Television Addiction

I have not paid much attention to the news recently. I felt completely burned out several months ago and since then I've not had a desire to ingest much of anything offered up by the media. This morning, out of boredom I suppose as much as a desire to 'stay informed', I googled the news headlines. I read through a few, read the various headlines, and within 15 minutes began to notice how distinctly different I felt about life. I became depressed, experienced a feeling of hopelessness. Anger, fear, sadness became the dominant emotions and states of mind. I was stunned at the drastic and rapid change. It is so that when we are immersed in something, we don't notice its effect. The longer we are away, the stronger the effect when we return. So, having not taken in any media for some period of time now, I felt the effects immediately and intensely. The experience sent me back to thinking about the process I went through to disconnect from television, and then all media, and the effect that change has had in my life.

I had help with overcoming my addiction. I spent several months in Cameroon, West Africa in 1989-1990. On returning, I of course plugged in the television and signed up for cable. Though my overall interest in television had waned, it seemed like the America way. I had never been one to just keep the television running 'for company' but I certainly had spent my share of time in from of the tube. I would guess 2-3 hours a day. My perspective had changed drastically in my months in Cameroon. As 1990 turned into 1991 and the US approached its first war on Iraq, I began watching with horror and rage as this massive military machine rolled over innocents. I saw those tanks and bombs destroying Iraq and I saw in my mind's eye those little dark, shining, hopeful faces of the children in Nkambe. I listened to the rhetoric and I knew it was all lies. The goal was oil, pure and simple. The people didn't matter. I was enraged. I would walk back and forth in front of the television when the news was on and shout at it. I was crazy. I knew something had to change. My rage was accomplishing nothing. So, I unplugged. I unplugged the television and put it in the back bedroom. I made a pact with myself that I could watch it any time I wanted, but I always had to return it to the bedroom when I was finished. I remember sitting on the couch early one evening, feeling very bored and restless and wanting to turn on the television. So I went for a bike ride. It must have been May. The memory of that ride stays with me so strongly: sunlight; green; birdsong; lovely. And I knew I'd made a choice, and I knew the choice was good. From that moment forward I began to make different, conscious choices. Sometimes I watched television, but I chose it first.

It was not an easy or quick process. Cable was disconnected. The television moved to the garage. When I was finally through the addiction and the television was invited back into the house as a permanent piece of furniture again (8-10 years), it became used just for movie viewing. Now it is complete choice when I sit in front of it.

My battle with the addiction didn't end with the television however. I found that a deep part of my addiction was an addiction to 'bad' or 'exciting' news. I could get that from the radio, newspapers, and the internet. The past 5-6 years have been focused on unlinking from all of that.

2003

No, it's not that I don't want to remember 2003 or even that it's too painful. It was the summer that Steven and I went to Canada. As the year comes up and I focus in on it all I can remember is that trip. I suppose I worked for H&R as usual. I don't know what I did in the fall. Perhaps I picked up a couple of bookkeeping jobs. I simply can't remember. By 2003 I had quit working for Allen (except for bookkeeping) because it was obvious that the workshop was toxic to me. My thyroid was gone.

Steven and I had tried unsuccessfully for the two prior years to get our schedules to coincide for a trip to Canada. This year Steven vowed he would make it happen. He began in the winter making all the plans and reservations for lodging and camping. He had it all worked out to a tee. He drove a few weeks earlier to Vancouver for a conference.

I went by greyhound. That was a trip in itself! I had not even paid attention to the fact that I had two overnight layovers on my ticket. So the first night I slept on top of my luggage on the floor in the bus station in Salt Lake City. It wasn't so bad. As it turned out the Mormon Tabernacle Choir practices on Thursday evenings so I got to listen to a live concert. My second night was in a little town in northern Montana. The third day I was met by Steven in Canmore, a delightful tourist town just west of Calgary. We spent the first night in a hostel, oh my and Steven got so upset with the people who were making so much noise at 10:30pm and decent folks couldn't get to sleep at a reasonable hour. :o) I reminded him that they were young and 10:30 isn't really all that late. So you see, he wasn't perfect.

We cancelled our reservation for the second night in Canmore and headed west along the Trans-Canada Highway. Reminiscent of I-70 through Vail, Edwards, yada-yada. Our goal was Glacier National Park. As was, so we learned that evening when we sought a campsite, about 50% of Canada. Turns out we arrived on their hugely popular "last weekend in the mountains" holiday. But it worked out okay. We found a campsite in the overflow area then moved to our reserved site the next night. The details are crystal clear in my memory. There is so much to tell and I am only on the second day. I can recount so many memories from that summer. Isn't that interesting? How could I know that Steven was to die the following Spring? I didn't of course. And yet, almost every moment of this trip is forever etched into my memory.

