Couple months ago I was stuck. i was stuck in a sad rut, thinking about and thinking again about stuff that hurt to think about.

I decided that whatever it took i was going to stop thinking about it. I worked hard to think about something ELSE. I even took a recording device and recorded myself talking about a project I was working on, which DIDn”T hurt. I recorded myself, listened to the recording, and then said more things about that thing that didn’t hurt.

After a long time, I was able to stop picking the scab. Because I just decided to stop.

So, I am thikning about how I might apply this to other things. What if I just stopped doing something i don’t like and substituted with something I like better?

what if I could learn to write instead of read? What if instead of running away to escape into a book, I could escape into WRITING  a book.

I don’t think it works that way. But I didnt think that fighting my depression worked that way either.

I would be better off if I wrote more and read less.

Christmas is coming! The goose is getting fat and so are we as we gather round the Christmas tree.

I am blessed to have you all as my readers. I am blessed in so many ways. I know you are too.

And there are so few days and there is all the stress of what must be done. I have presents to buy and expectations to fulfill. It is easy to feel obligated and guilty. I have been so blessed, and I am probably not living up to my blessings.

Also, many people do not have the blessings I have. I ponder that and it can feel pretty bad. What do I do with this undeserved blessing? I have no right to expect the good things in my life. I mean, I think in particular of the blessing of my extraordinarily wonderful child. Some people have lost their child. There but for the grace of God go I.

I could be fearful, and guilty. I find myself feeling that way a lot.

But that’s no way to live. To know I am blessed should make me happy. I should rejoice, and give good love to those around me. If I feel fearful and guilty  about my blessings, when I encounter other people who don’t have my particular blessing and are in fact suffering, I am more likely to scuffle away as if their tragedy were contagious.

But if I can be happy, and trust in my present blessing I could be generous to those less fortunate. And isn’t that how I want to live? Isn’t that the world I want to live in?

After beginning with fear and guilt over my blessings, I realize I can just be happy.  And at peace.

That’s what I’ve been thinking this week. I wanted to share.

I join the angels chorus:

Glory to God in highest and on earth peace and goodwill towards men

Peace be with you and all my goodwill

Merry Christmas!

I can barely think about losing my child. Sticking my fingers in my ears and humming is not a long-term solution, though.

When I hear about SandyHook, I want to go out and buy a magic amulet that will make sure that me and everyone around me will be safe forever. Except i don’t have faith in an amulet. But I wish I did.

I think that our impulse to say “Take all the guns away from everyone forever!” is that same impulse. Let’s put everything and the kitchen sink in between us and danger.

It is possible that stronger gun control laws would help. It is also possible that looser gun control laws would help. Maybe better enforcement of the current laws would help.

I wouldnt trust my judgement on the matter on a day like today.

Sit down in the dingy lab chair, and login

type the two commands

enter

enter

and there is everyone. The glowing green and black screen that gives me access to scores of people I know and don’t know, but who all want to talk to me.

With a keyboard I can talk to each of them. My own sadie hawkins dance, even more than one at a time.

The terrified teenage college coed stumbled upon the beginnings of the internet.

My state only, but there were rumors of more. A greater reach around the world if I wanted it.

Except I could barely keep up with everyone on this system. I knew what all those 5 letter userids meant. I knew which ones were boring and which witty.

There were other girls online–three I think. I chatted them to sniff out the  competition. This was my playground. My world. My ascii-art landscape of sociability that I could not hope to  navigate in real life.

I never wanted to leave.

But the semester ended. And the world ended.

I had heard rumors of a device that would let me re-enter from home. We had an old radio shack computer, but that modem was past the horizon of possibility. Hopeless.

After Christmas, lonely and driven to see what treasures my inbox was hiding, I tried to get back into the lab, sure I could sneak in and just see. Mat-Su College was dark and snow-dank, echoing empty hallways and the lab. I tried the door. It was locked.

I tried the other door.

The nodie poked his head out.

