An essay from my son

I made the mistake of asking my 15-year-old son what he thought of me. Asking a question like this is like a self-inflicted wound; nothing good will come of it. So why did I feel compelled to ask my son, a moody teen, his completely distorted view of me? Some questions truly have no answers.

He said, "Well, to tell you the truth, Mom, I think you're depressed."

Thanks a lot, buddy! I thought. "Then what about Dad?" I demanded. They didn't get along at all. He had to have some far worse comment about his dad!

"Naw, he's fine," he said casually.

What this really reveals is how hard it is to be a mom, and how hard I've tried for the past 17 years. It's not a bunch of fun and games, I can tell you! There's no user's guide, and society's attitude seems to be whatever you're doing as a parent, it is wrong! Too permissive -- too strict -- either too controlling, or not enough boundaries, etc.

My main parental technique seems to be riding the kids about something they need to do, ought to do, and should be doing Right Now, but aren't. Followed by worrying about whatever it is they are actually doing.

So one of my goals in life lately is to have more fun! (Some fun? Any?) I guess I haven't been too much of a failure in that regard. Read on to see what my 17-year-old thinks of his family, and me -- the one who is a "stress reliever" and helps him see "the lighter side of life"!

By the way, due to numerous scheduling conflicts, I quickly fizzled in the quest to write 2,000 words a day. Although -- allow me to gloat for a moment -- I apparently inspired my dear friend, Sardine Mama (there's an imaginary hyperlink here) to feverishly pen at least a few thousand words, earlier this month! (I can't vouch for her productivity since that time.)

I have several higher priorities in my life right now, listed roughly in order of the time they take: working, sleeping, doing stuff with/for my family, housework, eating, working out, meditating, volunteering, and a wee bit of reading here and there. Oh yeah, forgot that hour-and-15 or so commute every day. That tacks on some time.

I asked Austin's permission to reprint one of his college essays, which he gave, so I will run it below. Every word is completely, 100% certifiably true! (Especially the "My mom is amazing" part. Yeah!) The most amazing part of all is that this was written by a 17-year-old, yet it has simply glowing things to say about mom and dad. Hmmm, we must be terribly permissive parents for him to adore us this much right now! Let me go worry about that while you read on:

I have been blessed with an outstanding opportunity for greatness, and it is in the form of my loving family. My family is and always will be there for me. I have learned that the people that truly care about you are your family, and my family exemplifies that quality to no end.

              I have made mistakes in the past, and probably will make more in the future. My dad has shown me, though, that when I make mistakes, I can learn from them and get back up as a better and stronger person than I was before. I have been out past curfew at times before, but he sits me down and talks to me about the importance of having a time to be back rather than just restricting me. He reasons through his punishments and helps me realize my mistakes so that I can try to be better in the future.  He has looked through any wrong that I have done, because he loves me. His love is what keeps me strong and willing to continue trying, even when it seems that I should just give up and take the easy route. He is a person of character, and I am proud to say that I am growing up to be like him.

My mom is amazing. She has learned to control her emotions and always reason and give me the best support that she can while still being the best mother that I could ask for. I know that she cares so much about me and only wants me to succeed and become a great person that has class. I can always rely on her for emotional support, even though I may not show it at times. I love being able to talk to her about anything that comes up because it is a stress reliever. She helps me to see the lighter side of life and to learn to focus on what is really important to my future and me. She is an inspiration to me on how I should treat myself and others, and I will always be grateful to her for showing me the meaning of unconditional love.

My brother is the guy I can turn to, to have a great time. He and I have bonded together through years of being two wild young boys tearing through our house. He is a caring and compassionate person who never stops helping me whenever I need it most. I can spend hours just talking with him about life and any hardship that I am dealing with. We used to spend whole days together just playing imaginary and enjoying each other’s company. When I need someone to have fun with, I turn to my brother. He is a person that will never hesitate to help me in any way possible, be it money, emotional support, or even schoolwork. He shows me to that helping out people that are close to you is an experience like no other.

Surrounded by people like this, I know I can succeed at anything that I try. I have great role models that I will for sure imitate when I raise a family myself. I love my family, and they have shown me how to love others through their love for me.