Perhaps for now I will shorten it to those especially memorable moments: ice bergs, forest fires, Japanese tourists, waterfalls, Revelstoke, Nakusp, riding across Finger Lakes on the ferry, the dense forests, the spider webs across the trails, the wonderful people, a fabulous Italian restaurant in the middle of nowhere, campsites, sleeping late, long walks, the fires in Idaho and Montana, meeting up with Michelle, Tom and Ryan in Idaho, the ride across Wyoming, the $100 motel room, arriving back home and emptying the car. All in living techni-color. It was a delightful, blissful trip.

The rest of the year is gone, faded into the grey oblivion of ordinariness. . . .

1997 -- Much Pain, Some Joy

Okay, I'll choose 1997. This is a scary year for me to choose because there was a lot of pain in the first two-thirds of the year. I was so unbearably lost and confused. It had been three-and-a-half years since I had graduated from D.U. (which up to that point had been the best day of my life).

I'm choosing this year because I want to write about the process of learning to listen to my heart. This is such a huge subject that I think in the future it will become a genre, in itself. I want to focus on trying to follow my heart in my work and I need to narrow the time frame, so decided to take the 10-year time frame from 1997 to 2007 in which I have worked in law.

As we begin 1997, I am living in my condo in Aurora. Josh is living with me. I am trying to be a writer. I'm writing a book that has many incarnations, but ends up being "Pandora's Box." My guess is that I'm drinking every day, or nearly every day. My favorite thing to do is get a glass of wine and a bowl of green olives, sit down at the computer to write while I sip the wine and munch on the olives.

Looking back I can see that I was incredibly fragile. I don't know how I ended up that way, maybe just too much heart-break in my life. Inside I was like a frightened animal, eyes wide and trembling in the corner. The little things I did, like drinking wine, were my way of building a buffer between myself and the world.

Josh is living there, but neither of us are deeply happy in the relationship. I'm constantly on the defensive, expecting him to leave me any day, so act as if he's gone already. He knows he's not in love with me, but maybe hasn't quite figured out what to do yet. Or maybe he was trying to make it work, but at that time in my life, I was incapable of opening my heart up.

I believe it was in May of 1997, I went to Keystone with four other women for a weekend writers' retreat. That was a wonderful experience. That writers' group was a joy to be in. Then Beth, Dave, and I drove to Texas to visit the family. I'm assuming Catherine and David were with us. (could find some pictures)

I believe at this point, I was taking Paxil. I had started in December of 1995. I talked to Dad a little bit about my depression. I'm not sure he understood what I was experiencing, but he could tell that something wasn't quite right with me and he was supportive of me getting the help that I needed.

Looking at my transcripts, I can see that I was taking classes at D.U. every quarter. I had been admitted to the Graduate School of International Studies, though by 1997, I was no longer taking courses in international studies. I was taking philosophy and English classes. This was part of me trying to listen to my heart, figure out what direction I should move in.

I know now that part of the feeling of being lost came from the fact that I needed to make money. I think that is one of the worst crimes against humanity and the earth in this day and age. (Maybe always, but I know it's true today.)

I was actually doing well in my classes -- all A's. I was powerfully drawn to writing. I believe that these things alone could have sustained me if I hadn't been terrified about money all the time. Though there was also the issue of how dysfunctional I was in relationships with men, so.... who knows? If I'd had a strong sense of self -- the Me who loved to write and take philosophy and literature courses -- would I have developed an "internal locus of control" so that I could be in a relationship with a man without dissolving into a puddle of rotting innards?

At some point, I made the decision to sell the condo. It felt like a ball and chain. I was searching for myself and needed more freedom. It was nice to be rid of the obligations and responsibilities. With the returns, I was able to pay off debt and still have $5,000 left over.

Josh announced to me that he was going to rent an apartment with a friend of his out in Lakewood. I decided to rent a studio apartment on the north side of the D.U. campus. Josh took my bedroom furniture. That made it easier for both of us.

At the time, I didn't own a car. Earlier in the year, I'd had a red Dodge Neon, but it had been repossessed months ago. So I got around on foot or bike. I was hanging around with Billie quite a bit (really since 1996). I enjoyed her company and friendship. Spending time with her helped me a lot to deal with the pain of breaking up with Josh. Though Josh and I were still friends and would see each other occasionally.

This led to my accidental pregnancy in early August. We both knew we made a mistake, and I hoped I didn't get pregnant. I thought, "Great this is all I need to add to my problems!"

I made a couple of trips that month. One was down to Antonito to visit Marian for a week. I told her I was afraid I might be pregnant. Then I went to Yellowstone to spend time with Mom. I met Beth at a Greyhound stop. We stayed in a little cabin one night. The kids were there too. Then we headed to Yellowstone to meet up with Mom. This is when Beth and I had out falling out.

During this trip, I was coming to the awareness of my pregnancy. I was beginning to detect the signs.

I was working at an Italian deli and restaurant on University in Bonnie Brae. It only paid $6.75. I had to ride my bike to work or sometimes I would walk. It was a lousy job. It didn't pay well. I couldn't sit down during the whole time I was working, though I would anyway. I'd sit on the window ledge to rest a bit.

Finally, I took a pregnancy test and confirmed what I already knew. I talked to Josh about it. He said he'd leave the decision about what to do in my hands. I was inclined to have an abortion. I couldn't really see the point of bringing a child into the world under those conditions.

