing a sound that Ginger didn't hear, Doug looked out of the window. There, under a streetlight, he saw a man merrily wrenching under the hood of a neighbors car. Since it wasn't the neighbor, Doug called the police The police station is only five minutes away from Southside. Doug knew from experience that it would take them a half an hour to get there. He told them what was happening and that he intended to do something about it himself.
Doug quickly pulled on some shorts, grabbed their antique Civil War saber and headed out the door. It was quite a scene there in the false moonlight. Here was this skinny, half naked kid with a long sword, acting like the neighborhood avenger. Startled, the thief yelled "honky!"at Doug and threw the wrench. Then he dropped the battery and disappeared across the park. Doug then discovered that the battery was gone from his car too. He found it stashed under a picnic table in the park.
The neighbors had somewhat gotten used to loud car radios piercing the night, but the sound always brought Doug to the window. People driving loud and rusty cars would often come to the limestone house, stay a few minutes and then rumble away again. They announced their arrival and departure with long irritating honks.
One Monday night, Doug and Ginger were awakened by loud inner-city rappin' . At first they thought the sound radiated from the house across the street. But when they got up to look they saw a man completely naked except for his black boots. He was yelling and stomping across the front porch of the limestone house. His boots made a hollow sound sound as he marched to the rhythem of his own chant. He rapped "I'm out braggin' and my dicks a waggin', I've gotta big black butt and I wanna f***.!" He was soon coaxed into the house by someone saying "Be cool, someone's gonna call the cops, man." By that time it was too late, someone already had. Surprisingly, within minutes three police cars pulled up in front of the house. Six uniformed officers and a plain clothed-man stormed the house and disappeared into the house. Someone shouted from inside, "someone call more police, they are fightin' in here." Apparently no one called more police likely because the neighbors thought that if seven of the city's finest couldn't handle one crazed man there was no hope for the rest of them. About ten minutes later the police came out carrying the large man like pallbearers carrying a casket and took him away in the cruiser.
All the commotion woke up the neighbors, and they all came out to watch. Mr. Waggoner said that a for sale sign was going up in his yard tomorrow. Wilma said that the next time she sees Mrs. Christian she's gonna tell her all about what fine upstanding citizens they rented the house to.
For a few days after the event, the neighbors buzzed again about how this is their home and they shouldn't have to put up with that stuff. Mr Waggoner didn't put his house up for sale. But aside from that, things got pretty much back to normal. As normal as things usually get in Southside anyway.
Then, one evening about a week after the event at the limestone house, Ginger kept smelling smoke. While pulling down the window shades, she exclaimed "My God, the house across the street is on fire." Before she could get the words out, she heard the scream of sirens exploding down President Street. The flames shot 12 feet from the roof and windows. The orange flames licked the sky and singed the young leaves on the tree limbs high above. The cool spring air felt warmer. Half the people in Southside came out for the entertainment. It was like a carnival.
The neighbors all gathered in the Davis' front yard. Soon the Christians appeared. They all watched in silence for awhile, then Mr. Waggoner said "Its just too bad that limestone doesn't burn" and walked slowly back to his house. Well, I guess that ends that", Wilma said. "The Lord giveths and the Lord taketh away", Mrs.Christian said. Doug and Ginger just nodded.
Southside Story
Being that Mr. and Mrs. Christian decided it was their calling to do something for the good of humanity. They purchased an old, limestone house that they intended to fix up and rent out. The house happened to be large enough to cut in half and make it into a duplex. If it was a duplex, they could help twice the number of families and make twice as much money. Mrs.Christian said they felt like it was the right thing to do because the people of Southside needed proper housing.
The neighbors of President street had seen all of this before. Something about the old limestone house seemed to attract do-good-ers who opened their to some of the strangest people in Southside,.
Before the Christians bought the house, a slightly obese, dark haired man about 19 used to hang out there. He always wore the same thing, baggy cut-off jeans and and a torn white t-shirt. He would spend all day just riding a bicycle in circles in front of the house, all the while holding a large radio on his shoulder that played loud music.
Another, who frequented the limestone house, was a tall blond kid who always seemed to have a deranged grin on his face. He had four upper, front teeth missing which made him look like a vampire. His favorite pastime seemed to be chasing people up and down the street.
When the Christians rented the place, a whole new dimension came to Southside.
Southside is the part of town that time forgot--and so did any urban renewal project. In fact, it is the place where urban renewal refugees came to live.