Barely fiction

My sister told me about a novel writing contest, of sorts, that is supposed to begin in November. I cheated and started writing some stuff a couple of days ago. More than anything else, I wanted to see how long 2,000 words/day is (to get to 50,000 words in a month). Pretty darn long! Here's the website describing the contest:
http://www.nanowrimo.org/

My sister told me one "rule" is no editing, or minimal editing. Turn off the editor, and just write!
Here's one of the stories I wrote. I found that I didn't have a novel just waiting to be written down, as of yet, but I do have plenty of stories that I can just lift from my daily life. So I'm doing that at the moment. I must admit this has not been refined by an editor's gentle touch -- it's quite rough around the edges, so be forewarned.

She wanted to hug them all and not miss any of them, even though they were all hot and sweaty from the dancing. It had been such a fun evening, such a contrast to her first impression of this place as a fortress, seeing the tall fences surrounding the compound that was these girls’ temporary home. These fences were designed to keep everyone in. The last time she had seen such high fences was at a jail. They made her want to run away before she got trapped inside them, too.

It was the annual Halloween celebration at the Methodist Girls’ Home. Though her husband’s men’s group put it on, she always came out to give the girls a little attention from another woman, some smiles, maybe even some hope in their lives.

These girls were here as one stop in what could become a revolving-door life, where nothing was secure and no relationships were lasting, not even the crucial ones with Mom and Dad. These girls all had faced serious parental issues before being removed from their homes and brought here. Some had parents who were serious drug users. Others had been abused or neglected. Most of them had siblings who had been placed elsewhere.

Here they all were, these teenage girls, some on the verge of adulthood. What kind of prospects did they face? The chances of getting adopted were slim indeed at their advanced ages. They could hope for a loving foster family, but going down that path guaranteed that their lives would continue in an uncertain, changing direction. Others would be reunited with their families, if the potential for harm was judged to be not too terrible.

Sheila thought of her own two teenage sons and the drama that was already embedded in their lives, just from the raging hormones that made their behavior so inconsistent, and the built-in ups and downs of high school relationships. The last thing anybody needed at that age was an unstable family life.

The dancing felt so good. Everyone relaxed and just had fun trying to learn the steps of a few line dances without running over their nearest neighbor. Some of the guys in the men’s group weren’t so young anymore, and they danced – hobbled might be the more accurate word, she had to admit – on the fringes of the girls. Her husband, charming as always, was dancing in the midst of a group of girls who were all helping him learn the moves.

One young girl was clearly the best dancer of the group, and the natural leader. Sheila found herself watching her to see which direction to move, and mimicked her natural grace as she wove her body to the beat. It was a little difficult, dancing in the stuffy full-length Renaissance dress that trailed the floor and threatened to trip her at every turn. But dressing up had been part of the fun. Maybe these girls didn’t get to dress up for Halloween, but Sheila and her husband could wear costumes for them.

One girl, wearing an old gray T-shirt and sweatpants, stood aside and didn’t dance at all. No one was making her dance. Sheila noticed her, apart and alone, the only still figure in the room.

Sheila had decided to sit with the girls, earlier, when they had pizza, sodas, and hot Cheetos for dinner. What a combination! Sheila’s stomach, always rather finicky, rebelled at the thought of this greasy, spicy and sugary combination. No wonder they wound up dancing so frantically – all the sugar, caffeine, and calories gave them lots of energy.

Using her Sunday school name, Sheila had introduced herself as Mrs. Monroe. The men had stayed back in the kitchen or brought drink refills, but no one else from the group sat with the girls while they ate. The girls were clearly interested in her and asked where she lived, what church she attended, and whether her husband was the man dressed up as a swashbuckling Renaissance man, which of course he was. She told them about her two sons and their ages, then said it was a good thing that the group eating pizza wasn’t a bunch of boys – they would have had to order twice as much food! The girls giggled and said, “Oh, there are some girls here who could eat a whole pizza for themselves.” But no one did. They ate their one or two pieces, chewing slowly, some of them dipping the slices in thick gobs of Ranch dressing. They seemed endlessly grateful for the meal, saying “thank you” over and over again.

After dinner, Sheila noticed as one girl after another went to receive some kind of medicines from an attendant. She could only speculate as to what the drugs might be – anti-narcotics? Anti-depressants? ADHD or bipolar meds?

The dancing drove these thoughts away, as Sheila and her husband focused on learning the steps of every line dance with the girls. After several songs had passed, the laughter got louder and the movement more chaotic. Sheila started feeling a little claustrophobic, surrounded by so many writhing young women. Looking around, she realized that she was the only visitor still dancing with the girls. Sheila gradually danced off to one side and backed herself away from the action, watching in awe along with the men’s group as the girls burned off some energy. They looked like they were having so much fun, enjoying the moment and setting aside their uncertain futures to just dance.