I was starting to get sick, throwing up a lot. All I had to sleep on was a cheap, crummy futon, which was basically a piece of foam on the floor, too small for me to fit on without my feet hanging off the end. It was the fall quarter. I was enrolled in a philosophy course called "Great Thinkers -- Plato." I was thinking about getting my M.A. in philosophy. But then I had to withdraw from the class. I was just to sick and tired and uncomfortable to get up and sit in class in the morning.

At some point I quit working at the restaurant, Cucina Leone. My guess is that the weather was bad and I didn't feel like going in, so I just called and quit. At that point, I had made the decision to keep the baby. Though maybe I was still wavering. I remember that Josh took me to Planned Parenthood for a proper pregnancy test. They gave me an ultra-sound. I still have the pictures. There was Sarina. Even at that point, I was leaning toward having the baby.

I thought and thought and thought. A part of me really wanted to have the baby even though my life was a mess. I believed deep inside of me that I had a reason to care. I had felt so lost and now I felt grounded. I suddenly had something to care about. I still really loved Josh and missed him. I knew not to have the baby in the hopes of getting him back. The stakes were too high to take that risk. I knew that if I decided to have the baby, I would have to go forward with the assumption that Josh would be completely out of the picture. Could I handle it? Could I do it on my own? I decided that I would do it.

Always, I imagined that my baby was a little boy. I thought of names for him. Now I'm not sure I like this name, but I thought of the name Dharma Love Davis. Sounds a bit too hippyish, doesn't it? Josh thought so too. But we did agree on a name for a girl. I had know since I was 19 that if I ever had a little girl, I would name her Sarina Tangerine. My second choice was Sarina Cassandra. Josh liked Sarina Cassandra. I had to concede, mainly because without us being married, if I named her Sarina Cassandra, her initials would be STD.

By the time Josh took me to Planned Parenthood for the ultra-sound, he was already dating someone else. I still wanted him back. I wasn't going to have the baby for that purpose, but I hoped it would be an Ace in my favor. I was serious about getting my act together.

I remember being over at Billie's house, talking to her about my decision to keep the baby. Once I made that decision, I quit drinking. I worried about the drinking I had done prior to that decision, but hoped I had done any damage to my little baby. I knew I needed to get a decent job. I was thinking about becoming a paralegal, an idea I had toyed with in the past. I went to Denver Paralegal Institute to find out about applying and getting financial aid. I applied to a temp agency downtown. One of the strange coincidences was that the first assignment they sent me on was at a major law firm downtown. I started in November and it lasted for a few months. This reinforced my decision to get into law as a career. It seemed like the right path for me.

I bought a car. It was a little red sports car.

So, I was set on a new course in my life -- working in law, preparing to enter the 9-month paralegal certification program at Denver Paralegal Institute.

I went to visit Marian in Michigan over the Christmas holidays. I took the Greyhound bus. They lost my backpack. Apparently it went all the way to New York before coming back to Michigan. It was an interesting experience for me though because at that time in my life, everything I owned was second-hand or something I'd had for ages. I couldn't afford to buy new clothes anymore, especially maternity clothes that I would only be wearing for a few months. I kept thinking, "All I want for Christmas is my old second-hand clothes." I would sing it in my head. It made me realize that everything is relative.

On the bus back to Denver, there was a lay-over in Chicago. Not very pleasant trying to get a little rest on the tile floor of a Greyhound bus station in Chicago when you're five months pregnant, but somehow I managed. When it was time to load on the bus, I walked down the aisle and found a seat next to a guy who looked like John Cougar Melloncamp. I was a touch intimidated, but thought he seemed better than the crap shoot. You never know how you're going to end up sitting with, so best not to be too picky or you might end up with worse.

That guy turned out to be Vic. He was kind of funny. He took a shine to me right away, sleeping with his head on my shoulder. I thought he seemed a bit forward, but also kind of liked the attention. When we got back to the Greyhound station in Denver, early in the morning, we exchanged phone numbers. I walked to Broadway and caught the bus to the street that crossed with the street I lived on, then walked all the way from Broadway, almost to University, five months pregnant with a backpack on my back and fell asleep on my too small foam pad futon.

Today, Monday, 29 January, 2007

I've come to accept that I will never be 100% happy all the time. But it gets better and better as I age. I've set my course toward more happiness and more joy in my life and I'm not going to turn back now. Life is too short.

I went walking a couple of days ago up by Erikson Springs where I have a strong memory of Steven. That memory's a story for another day, for it includes a talking bird with a bum leg. At any rate, I haven't been there in a long time. As I walked, my chest became gripped with that band of horrid, suffocating pain of loss and loneliness for him. It was at the same time his longing for me, to be here with me. He taught me something once, after my mother's death, and to that I've added the Buddhist Tonglen practice. When I see suffering, whether in myself or in others, I breathe it in. I take it out of the world. When I see joy, I breathe it out. It is a wonderful, almost miraculous practice. So I stood and looked out over the snowy mountains. First I eased my pain. I breathed it deep within. I took it through my heart and dissolved it, melted it. I thought about other people who have lost loved ones. I took in their pain, and some of their pain was deeper than mine, I knew that. I centered my consciousness in my heart as much as I could.

