Shoulda stayed in bed

Ya know those times when you wish you would have just stayed in bed? Yesterday was that day for me. The first few hours were uneventful, spent house cleaning, emailing, ect... but then the tide turned.

Steve comes home from work daily hot and tired, so I decided to save him some work and attempt to mow the yard. Hey, I have spent many hours mowing, this is not a big task plus my yard is quite small. I didn't get 10 feet in the first swath and a rock (or a stick or some other projectile) came zinging out of the mower right into my leg. Yes, I was wearing shorts. Yes, I know that is wrong. Yes, I am an idiot with a bruise the size of a quarter on my leg.

So I pouted a while and went out to the back yard to catch up on some renagade weeds growing in my garden. Not a big deal at all until Wham! something black was on my arm and it felt like fire. Little did I know a bunch of wasps had chosen to make my fence into low-rent condos while I was gone. Bastards. Screw the weeds. They will wait.

Ok, it is about lunch time. I have had a really shitty morning. Fully entrenched in the moron zone, I decide to BBQ. Now, any sane person would take into account the type of day it had been so far but do I? Oh hell no. I am invincible! I shall now play with fire! Well, all was going as planned and I had a batch of red-hot coals in the Weber chimney, carefully (so so carefully) I dumped them in the BBQ and carried it to a place that heat would not bother. Good, right? Almost. As I was walking back to my trusty outdoor cooking device, little did I know my briquette chimney had rained little tiny (or not so tiny) embers all the way across my path. I had bare feet. You can guess the rest.

Here is a good piece of info to stack away however. Did you know that well calloused feet don't blister? They get sore as shit, but no blisters in site. Just in case anyone ever asks how to walk on hot coals.

Memories

Sunset at Harris Beach Oregon.

View of Hood from my seat on the plane.

Surf games with the brothers and the granddaughters.

Unfortunately, I won't post anything with recognizable faces... too many freaks on the net hunting for innocence, but these three pics are just a taste of heaven in the Northwest.

Trippin'

I planned it. I bought the tickets before they were off the phone that night. It essentially was my fault we were going... good or bad. I knew I would have to live with the outcome. The scariest part is the unknown. People can be one way on the phone, and entirely different face to face. That is the part that just freaked me out.

John and Steve have been down the road, so to speak. There was so much anger built up that started years and years ago. It has been out of control on both sides for a long time. A struggling parent deals with a headstrong willful child and challenges will always be there. In hindsight, it is because they are sooooooo much alike. It is almost like they are a clone instead of different people.

Steve and his son have been getting back in touch with each other over the phone for about a year now. They have talked about a lot of different things over the phone... hours and hours and hours. It was good. Sometimes it was not so good. But they kept talking. I did not talk to John. I was on the outside watching this budding relationship grow. It was a positive thing to see, but feeling part of John's anger was initially directed at me I was not sure really where I stood in the big picture.

I had heard so many things over the years from the family. Some of them were true. Some of them were just pure bullshit.

"John is straight up. You will always know where you stand with him, even if you don't like it." (True.)

"John wants retribution on you. Don't ever get in a place where you are alone with him." (Bullshit.)

"John hates women." (Big bullshit.)

"John is the neatest kid you will ever meet." (True)

and the list goes on and on. 90% of the crap I was fed was bullshit.

The days leading up to our trip to Oregon got harder and harder for me. It is easier I guess to take in the negative comments. Anyway, those were the ones shouting at me loudest. Little tiny insignificant crap that happens on a daily basis in life became magnified into monumental issues. I held up a tough facade because I didn't want to share with Steve how scared I really was. That only made things worse for myself. What a dipshit.

I got on the plane in KC with my stomach in knots. We didn't have a car rented on the other end. John insisted he and Melanie pick us up. We were scheduled to go camping for a few days on the coast. If it all went to hell in a handbasket we were screwed.

As we landed in Salt Lake, my knotted stomach became stone. I would have gladly payed out the ass and bought a ticket to anywhere else. Anywhere but Portland, Oregon.

As we landed in Portland, I knew I was going to have a heart attack at any moment. Everything I had consumed in the last week was knocking at my tonsils. Did I really have to deplane????? Can't I just sit here a while longer???

We walked down the concourse. No John. Steve can't see him anywhere. Oh shit. I reach back to get the cell phone and I heard a man say, "So are you going to just walk past us or what?"

Oh my god. This is real.

John reached for his dad and gave him a big hug. Melanie, his fiance, hugs Steve too. They have spent many hours on the phone as well. I have never spoken to either of them. Ian is being very quiet. My little psychic baby can feel the tension in us.