Afterwards, it was as though they were all fast friends. Each girl came up to everyone in the men’s group to thank them again for coming out. Sheila quickly decided to give these girls hugs, every one of them if they would allow her to. She wasn’t a masterful hugger the way some people at church were. It didn’t necessarily come naturally to her. But at this moment, she thought the greatest gift she could give these girls was a real hug. Even if she had to grab hold of a bunch of hot, sweaty, smelly bodies to do it. It was the closest way she could think of just giving them a little bit of the love that was otherwise so lacking in their young lives. If she could have handed them some hope to go with it, she would have.

But maybe that’s what the dancing was all about.

In a mystical groove

I am really enjoying my 10 mins daily of quiet contemplation. Amazing what a difference such a small amount of time can make. Here are things I am thinking of: bringing more awareness with me wherever I go, mysticism, presence and the spirit. Let the spirit lead, and be free to be your highest self! "I have been to the mountaintop. And I'm not afraid of anybody. I'm not worried about anything. Because I have seen the glory of the promised land!" (Dr. Martin Luther King, not an exact quote)

Did I mention both my boys will be in tuxes this weekend? It is Peanut Festival time here in our little town of Floresville, and I did not realize what a big deal it is for many high school seniors like my older son, who go to coronation and become dukes, duchesses, princes, and princesses for a short, magical span of time. Many go from there to the carnival, and we do pray that they change their outfit beforehand!

From a coronation to a carnival -- this is that sweet in-between time of being not quite an adult, but no longer a child anymore for these young people. Then they get to ride on floats or drive cars for the big small-town parade, all dressed to the hilt. Andrew is not a senior, but is attending a formal sweet-sixteen party that afternoon. I've got to take lots of pictures!

It is amazing and miraculous to see my sons, two people who are so much in the process of "becoming." I have to look closely at them each time I see them (which for Austin is not every day; he sleeps here, but we are on different schedules). I have to scan for the latest changes in their faces, their physique, their expressions of increasing maturity. The last time of such a rapid, wild ride was when they were toddlers! I believe we can all return there at any time in our lives and continue to change and grow dramatically, if that is what we earnestly desire.

In which I am mentioned, by name, on Zen and Tech podcast!

This is my exciting moment of the day ... first, a bit of background. I recently (as in less than a week ago) emailed the newly launched Zen and Tech podcast with a suggestion for a topic for them to cover. This podcast is about making use of technology to destress your extremely busy life ... more, it's practical suggestions from a licensed therapist on how to live more in the moment and start some daily practices to slow yourself down. Actually, you don't require any technology besides whatever device you are using to tune into the podcast itself. Otherwise, I wouldn't get much out of it! Here's their intro: "ZENandTECH, hosted by Georgia and Rene Ritchie, helps you center your inner geek, deal with the stresses of a connected life, and nurture your superhero in training." The idea is that we can all be superheroes, to which I say, Amen!

Funny how several of my podcasts make use of the word "geek." There's a message in there somewhere.

My idea for the show came from Alan Watts, who I mentioned in the last post. I want you to listen for yourself, which is why I haven't revealed what my suggestion was.

Here's the amazing bit. First, I got a reply right away from the therapist who co-hosts the show, Georgia, in which she gushed about how much she loved my idea. I thought to myself, what a sweetheart! I guess she does this for everybody who submits a comment to make them feel encouraged and listened to.

Then today, I got another email from Georgia, and this time she said she used my idea for the most recent podcast, #18. Already!! I've never gotten such a quick response for anything. I guess she really did love the idea!

Here's the link. It plays on YouTube (ha, ha I was about to spell it utube; that's how much of a techie wizard I am!) but I always have it as audio on my podcast, and listen while driving to/from work. I don't know how to actually embed the image in my blog, sorry!

http://www.zenandtech.tv/category/zenandtech/

This link displays the current weekly podcast. But if you see this later and click on the link, search the previous podcasts till you find No. 18. That is, if you can figure out how! You can always go on iTunes to find the exact episode without having to subscribe.

At the end, Georgia mentions the idea for the podcast came from a reader ... "Oh, I forgot her name!" she continues. Then Rene Ritchie comes to the rescue and quickly looks up my email online. Yes, I know there are many, many Julia Smiths out there, but it was actually me, myself, moi!!