Next I took the beauty around me into my heart through my senses: the warmth of the sun on my face, the sweet smell of evergreen when the snow is melting, the distant craggy, snow-covered peaks, the black spiders of barren branches fracturing the landscape everywhere into rough geometric shapes. The silence. The peace. And I consciously, through my heart, sent that out to Steven, to all the dead who wish to remember the earth's beauty, to all the people in the world that they might be surrounded by such beauty. It's an amazing practice. Within 5 minutes that gripping loneliness and its accompanying physical pain were gone, replaced with a sense of connectedness and peace. And if it doesn't happen immediately that's okay too. I just keep breathing the pain out of the world through the portal of my own pain. I know, as I do this, that the pain is not me. The pain is simply pain, and I can take a lot in. I can do this practice anywhere, at any time, as frequently or infrequently as I wish. And that kind of spiritual practice fits my schedule perfectly.

"Peace is joy at rest; joy is peace in motion."

1952

Eisenhower is elected president. I remember president Eisenhower and "I like Ike" buttons. His presidency spanned the major part of my childhood, from 1st to 9th grade.

I enter 1st grade for the first time. We live in Idledale. I walk to school every day, truly about a mile down a mountainside. Idledale is a small town tucked away in the dry rocky mountains 30 miles west of Denver and is home to about 500 people. We have a 3-room school house which has 3 teachers and 8 grades. There are probably 60 students. High school is an hour bus ride away.

I have 2 brothers and 3 sisters. I love my little brother Jon dearly but I'm not sure if I yet realize that in 1952. My family is dysfunctional with an alcoholic father but I'm not aware that life outside my family is any different. Besides, who knew about dysfunction back then? Life was just the way it is. This photo of me was probably taken in 1951.

So anyway I begin school at the age of five and my 6th birthday is not until February. I'm sure my mother seeks relief from the physical and emotional pressures on her, not to mention that I'm not a dummy. I crave school. Unfortunately, I enter Mrs. Dunchee's 1st grade class with Carol, who is still wetting her pants. Teachers ask her parents to remove her, there's a big uproar, upshot being that they find out about me being too young so I am removed also. The 3rd/4th/5th grade teacher - who I loved dearly and who was such a fan of me - finds pity on me and begins bringing books by for me to read. So by the time I enter school again the following year I am head and shoulders above the others. I spend my time listening to 2nd grade lessons and thinking up inane questions to ask Mrs. Dunchee. In 2nd grade I will advance to become her 1st grade teacher's aide because I am so bored in 2nd grade, having listened to it all the prior year.

Jim Ridgeway, Gary Hector, the Forsberg's: Bonnie, Dorothy, Ronnie, Margie, Mike Kehoe and little sister Sandy and playing our version of "cowboys & indians" while our mothers got together with their friends for their club meeting - "Babble Dabble". Cute, huh? 1st and 2nd grade years are all ganged together - I can't separate them. So it is for a small child - timeless. Walking home in the snow, running down the mountainside in the morning, the little Idledale grocery store where we bought penny candies, the mound of dirt and rock, the houses, the people who lived in them, the Hanes', Mrs Carlson, the Town Hall meetings, the adopted twins who lived down the mountainside and spoke their own language, the time our father's new car rolled off the mountain and down into the roof of someone's house, the time some mean kids flooded our house with a hose, Mike & Pat Chicolacas who could eat hot peppers, the castle and the family that lived there: 12 children, a couple pairs of twins thrown in. They were, to my memory, the one wealthy family in town. I don't remember their names or faces. All these memories swirl around in the soup that is my childhood.

When I complete 4th grade (I did 3rd and 4th in one year), a change occurs and the upper grades are bussed to Morrison, 10 miles away, to a lovely new little elementary school at the base of what will one day be a well-known place - the Red Rocks Amphitheater. My boundaries broaden. But up until I am 10 my world is this mountain bowl with a road coming and going at either end. I run free most of the time. In the summer we swim in Bear Creek and swim at a swimming hole that is ultimately closed off to public use due to over-use and danger. Thank Goddess we knew nothing of those things in the 1950s (cold war notwithstanding - it didn't really touch us). We eat sour apples from an abandoned apple orchard and chokecherries are abundant at the end of summer. Strange that life can be idyllic and dysfunctional at the same time.

Perry Como, Patti Page, Doris Day, Eddie Fisher. A musical style that hasn't seemed to survive. :o) Never mind. I loved Perry Como. He sang a song: "Oh my Papa, to me he is so wonderful". I would sing that to myself at night sometimes to help me go to sleep. My older sisters and brothers hated our father, yet he doted on me. Ah, well, that's a story too. There we are into the dysfunction and here I am at the end of the post. I will leave it for another day. Methinks it will raise its face again one day.