This was not the cool long-haired nodie-lab assistant- who flirted with me and told me he wore dresses sometimes.   It was the helmet-haircut grumpy nodie who listened to 50s music. I once heard his portable radio playing “Oh why must I be a teenager in love?” How strange, I thought. He is not a teenager, but I am. I wonder if I am in love?

Day after Christmas, not yet eighteen, hand on the locked lab doorknob, I looked back at the nodie. Ashamed of my need, yet still hopeful, I looked in the eyes of the gatekeeper.

“Lab’s closed.” and he turned his back, muttering about vaxheads.

Twenty, no, more than twenty years past and I hear people complain about how they are addicted to their smart phones.

Addicted to twitter. Can’t stop playing on facebook.

Like they invented it. Fresh frantic monkey on their back.

The monkey on my back went grey-haired a long time ago.

I’ve lived in my house now for a while, and driven the same route to my job for a number of years. I could take the freeway, swing north on another freeway, and then turn west to get on the freeway that will take me the rest of the way. Or I could take surface streets to get the to the one freeway and stay on it.

Freeways are faster than surface streets, so for a long time, I took the three freeways. As long as there were no backups on the freeways, it was faster.

Then. Then the freeway overlords and regulators put in a “one car per green” light on the last merge. The last freeway change slowed to a crawl. I kept hoping, and i would try getting up earlier to miss this huge delay. But eventually I realized, with this new choke on progress, it was faster to go the surface streets.

Could I go find a way to contact the freeway overlords and tell them this was stupid? Probably. Would I be able to change their mind about these merging regulators? Unlikely.

So. I just go around it.

No need to get upset, just do something else.

there are some people that I regard the same way. I know their measure, and I know that it is unassailable. They will not change, and it’s just better to go around them.

Except I have feelings about people in a way I don’t really have feelings about that merge. I think people are possibly able to change, and I could affect the outcome.

Sometimes I could. Sometimes I could make it worse.

When I find myself doing that– going around a person — I always feel bad. Like I should give the other person a chance, and maybe I am misjudging them. Maybe if they *knew* what trouble they were causing they would be pleased to change.

But then I am afraid that I might make it worse. I’ve had that happen.

So. If I can go around I usually will. But I wonder if I am doing the right thing.

So if it take ten thousand hours to get to really good at something, what have I spent that many hours doing?

That reminds me also of the exercise thing, ten thousand steps “Take ten thousand steps every day and that will be enough exercie”

I am trying to wiggle into the jeans of being 40, and I feel so kind of over. Like, I didn’t spend 8 hours a day practicing the piano. I will never ber great.

So all right. Maybe I can be pretty good and manage 3 or 5 thousand hours. Is that enough?

I’m mentally high-fiving myself about all the books i’ve read. I’ve spent ten thousand hours reading, FOR SURE.

but I’ve probably spent ten thousand hours eating. And that doesn’t qualify me for much. AND sleeping. So.

Gotta do something with it or it’s not a thing.

Veronica is getting more conversational.

I was putting her to bed last night, and she wanted me to stay. So with the lights out and the goodnight music playing.

As is usual we talked about her day.

“Who did you play with at school today?”

No answer. She never answers this question.

“Did you play with Haley?’

“Haley’s not here today.”

“Did you play with London?”

“London’s with Mia”

…or something to that effect. We talked some more about the different kids at school. I think my daughter is pretty popular at this point. The other kids seem happy to see her and willing to give her hugs when she leaves.

I try to encourage her to hug someone when she leaves. She is a good hugger.

Then she remembers “Tomorrow is F”

They are supposed to bring a little toy to share, that begins with a letter of the alphabet. Tomorrow was the letter f. We had already decided on a little frog puppet.

“Frog starts with F. What else starts with f?”

This is an old favorite game.

“Fish!”

“Yes, fish starts with F.

“Fox.”

Then we have to think for a while.

“Friend starts with F. You have lots of friends.”

We were quiet. She snaked her hand out to hold mine. I thread my hand between the bars of her crib. She is too old for a crib, but  she loves her crib and it seems a big change that is not necessary yet to change to a bed.