Meditation journey

Cherished reader,
I want to share with you a bit about my brief experiences meditating (10 mins a day, probably 6 days/week for the past few weeks). See, I do mean brief! Short in time, and short in experience of practice. I wish to meditate every day, but some are so hectic that it's late in the evening when I realize I didn't have that quiet time. I don't force this time on myself when I am too tired, but leave it for the next day. This is something my soul has been yearning for, like a homing device that connects me to an essential self like a tether.

I may have mentioned that my little meditation ritual is to ask to come into God's presence, and then I try to wait. And be calm. And not think. However, every time there are many things to think of, and they course through my head in a rapid, jumbled succession. That's the "monkey mind" for you. Tonight, I caught myself several times thinking of what I would write about here! Though it may be quite worthwhile, planning a blog post is not the same as meditation!

My friend Karen has been urging me strongly to meditate for a long time now, and she's of course very happy I finally started. (Did I ever tell you she is an Enneagram Type 8, the leader/boss?) She usually does have good ideas for me, though I refused her latest book suggestion. Her word of advice on meditating was not to constantly judge my experiences or think, "I'm not making progress" or "I'm not doing it right"; rather, just to have these experiences. But how can I not judge? It's the most human thing to do. How else do we know where we are, and where we've been?

What is amazing is when the meditation goes to a deeper place than I usually inhabit. One early time, I was visited by our most wonderful dog, Sandy. She came right up by my right leg, just exactly her old self, wagging her tail with her trademark grin, and that doggy smell, with the scars of the spider bites on her back still, and I could sense her there very strongly. Her presence was so loving that I started crying, and that is how that meditation concluded. This is not something I consciously invoked, because I have remembered it several times since, and recalling it is not the same as her actual presence there with me in my meditative state. (Sandy died a few summers ago, of old age.) Austin says she was the best dog ever, and she is.

Tonight, I wondered what it would be like to be in God's presence. Then I began sensing a reunion of sorts. I was in someone's arms, crying inconsolably. However, my meditative self was observing from a distance and was not caught up in the raw emotion. Thank God! I saw that God was hugging and rocking me with a full-bodied, matronly form that was large and soft, and smelled of cigarette smoke. Yes, it was Mom! She was comforting me, or some iteration of me. Mom may have died, but she has never left. She would never abandon her children.

I am reading a little book that is collected from lectures and writings of Alan Watts called "Myth and Religion." He's one of my podcast "favorites," a British philosopher, Episcopalian priest, and scholar of Eastern religions who died in 1973 or so at around the age of 57. He had moved to the USA and taught at Harvard before moving to California. Reading him is making me still less fettered to any particular belief system. It feels strange, to be so unmoored. "What do I believe?" you ask. I know less and less any answer to that question. I do know I am tired of demagogues, those who "know" what they believe, and those who would label. I shake myself free of any such associations. Watts, by the way, is relentlessly critical of the church and how it seems to have led the opposite way of Christ's example. It's all about what you believe (are you in the Christian "club" or out of it?), and moral judgment, rather than caring for your fellow human being as an equal. Did Christ exact a creed from his own apostles before letting them follow him?

Some people find the greatest comfort in thinking that they know exactly what is true. They stand on the authority of the Bible, or some other thing, and proclaim it infallible and above human questioning. I find that avenue to be a trap that prevents me from seeking and growing. In the end, there is so much more that I do not know than what I do know. As Watts proclaims, he is no guru, and his most fervent wish is for all his "followers" to find their own ways and have no further need of his advice! Every authority we have here on earth is a fellow human being, just like you and me. Therefore (again Watts), no one has any authority that we have not given to them. You choose your own authority figures, who you will trust or obey or believe.

I also wanted to tell you that Andrew and I ran a 5K at Sea World on Saturday and both took first in our division, woo-hoo! Now, Andrew came in 6th in the race overall, whereas I was about 101 of 212 participants, but still won my division of women ages 41-50 (of whom there were a total of 10). This was a fabulous opportunity; the entry fee went entirely to their conservation fund, with free parking and admission to the park all day long. We stayed for the fright-fest which got rolling at 6 pm -- my legs were so tired after walking the whole park all day long! Andrew was the trouper and wanted to stay for the Frightful freaky forest (Frightmare? It used to be the Haunted Forest), which would have been a whole lot more scary if it had been dark.