1969 -- My first memory of God

I'm going to place this memory in 1969, even though I'm not 100% this is when it occurred. It feels right because I'm pretty sure I was 3 when it happened; I was old enough to have a philosophical, analytical thought, so I couldn't have been too young. So I will also place it around the later half of 1969.

It was definitely when we were living in Florida. When I think back on those early years of my life in Florida, I have absolutely no memories of god, religion, or church. My memories of that time tell me that you and dad were atheists. Though I discovered later that I had been baptized, so obviously there was not a total rejection of it, just that it was in no way part of our everyday experience.

I was wracking my brain for any memories of god, religion, spirituality, or church during those first years in Florida and couldn't think of any, then a memory suddenly popped into my mind -- a profound memory that shaped who I am, even to this day.

It was a beautiful day in Florida, as I remember most days being. I was outside playing in the neighborhood with a neighborhood boy. I recall us in the front yard. I know we were standing near the telephone lines. There was a thick metal cable that ran down to the ground and we were sort of leaning on it and talking. I don't remember the conversation prior to this, but I do remember this snippet of the conversation, so it just seems to come out of the blue. I looked out at the world, up at the sky; my mind took in the vastness and beauty of it and I said to the boy, "I want to know everything."

Without skipping a beat, he said, "You can't know everything."

I was stunned. "Why not?"

"Only God can know everything."

He seemed so utterly sure of himself when he made that statement. There wasn't any room for discussion. I didn't know what to say. From my memory, I obviously knew what God was. But I did not comprend how it could be true that God could know everything and I could not. I think maybe I said, "Well, I can try."

He obviously thought it was hopeless, not even worth trying, but I did not agree. From that point on, I felt a sense of mission. I needed to prove to myself that it was possible to know everything, or if not, then to discover the truth for myself.

Some other memories now that come to mind are of lying in bed with you and dad. I guess I was having problems with nightmares, so I slept with you two. I remember at night, while the two of you slept, I would lie awake and watch the ghosts floating over my head. I have no idea if my assessment that what I was seeing were ghosts is actually true or if it was just the moonlit shadows, the waving of the trees that created the appearance of floating spirits. They certainly didn't have any form to them, just streaks of mist floating back and forth. Since I had no idea what it was, or what was causing it, my young mind concluded that they must be ghosts.

I also saw some beings looking at me through the window one night, but again, have no idea if this memory was real or a dream.

1976 -- What Shaped Me?

We started writing our memoirs with this year. Reading your post reminds me of so many things. It's all jumbled up in my mind. I'm just going to toss out some things I remember and then maybe we can sort them out later. I remember the white house and many things about it. I also remember living in an apartment at 14th & Garrison. I'm pretty sure that we moved from the white house to those apartments. I also have some vague memory of us living in two different units in the same complex, but maybe that is my imagination.

Anyway, at the white house, I guess I was ten. I remember Becky being my friend because I remember us creating a club house in the big closet in our bedroom upstairs. We both had mood rings. That was one of my most cherished items and somehow I lost it one day. I don't honestly know if I lost it or if Becky stole it, but I never accused her because I didn't really think she would do something like that. I just could never understand what happened to that ring.

Anyway, that was a great house to live in. I have some strange memories around that house too, like the time a snake got in the house. We were sitting in the livingroom on the couch, got up to leave the livingroom and there was this huge snake curled up next to the couch. Fortunately it was dead (I think). I don't know how or why it died.

Then of course, bunches of people were over there all the time. Claudia, Becca, and Marcy were living there with us for a while. Beth, Becca, and I would sleep outside in the tent. That was fun. We created a club house in the big apple tree, complete with a shower, but one day, Marcy and I were taking a shower out there and Marcy got shampoo in her eyes. She was screaming and crying. Claudia ran outside and we got in trouble. After that, we weren't allowed to have the shower any more.

I remember Claudia's two huge beastly mutts. I didn't like those dogs. I've never been fond of dogs, but those two were just too much.

Something strange happened when I shifted from fifth grade to sixth grade. Becky was no longer my best friend. Instead I hung around with Val and Carrie mostly. I think that was because Val and I now lived close to each other, so we would walk to and from school together. (Before I had lived only a block away from Becky.)

Anyway, I'm trying to think of things from that year that may have shaped my life. I think EST had a powerful effect on me. Tom did too. These were my first exposures to spirituality (rather than religion). I learned to "just get it" and even to this day I often remember those words when things aren't going my way. "Just get it." It's a powerful teaching because once you "just get it," the blocks in your mind dissolve and you just go with the flow.

I also had experiences with meditation, visualization, spiritual healing, telepathy, and other things of that sort. I thought the EST teachings were good. I always wondered why it got so popular and then just faded away. Now you hear jokes occasionally about EST, like it was a big scam. I always wondered what happened to Warner Ehrhart and the Hunger Project. Hmmm?

Oh well. There were some things I remember about this time in my life that are pleasant, some things not so pleasant. I think that was mainly because I didn't have must self-confidence. I had a low self-esteem because I thought I was ugly. I think that probably shaped me even more than EST and the other spiritual experiences. Life is strange.....

