A couple of weeks ago my neighbor helped me hang a bird feeder right outside my sun room window. This is where I spend most of my day, and I was excited about getting such a close view of the birds. I pictured sparrows and finches—dainty little things with soft colors and timid tweets. And for the first two weeks, that’s what I got.
Until yesterday, when this big black ominous-looking bird with an iridescent blue head came swooping in, landing so forcefully on the feeder that it thumped loudly against the house. He sat there for a long time, laying claim to the suet, and when he flew away it was only to the nearby tree, where he perched most of the day.
He made me uneasy, although I’m not sure why. He’s just a bird, eating at a bird feeder. I got what I wanted, but it didn’t look like I’d expected.
I want to share a pet peeve of mine: when I listen to people call in to one of my favorite radio hosts, so many of them say, “I have a question for you,” or “Here’s my question…” and then they don’t ask a question! They tell a story.
Maybe there’s something slippery about the curvy question mark. Either we put it on the end of what should be statements, or we leave it out altogether and tell ourselves we’re being clear in our requests.
A friend shared recently that he was upset about having to clear his belongings out of his basement to make room for his wife’s things.
“Did you ask her to consider a different solution?” I said.
“Well, I told her that I was upset,” he answered.
I made an appointment today to be evaluated by a vocational expert. What fun! At long last I’ll find out if my current job as stay-at-home-mom has earned me any street cred, or if, in fact, serving sausage patties 20 years ago at Bob Evans was the apex of my career.
This amusing little diversion is being “offered” to me compliments of my estranged husband, who was kind enough to bring this matter before a judge, who was gracious enough to pen the invitation on fancy paper with a Cook County logo on it, and even stamp it with a fancy stamp.
You know those scenes in action movies where the hero rolls under the gigantic steel door just before it slams shut? That’s how I’m getting this April blog in….just under the wire. And not because I’ve been out saving the world. More like I’ve been saving myself. From what or for what has been unclear. So unclear that the only theme I considered for April was THE UNKNOWN. But since the unknown makes me uncomfortable, I scrapped that idea.
In last week’s newsletter, I asked readers to take a peek at my first article as guest author on DivorcedMoms.com. I was at 1,300 views and hoping to earn a bronze star on that site.
Fast forward (and I mean fast)… that blog was picked up and featured on the Huffington Post’s Divorce page, then picked up by HP Germany and today appeared in Australia’s IVillage.
The DM editor told me I’d gone viral. No wonder I’m feeling a little dizzy and having trouble catching my breath.
This blog originally posted on DivorcedMoms.com and was picked up by The Huffington Post U.S, Germany, and Australia. It’s an excerpt from my upcoming book. Please stay tuned for more!
This is not just another divorce story.
It’s about my journey of self discovery and finding the courage to be the person I’m here to be.
I just finished working with a wonderful story coach named Pat. We spent a month together shaping and defining my upcoming book. Pat was a pro about finding the arc of the story—the only hitch was that what I called the end, she said was the middle.
Ugh. Anyone who has tackled a long-term project knows that the last thing you want to hear is that you’re halfway there!
I didn’t want to write about my dad dying—too painful, or about the long overdue breakup with a boyfriend—too embarrassing.
I continue to be amazed at the way life works; how seemingly random threads can begin weaving themselves into a perfect tapestry right before my eyes.
Recently I had an opportunity to take my daughter to Toledo for a voice audition. I spent several high school years just outside Toledo, and hadn’t been back in 30 years. My mother made the trip with my daughter and I, and after the audition we managed to find the house where we used to live.
Of course it looked small. And forlorn. But then this was the last place my family lived before my parents divorced. I remember a fight on the front lawn involving a wedding punch bowl that my dad was taking. Shortly after, my mom, sister, and I moved to a tiny apartment.
I was 16, and did not have a place I felt at home.
After learning of my husband’s multiple affairs and years of deceit, I chose to transform my pain by surrendering to it and living in “real time.” I was a spiritual seeker and life-long storyteller, but could I rise above my own story of betrayal to gratefully embrace the present moment?