Joy . . . or, not

Cooked seven personal pizzas.  The last one, which came out of the oven just past 9:00, was mine. The last bite of the first half was in my mouth when my stomach started flip-flopping and I began sweating. I can't remember the last time I spat out food.  I want to go to bed, but dare not lay down until my stomach has a chance to work on its contents.

Recent pageview zip codes

We're visiting Indiana, including Alexandria, 46001; Noblesville, 46060; and Rossville, 46065. I've physically passed closest to the last of these, on my way to and from Chicago.

Update: Thorntown, 46071. I've definitely driven through this one.

'Nother update: Whitestown, 46075. Have driven through this one, too.

Not being able to exercise . . .

. . .  messes with my emotional equilibrium.

We've never been natural partners, exactly,

but we've always had an uneasy truce, based on a mutual agreement that unilateral decisions and putting each other on the spot are bad for us.

So tonight we have our seventh grandchild over to spend the night with our third and fourth. We also had an ice cream social for her and the other kids in the sacramental prep programs, to which the whole family was invited.  Afterward, g-ma took the other younger grandkids and their mom home. When she got back to our house at 8, she decided that #7 needed to go to bed due to her waking up extraordinarily early today.

Ok: so why didn't she just take her home then? Of course the girl didn't want to go to bed; she was expecting at least a little more time with her cousins.

A little while later, #5 called about spending the night tomorrow. G-ma answered the phone and listened to her, and instead of supplying our standard reply of, "Let me check and I'll call you back," so that we could each openly discuss our own opinion, she says before handing me the phone, "It's okay with me; here, ask grandpa."

I didn't want this, but I couldn't exactly say so now.

And, dear reader, if you're ever wondering why your marriage partner seems upset, the best way to get them to share it with you probably isn't to ask, "What's your problem?" This is especially true if they're too resigned to the status quo to properly yell at you as you deserve for your lack of respect for their feelings, as evidenced by the insensitive phrasing and tone of your query.

Thank you, love

It was very thoughtful of you to make me cornbread to have with my leftover chili. I wouldn't have enjoyed it nearly as much without it as I will with it.

Different experiences of suicide

Or: why I'm pretty sure I'd never do it, no matter how hard life gets. I am blessed with a fundamental trust in God that would have to be completely overwhelmed by despair to reach that point. 

Last week I stumbled across an in-depth story about a middle-aged man who was randomly murdered, while out for a run, by a mentally ill man who'd been a running back at a well known university and had dropped out due issues stemming from his mental illness. This article focused on the difficulties institutions (educational, professional) face dealing with mental illness. He and his wife had no children, and I saw in a related article that she was so devastated by his death that she took her own life a week later. 

I was pretty irritated by the journalist who acknowledge the tragedy this woman had experienced but nonetheless branded her suicide as selfish. This strikes me as an easy way to dismiss those who succumb to their depression and to prop ourselves up at their expense. Maybe she (the journalist) was just invoking an important defense against depression in her own life, but I couldn't make myself read her article after seeing the headline. Perhaps she went on to investigate whether the distraught widow had had a history of issues with depression, and her husband's senseless murder had simply pushed her over an edge at which she had previously managed to maintain a troubled equilibrium. (This causes me to reflect on how stable my own equilibrium might really be, which is probably not a bad thing to consider for a guy who won't get a semicolon tattoo at least partly because his mother always insisted, "Don't write a check with your mouth that your ass can't cash.")

We have a friend who was ten years old when she discovered her grandmother, who lived in her home, dead by suicide. We've never really talked about what that was like for her; I would never ask her directly and she hasn't shared beyond these simple circumstances. But I often think of how important it is for my own grandchildren to know that they bring me joy and hope, or rather, to never have to face the question of why they didn't. My bride, too, would be devastated by my passing should I ever become so low as to disregard the difference her love makes in my life.

My dad's self-inflicted death was not as traumatic for me, though I'm certain that was at least in part because mom hid the details of his death behind the technical code phrase "cerebral hemorrhage," not revealing to me that it was a suicide until over a year later. When he died, the hardest thing for me about my dad's demise was my certainty that the reasons my prayers for him weren't answered were my own fault. Perhaps knowing sooner that he'd killed himself might have alleviated that concern, but I'm not at all certain of that.