1976

I am 30 years old. Michelle turns 11 in December. We live in the white farmhouse in Lakewood, though this is our last year here I believe. One day soon the owner, who lives next door, will come and give me the news that his oldest daughter and her family are returning to Colorado and will want to live in this house. But of course. Who wouldn't? It's a sweet little place, came to me by magic. That is, I had searched and searched for a place to live. Then I gave up, I consciously just let go and left it up to the universe. That day an old friend called and said her father had a place to rent that just came available. That I consider some of my early spiritual teachings. At any rate, Michelle is 10 and Beth turns 7 in May. Michelle enters 6th grade in the fall; Beth is in first grade. Beth wants to run away from home, a statement I consider cute and encourage. She does run away once, but only goes a short distance. Just like the cartoons. I don't look deeper into what might be going on for her.

My brother Jon died the prior winter, though I don't remember the exact month. This was the summer that Claudia, Marci, and Becca stayed with us. I had a wonderful time this summer. We had a neighbor who got a bit weird on us, but it merely added some drama to our lives, didn't touch us deeply. He was an attorney who lived way across the pasture. But he got fixated on us - two single women with four children all living together. We had a huge canvas tent in the backyard for all the toys. I suppose looking at us there was room for suspicion. Though, while I would take this situation at face value if I saw it (there are many that I don't), this man saw much in us that wasn't there. He became obsessed with us, with finding out something wrong with us. He called the police on us, he called social services, he snuck around our yard and watched our comings and goings. One night we had some friends over (two men, oo-la-la). We stood up abruptly when they were leaving at 10:30 apparently. At least too abruptly for our neighbor to get his tail out of the driveway before I opened the door and turned on the porch light. Oh my God. I was so mad. I followed him down the road screaming obscenities at him, telling him I better not ever see his mf a-- anywhere near my house or I'd have his mf a-- in jail. But that was the only time I ever really lost it with him. We mostly just ignored him and shook our heads when the police or social services showed up - as they did also: "Sorry, ma'am. He seems to have a fixation here. But we have to follow up."

So the summer ended. Claudia et al returned to the mountains to live I believe, and I went back to college in the fall. These were good years, with the exception I suppose of my continual and eternal gypsyness. Interesting that I had spent my entire growing up years in one small mountain town. Now all I wanted to do was move, move, move. One day I'll have to try to remember all the places we moved to and - most importantly - why!?!?!

We move from Lakewood to Denver, to a big two-story house. Michelle and Beth began going to Catholic school. Heh-heh, now there's a keen idea. I'd probably strongly advise against it if they were to suggest it for their kids. I could now ride the bus to school and even work. I did not have to have regular daycare anymore as I could often arrange my schedule to be home when they were. I also had roommates. Some rather odd ones to be sure. OneAfrican-American woman - beautiful, smart, studying pre-law. In those years she had all the opportunities. Not long after she moved in I realized that she was selling drugs of some sort. She had a steady stream of "friends" who would stop by for a short time. I also discovered that she was bi and enjoyed going to drag bars or something. I don't know. She didn't stay long. At any rate, one of the ways I afforded my college - aside from the loans and grants I got, and they were good in those days for a woman in my situation - was to cut down on my expenses and rent the upstairs. I continued working for Dr Gander, though on a schedule that worked for me. He was very sweet to me and very encouraging of my desire to return to school and get a degree.

I don't remember any men in my life at this time. Perhaps Jeff. He and I had a nice long-term relationship and perhaps it extended into this year. Though since he attended law school in Louisiana we only saw each other in the summers. Little did I know I was his summer sweetheart only. His fiancee lived in Louisiana. I found this all out when a mutual friend told me of his engagement. Well, it was a blow to my ego but not to my heart. I wasn't really in love with him. He was nice to us and didn't demand much of me and we had some good times together. I entertained ideas of marriage occassionally but there was no real energy or desire behind the thought. During this period my circle of friends were Tom, Gary, Claudia, Mary, Sherri and a few other odd souls. All of these relationships were platonic. All revolved around our mutual interest in exploring spiritual matters. Tom taught a visualization class. We had weekly discussions around Seth Speaks, Sherri aspired to be a channeler, Gary talked of meeting aliens and was indeed capable of "traveling", we took EST in the summer of '76.

2001 -- A Year to Wake Us Up

Up until September 11th, this was a year like any other year. I was living in the 2 bedroom tri-plex, so pleased with myself for having found that place. I had used creative visualization to manifest the place, so I was feeling powerful. I was in the center unit and my neighbors on the south side of me moved out. I didn't even notice this change until someone new moved in. It was a women -- I'm guessing in her mid-thirties, either that, or a hard-lived mid-twenties - she had several children.