Now for the cheater on the 5K: this was designed to be quite the recreational (vs. competitive) race. Why? Sea World had a variety of animals on display throughout the race route. Most sensible people pulled over to watch and enjoy all these creatures! Two boa constrictors, owls, penguins, Beluga whales vocalizing, even a sea lion on the back of a cart! However, Andrew and I raced right on past it all, with our eyes on the prize.

The last 5K I did was in April and I have not run since (I went out about 3 times before this race just to make sure I still knew how). I have been doing the elliptical and bike and weights at Anytime Fitness regularly, which is what pulled me through. So I was totally pumped about that success. I think my time was nearly the same as in April, when I came in 7th in my division at a SAWS run!

Subtle is the Lord

Part of the homework my spiritual guide assigned me this past month was to reflect on my image of God. (The other part was to start thinking about spending 10 minutes a day in meditation.)
Aack! Maybe this is how spiritual guides separate the wheat from the chaff, or something -- weed out the faint-hearted and hold on to the true believers, or criminally insane (a fine line there). Not sure which category I'm in!

Describing God has proven incredibly difficult for me to do. Perhaps it is because "my" image of God (not to be confused with the actual Lord, as such) has been changing, evolving, becoming something yet to be defined. Maybe, never to be defined with any precision. I think I prefer God to be truly mystical and beyond the reach of human comprehension, or perhaps I just realize my limitations here.

After contemplating the state of my confusion for the past several weeks, I think I am ready to write about it.

First, I have a bone to pick with God. (Where did that expression come from?) I shared with Karen how hurt and angry I feel at God for my Dad's situation. Dad's situation is symbolic of the suffering everyone encounters in life. If God were all-powerful, S/He would not want his creation to suffer the way we do, every day. The suffering of my Dad, and my family by extension, is minimal compared to the daily brutalities endured by people in other parts of the world, who are starving to death alongside their children, dying of preventable diseases, homeless and traumatized by violence, illiterate, poor ... That is the real story. My Dad's struggle with cancer is a microcosm of the enormous suffering and groaning of this world. Perhaps in the pangs of birth; more on that later.

So my God is not all-powerful. That does not compute, because then God would not be loving or compassionate.

I also thought about trying to paint God instead, a swirl of all colors, brilliant and mystical. I'm no artist, but that is how desperate I am. Words fail me in this instance.

Einstein said, "Subtle is the Lord." I think he was thinking of quantum physics at the time, but don't quote me. I am taking more of the scientist's tack on this Lord business, lately. Sort of a skeptical view, like Carl Sagan. He seemed to recognize, reluctantly, an intelligence in every aspect of the cosmos that defied the usual secular explanations of random events. But where is the creator now? Certainly this is not the same being as God, our personal savior, God the father/mother.

That is, this Creator set us all in motion, the entire universe, and is letting us spin merrily (or not) away, without any more tinkering. God is not involved in shaping history, neither global nor personal. There is no personal intervention in our lives. Therefore, it would seem by logical extension that there is no power in prayer, which I know from experience is a false statement. Here is another contradictory feeling I have often, that certain events in my life have been planned, for me to discover or learn from. And yet it seems that God is impossibly remote and unconcerned when I see all this suffering.

Today, it occurred to me that I should try to find Biblical references to people who are in the presence of God. What does this mean to them? How does it feel? Being with God has been very much on my mind, as I begin to find 10 minutes a day to consciously spend "in the presence" of God. At the very beginning, I asked God to be present with me. But this sounded out of tune, and I realized what I was asking already was; it was I who had strayed away and needed to come into the presence of God, not the other way around. "Come into his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise," says Psalm 100.

Another Biblical passage that speaks to me while in meditation is God's exhortation to Moses at the burning bush: "Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is hallowed ground." I meditate in sock-feet or barefeet, and it bothers me that my feet may get dirty as a result. But wasn't that the point? Moses had been in hiding long enough. Time to get his feet dirty. This is one passage I had to re-enact, in part, to understand better.

Anyhow, I looked in the concordance to find other instances where people are in God's presence. This led to the delightful insight that God is often referred to as the Presence in the Bible, especially the Hebrew scriptures. I like that. The Presence.

My own inadequate attempts to meld the influences of physics and Buddhism, together with Judeo-Christianity, all together in my spiritual journey (think "Kumbaya" here), lead me to think that God, as a separate being, is not all-powerful. The power is invested in, embedded into, all of the creation. The creator apparently gave away this energy in quite a profligate way. We are all energy, and how we use the energy is what directs the universe. I mean every thing in the universe. We all share the same building blocks of energy, however poorly we may understand them. How can we as humans make effective use of our energy? By being present, fully present, in each moment. This is how we become God's agents, little pieces of God. You see how difficult this is to describe.