“Fingers!” I saw. “Fingers starts with F. Mommy had fingers. And Veronica has little fingers”

She is happy to think about fingers. I think about fingers.

“What else has fingers?” I ask. “Does Lucy Dog  have fingers?’

“No, she has paws.”

“That’s right! she has paws.” Now we can talk about other animals in her repertoire

“Does zebra have fingers?”

“No, she has paws.”

“Oh, no. Zebra does not have paws. Zebras have different kinds of feet. They have hooves.”

I am going to have to find a way to illustrate the concept of hooves. But for now, she is sleepy.  And she lets me leave.

Good night

For years I took the bus to work. I haven’t for a long time, but last week I had a reason to take the bus in to work. I had a pass, which I tried to redeem.

“We haven’t used those kind of cards in a least three years!” the driver told me. “But maybe if you go to the station you can transfer it to the new kind and keep the money that way.”

See? The bus driver did not know me, but he was helping me out. Even if he hadn’t been friendly-and not all of them are friendly-he was still doing me a favor and taking me where I needed to go.

I sat down and the good feeling of riding a bus washed over me. I had stopped taking the bus when I was pregnant with Veronica. LONG time ago. But all the times I had ridden it, and all  the things I had done while riding–I studied for my PM certification on the bus. I met all kinds of fascinating people on the bus.  I wrote on the bus. I also slept on the bus.

Oh, the things you can do while going places on a bus.

It is so relaxing and freeing. Everything is okay when I am sitting on the bus. I am in exactly the place that I need to be, doing what needs to be done on the bus. And I am not doing anything!

The bus system has it taken care of. That’s what I felt as I rode last week: the system is taking care of me. It is not a personally interested system. Like the bus driver, it doesn’t know me personally. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll get where I need to go.

I had experienced this soothed feeling of peace in a different circumstance.

Back when Veronica was a newborn, in dark cold winter, I would naturally have to get up in the middle of the night for long stretches of time. I would get Veronica back to sleep as soon as i could and I would crawl back into bed.

Me and my head in bed. I was chilled and would need to get warm enough to sleep, but even more than that, I had to quiet my head. My life was unrecognizable: I had a baby and I had to take care of her and I had to keep myself functioning enough to do it.

I was so tired and so freaked out. I would mentally panic about the fact that I wasn’t falling asleep because I had so little time before I would have to be up again and TIME WAS PRECIOUS AND I WAS WASTING IT BY BEING AWAKE!!!

Under the covers, trying to get warm, trying to get calm, and then the heater would kick in.

aahhhhh

The blessed heater.

Our old house had a heater with a fan that was rather noisy. And because it was in the roof, it resonated in the bones of the house with a medium hum

I know this. I know it so well. The thermostat would do a little kick to some metal, and then a little fan would start and then the heater would make the whole house hum. And when the house would hum, I could fall asleep.

Somehow, with the heat running and the house humming, I could trust that everything would be okay. I would be warm and I would be safe. I got to where I would LONG for the heater to kick and let me sleep.

It soothed me and relaxed me. It was a machine, it didn’t care about me, but it was taking care of me. The system was on my side, and it didn’t matter that it wasn’t personal.

It has been a long time since I rode the bus. I’d love to find a way to do it regularly again. So much has happened since I used to. I have had a lot of reasons to doubt the system. Different systems betrayed me and did not get me where I wanted to go.

But there are systems that are helpful. My mother would call it God’s grace, and that’s a good word for it. I have other friends who can’t deal with the word “god” and would call it the Universe is working for us.

Either way.

There are a lot of systems in place. And truly , most of them are beneficial and don’t require freaking out and striving.

Home First a memoir in voices by Susan Siddeley
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This is a sweet little unassuming work, It would be a perfect vacation read for someone that doesn’t want to be upset.

A few strings are left dangling in the story, but it’s not really about tying up all the loose ends. It’s about a family, and their stories.

I liked it. I would give it to my mother if she had nothing else to read

View all my reviews