It wasn't long after she moved in that my home was bordering the edge of Hell. The problem with living on the edge of Hell is that the sounds of painful, torturous screaming and crying inevitably drift over the border into one's home. That was definitely the worst of it. When she would take out the garbage, somehow she would manage to leave trash strewn all the way from her front door, across my front lawn, and all around the trash cans in front of my house. I could live with this, though unpleasant, but the screaming and the crying and the profanity were becoming unbearable. The head of my bed was against the wall I must have been sharing with her bedroom, so when I went into my bedroom, I couldn't escape the crying and sobbing and screaming, and the language so filthy, I can't bear to repeat it. So I moved my bed into the other bedroom and my computer into the room I'd been in before. Sarina refused to sleep in her own bed, so I gave the twin bed to my mom and Sarina and I just accepted that she would sleep in my bed, since she always did anyway.

But that didn't help matters. Things were still the same. I worried about Sarina's little brain absorbing all the horrors while she slept. Eventually, we began sleeping on the futon in the livingroom and kept the bedroom doors shut. It helped tamp down the noise, but the futon wasn't very comfortable. I had nightmares too. I thought ghosts were in my apartment.

I was about ready to move. I didn't understand how I could have been so successful at manifesting this place just to end up living on the edge of Hell two months later. Finally in May, I came home from work one day and the neighbor was gone. I don't remember the specifics, maybe the front door was open and I decided to investigate. I was horrified by what I discovered. There was no furniture, but the place was filled with piles and piles of garbage. It was as if these people were not humans, they were rats living in a garbage dumpster. My heart was pounding in my chest; the sight of it terrified me, but at the same time it gave me hope. I was going to call the landlord immediately and have him come over and see this for himself. Surely he would evict this hideous rat and I could have my home back.

I ran into my apartment to use the phone, but I heard someone pull into the driveway next door. I looked to see if she had returned home. Instead I saw a large white truck and a man step out and walk toward the front door of that apartment. I ran outside to introduce myself and learned that he was the landlord and that the woman had been evicted that day. I was so relieved. I asked him if he would be willing to let me rent both apartments. He said yes. I was thrilled.

After the place was cleaned up, I spent $1000 putting in an insulated wall in the two bedrooms that shared a wall with my two bedrooms. Vic helped me paint the place and I put an ad in the paper to rent it. A parade of frightening people passed through my life and I couldn't bear the thought of associating with any of them. I wondered if the situation was hopeless. But then I convinced Ken to move in and from there on out, it was a wonderful place to live.

I'm thinking it was earlier that year, in February, when things began to fall apart at Duft, Graziano, & Forest. Two of the partners left and went to another firm. They took a bunch of the staff with them. No one knew if the firm would be able to survive it. Two people were laid off. Everyone was stressed out. Finally, I came to the conclusion that no matter what happened I would be okay. If I got laid off, I'd enjoy being on unemployment for a while. If I stayed, we'd either continue on or merge with a larger firm. If not, maybe Jim Graziano would take me with him to a new firm and I would continue on as his secretary.

I went on a week-long vacation to Florida with Marian. We had a great time, but when I returned to work after that vacation, I had a mini-nervous-breakdown. I couldn't stop crying. I kept having to run to the bathroom to hide my tears. I went to lunch and spent the whole hour in my car, sobbing. Then I came back to the office and I still couldn't stop crying. That was my first indication that something was seriously wrong.

But I couldn't even imagine that I would quit that job. The money was too good. I just thought, "I've got to spend less and save more. The more money I save, the sooner I can retire. If I can just hold my breath long enough, maybe I can retire in another seven years, or maybe I would go to law school. I was clearly confused.

I began taking a class at Front Range college that summer. I took intro to algebra and got an A. So in the fall, I signed up for intermediate algebra and a biology course. But I wasn't really enjoying it. Even now, I look back at it all and wonder what in the hell I was thinking. It just goes to show how far removed I was from the ability to listen to my heart.

But then that fateful day came. It caused a shift in me. It didn't happen all at once, but it definitely taught me something about living in the moment and listening to my heart. I'm still trying to learn that lesson. But one thing I know for sure, I can never again go back to making my life choices based on money. So I live with the struggles because this is the choice I've made. For better or worse, I'm no longer capable of shutting off the voice that speaks to me from my heart.

1969

Woodstock festival
http://kclibrary.nhmccd.edu/decade60.html
Nixon inaugurated as 37th president.
Sesame Street debuts.
Internet (ARPA) goes online.

1969. I am 23 years old. Michelle turned 3 in December of '68. And Beth is born on May 23rd. Now here's the real strange part. Our marriage was on the rocks big time and I knew it. I almost left the summer following Beth's birth, but quickly realized that I could not adequately care for a newborn and a 3-year-old AND work. But the real mystery is that I knew our marriage was on the rocks the prior year. Yet I still had some sort of ideal timetable to have children in - 2 kids, 3 years apart. That was the suburban dream. One boy, one girl, hopefully the boy first so that the girl will have a big brother to protect her. The fact that our marriage was shipwrecked and we were just waiting for it to die didn't enter in to this equation. So my entire pregnancy with Beth was one of fighting and anger. Poor little one. It's no wonder she was so clingy when she was little. And of course there was Michelle, 3 years old and not only hearing it but watching it fall apart. I was so bound up in it falling apart however that I had little energy to think of their current needs beyond the basics. Such was life. I try to enter into my consciousness then and just can't fathom myself, only to say that I am at this age very shallow and self-absorbed. Perhaps there is nothing else to fathom.