Some of the neighbors have called this place home for decades. The neighbors stick together, especially when it comes to complaining. They have all seen the neighborhood go under, and all have their own story to tell about it.
Wilma Anderson has lived next to the old limestone house for 35 years. She has spent many sleepless nights because of the noise and steady stream of people coming from there at all hours. She works with Mrs. Christian at the nursing home. Mrs. Christian goes out of her way to avoid Wilma.
The Waggoner's, on the west side of the house, were hosts to a police shoot out on their own front porch awhile back.
All the neighbors have had a battery stolen from their car. If they had two cars they lost two batteries. There is a battery store in the neighborhood that advertises "hot batteries".
Doug and Ginger Davis are the youngest of the neighbors. They purchased the large, green house across the street from the old limestone house, shortly after their marriage a few years ago. The real estate ad called it a "stately older home" and the stary-eyed newlyweds thought it was. They bought the house in the Spring when the yard was filled with violets and the little city park behind the house was quiet.
What they didn't know is that in the summer that park overflowed with kids. The kids would get so loud that the Davis' would have to yell just to hear each other, even if they were standing in their kitchen. They were always greeted by the words "f*** you" spray painted on the shelter house wall that they could see from the window. Those were fitting words when you consider the activities that took place on the picnic tables.
One night, after hearing a sound that Ginger didn't hear, Doug looked out of the window. There, under a streetlight, he saw a man merrily wrenching under the hood of a neighbors car. Since it wasn't the neighbor, Doug called the police The police station is only five minutes away from Southside. Doug knew from experience that it would take them a half an hour to get there. He told them what was happening and that he intended to do something about it himself.
Doug quickly pulled on some shorts, grabbed their antique Civil War saber and headed out the door. It was quite a scene there in the false moonlight. Here was this skinny, half naked kid with a long sword, acting like the neighborhood avenger. Startled, the thief yelled "honky!"at Doug and threw the wrench. Then he dropped the battery and disappeared across the park. Doug then discovered that the battery was gone from his car too. He found it stashed under a picnic table in the park.
The neighbors had somewhat gotten used to loud car radios piercing the night, but the sound always brought Doug to the window. People driving loud and rusty cars would often come to the limestone house, stay a few minutes and then rumble away again. They announced their arrival and departure with long irritating honks.
One Monday night, Doug and Ginger were awakened by loud inner-city rappin' . At first they thought the sound radiated from the house across the street. But when they got up to look they saw a man completely naked except for his black boots. He was yelling and stomping across the front porch of the limestone house. His boots made a hollow sound sound as he marched to the rhythem of his own chant. He rapped "I'm out braggin' and my dicks a waggin', I've gotta big black butt and I wanna f***.!" He was soon coaxed into the house by someone saying "Be cool, someone's gonna call the cops, man." By that time it was too late, someone already had. Surprisingly, within minutes three police cars pulled up in front of the house. Six uniformed officers and a plain clothed-man stormed the house and disappeared into the house. Someone shouted from inside, "someone call more police, they are fightin' in here." Apparently no one called more police likely because the neighbors thought that if seven of the city's finest couldn't handle one crazed man there was no hope for the rest of them. About ten minutes later the police came out carrying the large man like pallbearers carrying a casket and took him away in the cruiser.
All the commotion woke up the neighbors, and they all came out to watch. Mr. Waggoner said that a for sale sign was going up in his yard tomorrow. Wilma said that the next time she sees Mrs. Christian she's gonna tell her all about what fine upstanding citizens they rented the house to.
For a few days after the event, the neighbors buzzed again about how this is their home and they shouldn't have to put up with that stuff. Mr Waggoner didn't put his house up for sale. But aside from that, things got pretty much back to normal. As normal as things usually get in Southside anyway.
Then, one evening about a week after the event at the limestone house, Ginger kept smelling smoke. While pulling down the window shades, she exclaimed "My God, the house across the street is on fire." Before she could get the words out, she heard the scream of sirens exploding down President Street. The flames shot 12 feet from the roof and windows. The orange flames licked the sky and singed the young leaves on the tree limbs high above. The cool spring air felt warmer. Half the people in Southside came out for the entertainment. It was like a carnival.
The neighbors all gathered in the Davis' front yard. Soon the Christians appeared. They all watched in silence for awhile, then Mr. Waggoner said "Its just too bad that limestone doesn't burn" and walked slowly back to his house. Well, I guess that ends that", Wilma said. "The Lord giveths and the Lord taketh away", Mrs.Christian said. Doug and Ginger just nodded.
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