I've long felt that the only semi-considerate way to commit suicide is to make it appear accidental. Fortunately - and, on re-reading prior to publishing this post, I take it as a positive sign that I didn't consider putting the prefix "un" on that adverb - I have learned that it is very difficult to set up an "accident" such that it is certain to a) be interpreted as such, b) result in death, and c) not physically or emotionally traumatize someone else.

Life is a precious gift.  But I understand all too well how easy it is to be overwhelmed by it. 

After all,

even a piss-poor, unhealthy reason (say, out of consideration for others) is better than deciding that you don't have one at all. So, best to stockpile a few for darker days.

Another woman

I shouldn't be distracted by thoughts of another woman when I'm trying to sleep next to my wife. First of all, our lives provide me with few enough chances to fall asleep next to her.

So when I do get one, as I did on Monday night, I don't want my thoughts to be consumed by the day's frustration with my boss! In truth, though, her gender is immaterial to the issue.

Zero foresight

I am tired of my house seemingly always having a whiff of biological waste in the air, so I spent a Sunday afternoon earlier this month finally removing the rug from downstairs. I also practically insisted, when we brought the full sized mattress that our friend was getting rid of to the house for one of our granddaughters to use in "her" room, that it should have a mattress pad on it prior to her sleeping over. She's still having occasional issues with nighttime incontinence.

Well, that purchase didn't happen, and an accident did. I suppose I will have to sacrifice yet another exercise opportunity - I haven't had a chance to do anything in over a week - to go buy one between work and choir tonight, now that it's too late to keep that mattress from ever being touched by urine.

Needless to say, my granddaughter does not read this. But I'm not upset with her; she's not the one who disregarded my rather insistent suggestion. It isn't as if the person who did wasn't actually in Target for another purchase. Yes, I'm venting again.

Another reason:

I owe it to every American I know to hang with them through the next four years of the leadership we're about to elect.  One is a no-substance blowhard, the other's substance is not the direction I believe we should go.

Which of them, then, is actually less dangerous?

I have insisted that I'm not voting for either major party candidate. But here is another thought: we don't merely vote for one person for President of the United States, but rather for the entire team that they bring in with them.

That said, we still elect a person as President of the United States, and there really is no good choice in this election. I have said this over the course of many elections, and it has never been more true: my faith is not in the democratic republic of the United States of America.

One of these two is probably going to be President

(resigned) Sigh.

Divergent experiences

"I fell asleep snuggling with you last night. I love that!" you said this morning.

That's great. I fell asleep alone and lonely. Again.

I'm glad you love snuggling with me. I love it, too, but when I'm already asleep I don't get the benefit of it.

Yep

Still have to leave the room when they (always) play that f*ing song.

I miss you, Karen

The playful way a brother and sister interacted in response to a comment I made on FB has me really wishing you were still around to give me shit once in a while. This follows a reminder last night from my bride about how you always got under my skin. That second guy (to be polite) mom married always used to tell us how much we'd appreciate each other when we got older, but he had no idea how much I'd miss you.

Blindsided by this today. 

Today's pageview "zip code" . . .

. . . takes me back to Germany, about an hour by train from a place we've visited (also by train).

A much needed gift

When my bride expresses an interest something spiritually-focused - even borderline charismatic - and of good orthodoxy, I have learned to say yes every time. There's a family praise and worship group that meets a couple of times a month, to which we have taken the younger grandchildren before. The group doesn't have as many expressions of the charisms as I'm accustomed to, which may be part of why my wife is more comfortable there. Periodically, one of the families hosts a dinner coupled with a prayer meeting in their home. When we got the invitation this time, we knew it was going to be on our grandchildren's first night with us during their parents' cruise/vacation, but figured we would try to make it work.

Turns out that we had multiple logistics issues and were a half hour late, but we communicated clearly with the hosts clearly along the way and they were most gracious with us. There was one other family there, a mom with 2½ kids with her (well, the last one appears to be over ¾ baked, actually), and two of the host family's kids were gone for the evening. But their thirteen year old twin girls - one on piano and one on guitar - did a great job of leading worship, and we ended up with the middle four of our grandchildren there.

It was just what I needed. The small group let me spend some time talking one-on-one with the host, we got to spend some great, spiritually-focused time with (and pray over) our grandchildren, they got to spend time with some other Christ-centered families, and praising God still always feels like where I belong.