John said hello to me and I stuck out my quivering clammy hand to shake. He reached over (in a classic "Steven" move) and gave me a bear hug. What??? My mind is spinning.

So we set off to fetch our camping gear we had flown out, find their car, and mosey to Roseburg where they live. It gave Mel and I time to talk on the way. I discovered there is another woman in the world that is like me. It is uncanny the things we have in common... besides Howell men. Mel and I have been relatives in a former life... that much is obvious.

We stayed up until wee hours of the morning the first night, just getting to know each other. We laughed, talked, drank, and connected in a very special way. It was going very well, but I knew there were some topics still to come up eventually that would either make or break the week. I waited.

Off to the coast we went. If you have never been there, it is hard to describe. There just aren't words in my tiny vocabulary to describe the majestic beauty of the Oregon coast. Our campground was among towering fir trees, wild fuscia, blackberry brambles loaded with fruit, salal, and heaven knows what else, but it is all gorgeous.

Every day we were there was spent in long long conversations, playing on the sand, feeding a campfire in the fog, and staying up until daybreak 3 out of the 4 nights.

I have to say this. I didn't really want to go initially. I wanted Steve to have his son back in his life is a positive way. I wanted to stay on the outside due to fear and ignorance of the situation. But then I came to the conclusion all I wanted out of the vacation was to see Steve and John sit and talk. Talk or scream or cry or whatever it took, but just communicate.

I got what I wanted.... and so much much more. I got to see my husband reconnect with a son he thought was lost to him forever, and I got a friend and new family member in John and Melanie and their daughters. It was the best experience I have had in years. It honestly was the first time I traveled that I didn't want to go home at all.

I struggled all the way to the airport on Friday. We had to leave. I wanted to sob. I felt like I was leaving home, not returning home. It sucked. When John hugged me at the airport, I couldn't even talk. I knew if he did I would lose my cool and cry like a baby. I cried anyway, but not like I wanted to. I honestly felt like wailing. It was quite a weird sensation for me. I noticed he kept his sunglasses on and didn't talk much either.

John, I don't know if you will ever read this. Just know I feel blessed to have met you and your family. The healing that took place during our week at Harris Beach is one of the high points of my life.

With all my heart, thank you.

update

Well, the previous post was obviously a rant. Just when I thought that was the worst thing in the world, the phone rings. My initial self pity was instantly replaced by rage on a whole new level.

Am I the only one that thinks it is wrong to sell a child? Is blackmail legal now and I just missed the announcement? That must be it. ...because let me tell ya, I had an offer today and all I have to do is give up my last link to motherhood and I am off the hook.

What the fuck?

Is that for real?

hhmm.... if I had only........

btw.... I love my hubby, and he is wonderful. Don't even begin to think otherwise.

Bricks

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who grew up as a farmers daughter in the middle of the plains. Her childhood was plain, uneventful, even boring to some. She didn't know it at the time. It was just the way things were. Emotions were not to be dealt with openly. Basic skills like finances or how to deal with an intense disagreement were taboo to discuss. She didn't understand it would be her emotional undoing until it was too late.

Then the little girl got married to the boy next door. This event happened because she didn't trust herself. She didn't trust her ability to stand on her own two feet and face life. She feared being by herself. It was easier to hide behind a false exterior than show who she really was. She lived like this for 17 years. It almost killed her. The little girl became a fat woman to further wrap herself in protection from living her life. Her walls were high and wide. It was comfortable for the little girl.

Then the facade went away. The little girl was left alone with her turmoil. She found a new friend who made her feel wonderful about herself. This emotion was a foreign concept. It was scary, like standing on the edge of the Grand canyon. She began to feel like she could take down a few bricks from the wall. The fort around her began to crumble, and she welcomed it. She trusted. She hoped.

But there was still the inability to deal with little (or big) things. It bit her on the butt regularly. At times the little girl felt like she was living with a pitbull in the shadows, waiting to lock its jaws over the littlest things. She began to fear again.

Now the little girl is putting up the bricks again. Every promise made and broken is another brick. It is as it was. No windows in these walls.

Now the little girl has a fort to hide in again. This one is thicker than before. It is different this time. Now the little girl knew what it was like to live without the walls and wants to be free, as before. She now lives in a self imposed prison. This time it is not comfortable. This time she knows the tenuous edge of love/hope/trust. She wants all of it and more to be restored.

But, alas, the little girl waits. She waits for that glimmer announcing she can trust. She waits for that flicker of hope in the future.

She waits, counting her bricks.