I think I cracked and broke in my early teens. My own dysfunctional family became too much for me to handle. While I had been able to retreat to the woods by myself as a young child somehow this seemed less of an option as a teen. I don't know. Maybe I thought it would be thought of as "weird". Or maybe I just desired more social interaction but then couldn't handle it. At any rate some kind of emotional development had not yet occurred within me.

I don't want to make it seem that 1969 was all bad. It wasn't. We lived in a little 3-bedroom house in Tallahassee. On a hill, lots of big trees, we had a swimming pool, little brick house. The back yard opened out into 4-5 other back yards, all with young families and young children. We were suburban moms, coffee klatches, back yard barbeques, sharing children. It was very sweet and nice. Funny though that I can't remember anyone's name - just the young boy Cotton - and I drew my best friends from outside my neighborhood crowd. And I can barely remember their names. :o) Perhaps they will come. That's part of what this exercise is about. To stimulate and exercise my own memory. To allow me to review my life from this lofty peak of 60.

Michelle learned to swim here. We got very healthy here. I did a lot of cooking from scratch back then. Wes had a garden and we also had nearly yearround access to a weekend farmer's market. I would go early in the morning and buy bulk fruits and vegetables. I baked all our own bread and pastries and I made jams and jellies. So, I wasn't completely self-focused I guess. :o) Our summer days were long and nice. I was not politically active or aware. There were earth moving events happening out in the wider world but for the most part I was content (or absorbed) in my own life.

2001

Another non-descript year in Paonia. I worked for H&R in Delta for the first time this year. What other work was I doing? A little work for Allen - bookkeeping. Another bookkeeping job for Etar. I worked at Adam and Valerie's farm. I remember the concern around the heat and my thyroid. I'm more sun sensitive now than I used to be, more easily prone toward a feeling of sunstroke. I can't remember if I did their farmer's market this year. I think not, but I can't think where in the world I was working and how I was supporting myself.

Steven and I have a routine. It's nice. He works in Basalt 4 days a week, returning to Paonia on Friday and staying through until Monday or Tuesday. We always have dinner together on Friday evening and usually do something together on Saturday or Sunday afternoon. This is our routine for a number of years. We talk, we watch movies, we cook dinner together. It is a comfortable and warm relationship, like an old pair of slippers.

I live, me and my four cats: Jupiter, Little Sister, Jasper and Chip, in a 3-bedroom single-wide with add-ons. Delta County architecture. But it serves me well in spite of its flaws. Sunrise and sunset are to die for almost daily. I have no next door neighbors. My closest neighbors are a herd of cows who never shut the door when they use the bathroom or have sex and generally lead a rather boiserous and unruly lifestyle. I go for long walks along the road, or better yet I jump in my car and drive two miles to a little used road which leads up 3 miles to the Lamborn Trailhead. I have climbed Lamborn several times. Once, I backpacked up to the trailhead, camped out, then climbed the next day and backpacked back out. That was a killer - 22 miles and 5,000 ft of elevation gain!

In the summer Catherine and David come to visit. They have lived in Georgia now for 15 months. We do our usual trip to Prospect Mountain cabins near Marble. I can't remember details. Steven goes. I think Sarina joins us next year. We make giant bubbles, cook on the wood stove, the kids kayak in the pond, create stone and mud dams on the creek, hike to the marble quarry.

I almost hate to revisit the ending of this year, perhaps not for the most obvious reason - that it happened and that it was a horror. Rather, I hate to revisit it because I think my response (and the response by all of us) was calculated in advanced and even manipulated into being. Yup. So I don't even want to go there. I've gone there and gone there and gone there. There was a huge story created for us. But this was a powerful turning point, in whatever way it happened, for individuals, this country, the world even. So many world events since then have spun off that point. Today we watch the empire we live within turn almost all its energy into a military machine and with no shame they bomb and torture "suspects". . . (Brazil, ta da, da da da da da da. . . ) And the changes that this wrought within? A new and renewed perspective and focus. I do not obsess on the fear and anger anymore. I am more aware of my mortality, more aware of what really matters in life, more willing to let things go.

In 2001 however I am just beginning to level off on my thyroid meds and continue to be buffeted by emotional storms. I have not yet come to be able to recognize my "tipping point" beyond which I fall completely apart, become hysterical and depressed and exhausted all at once. Therefore, after the months of worrying about the end of the world back in 1999, suddenly it all seemed real and about to happen. Nothing like this had happened ever before. Who knew what it meant, what would follow?

I don't remember exactly when Michelle and Sarina moved in. It seemed like a good idea at the time but all our mutual insanities clashed and it soon became not-so-fun. But that's another story and carries us into the next year. Let's not go there yet.