I think as we become more present, we also lose our boundaries and merge into a higher consciousness. Time for some new-age music here! An imaginary bell rings once -- to start meditation time -- and let's see, I am imagining some cacophony of exotic, Indian-sounding instruments playing quietly, in the background. Or perhaps we should be listening to "Kumbaya." Chant with me now: OOOOOHM, OOOOOHM, with slow, deep breaths, all together. Aaah! I feel so energized! Don't you?

The suffering of the world is the sign that the grand potential of this collective energy, consciousness, has not been fully born into the world yet. Many people, most everyone actually, are still trapped in their ego boundaries. (Me, too.) This idea of God is also consistent with Buddhism, which always makes me happy. There is suffering; there is an end to suffering. "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." Two human attempts to describe something that is wonderfully hard to describe in human terms, and harder to understand.

I need to put some pictures here sometime. First someone needs to take them! Austin's senior pics are the most current we have on hand.

Moodiness

If you are highly susceptible to emotional states (a characteristic of Enneagram Type 4's), you will be at risk of being moody on a regular basis. This is an issue I have struggled with my whole life.

Today, I found myself crying (quietly) on the way home after a long morning in Floresville. My hubby and I had worked out together, then gone shopping to HEB. Yeah, my life is pretty dull! But I haven't gotten to the really sad part yet, in case you were wondering. Somewhere in there, we had also gone to see if our 17-year-old spent the night where he said he did. We were there around 9:30 am, way too early for teenagers to be up and about yet. But no truck (Austin's latest set of wheels) was anywhere to be seen. I hate when I've lost track of one of my children, which is happening with greater frequency with my high school senior lately. I don't know what in the world I will do when he goes off to college! I'll have to write him off as permanently lost, I guess. He eventually turned up, on his own schedule, which was about 2 hours later than my nerves would prefer, driving home from a different friend's house, where he had gone sometime in the wee hours of the morning. He will be gone all day today with band, get home late after the football game in SA, and have to open at Sonic in the morning. Somehow, he will get through it all. Ah, youth!

But let me not imply that Austin's presence is not still felt back at home, even when he's rarely here. He still leaves behind a mountain of laundry and a room in permanent disarray, just to remind us that he's really not gone yet. Only when all his dirty socks, clothes, stray shoes and laptop and plugs and game controls and discs and dirty dishes and snack wrappers, no longer grace various places throughout the house, will we know for sure that he's no longer living at home. Or maybe those things will linger behind forever. Maybe the house will never be clear of the messy, smelly clutter that only a teenage boy can create. We walk by his room and notice, always, a distinct odor. Sort of like the musky animal smells at the zoo, or of a male cat spraying his territory. Yup! Must be a teenage boy sleeping somewhere in the depths of that den. Lately, it's been overlaid with a heavy, lingering smell of grease, courtesy of Sonic.

So back to my hopeless downward spiral into despair, earlier today. The alleged reason for my tears and feeling of being in a bottomless void was this recurring theme in my life lately: losing my son. (I will lose both of my kids in the next few years, but I'm focusing on one at a time here.) I cried because a cruel, uncaring God had cursed me with two sons, no daughters. The problem with sons is they can't wait to flee the nest. I know this is somewhat irrational, as my younger son has much less inclination to leave home, and in fact, we may have to pry him loose from his nest here sometime because he is so comfortable here! But as we were coming home, I was reflecting on a larger theme: the emptiness and futility of my life to date. The misery was easy to expand upon -- I had one parent in the grave and the other seemingly well on his way; children getting ready to grow up and leave me far behind; precious few friends; and a husband who wasn't even aware how upset I was. (Actually, this is a good thing, as what I hate most is for someone to be nagging at me when I'm upset -- "What's wrong?" Makes it so much worse, because I can rarely explain in a way that anyone else would understand.)

After lunch, I realized that there was another reason for my bottoming out, and it had to do with low blood sugar. No kidding! Yeah, my body got me, yet again. It's amazing how much a physical issue -- like low blood sugar -- can feel just like the world coming to an end, things falling apart, the shadow side of everything becoming dominant. It always takes me by surprise when it happens.

So, my child is still gone for the day, and still on his way out the door. I have the right to be sad about it. But I guess my world isn't coming to an end just yet. Not today, anyhow.