Yeah. Right.

I shared a FB link a little while ago about hosting a "crappy dinner party."

As if we had any friends like that.

Today's pageview zip code

New Hampshire, OH 45870  I've ridden my bike nearly to here. We have friends with a place in Russells Point, on the lake, and I rode up there once for a get together.

Still sad today

My cousin in MI buried his son-in-law yesterday. I wasn't there, as I'm convinced I should have been, because I couldn't get out of work Tuesday in time to rent a car for the drive up and back.

Of course, if we could save any money I'd have a reliable vehicle by now and wouldn't have had to rent one.

when life has you wanting to SCREAM but you can't

None

That is, zero.

It is easy

to get focused on frustrations, on the things that are never going to get better, on the things that have gotten worse lately. I often express those things here because I know you don't read this; it's a safe outlet for me to vent without hurting you over things you can't change.

But it's just that: an outlet. It is often a wish for improvement. But it isn't an expression that I wish that I wasn't spending my life with you. I can't imagine what that would be like, but don't for a moment believe it would be better.

I expect it would be very empty.

I love you, darling.

Today's pageview zip codes

Lima, OH  45804 I've definitely driven through here a couple times, but not very often, and I've never left I75 here. (This one was from last night, actually.)

Cecil, OH  45821  We passed just south of here, through Van Wert, on our way to my cousin's place in Vicksburg, MI. (We'd been through Vicksburg, MS, too, on one of our trips south.) My heart is with my cousin and his family in Michigan this week, as they bury his son-in-law, who died in a motorcycle accident on Friday.

Sorry, but . . .

When I come into your demense, exhausted but still trying to spend a little time with you before bed, and you don't look up from your texting to acknowledge my presence except to annoyingly snap "Hello!" as I'm walking away, no, I'm not going to explain my reason for being there.

I don't know if you've noticed, but we haven't had fifteen quality minutes together since I dragged you away from your sewing on Thursday night.

Still easily amused

Three minutes after getting a budget request for $9 from my bride, she updated the amount for the same item to $28.

That's an annualized inflation rate of 54,506,666.67%.

Shell, ii

The damned thing's clearly not thick enough.

Read this and tell me why I should be able to live with myself. Because I never went that far? Because I got help - for myself and for her - and did everything I could to help her heal? Because it was so long ago? I suppose the one thing that brings some consolation is that my victim has long since forgiven me, and it is as much for her as for anyone else that I continue to live with the pain of what I have done, along with the unrelated stuff . . .

Fr. Robert Spitzer's observations on the perils of comparative identity cut the other way when you know you're worse than most everybody else.

Today's pageview zip code

Vincent, OH 45784 - I passed just south of here on the same cycling weekend that I blogged about briefly last week.

Today's word

eclogue /ECK-log/ - a poem in which shepherds converse

I can only think of one context in which I'd ever write one of these, and aside from writing about or discussing accounts of the Nativity, cannot imagine I will have much use for this word.

Ok. I'm back in my shell, where I belong.

Really?

"If I play my cards right," what?  I might "get lucky"??

Don't act as if you'd be doing me a favor, pillow princess.

Cheerleader

This was my second year cheering runners as they turned back in to Area B for their last mile. It was especially nice being able to wear Team RWB shirt and cheer on my fellow Eagles; an Eagle from Buffalo came over and high-fived me. I would've liked to have stayed longer, but there is rain on the way, and since I rode my bike instead of driving I needed to get home ahead of it.

The Three of Me

This is the second time I've heard this song at lunch time. The last was months ago, and I thought I blogged on it then, but can't find it on a quick search.

It's a little too vague to be very powerful, but then again, it's vague enough to let a variety of people relate to it. Part of it is completely inapplicable: I don't think I've lost anyone's love over this, as the refrain says. Yet there isn't room in my life for the three of me, either. If I let the man I was consume my self-image, he will quickly destroy both the man I am and the man I want to be.

Of late

I'm feeling the weight of their legacy.

I'm pretty sure this is a matter of having my thoughts in the wrong place.

A memory from out of the blue

I just remembered again how certain I was that God wasn't going to answer my prayers for my dad because of my sin. I didn't know, of course, that he was already dead.

I felt responsible for his death . . . even after (much) later learning that his death was self inflicted, although then for a different reason. I suppose that the emotional memories linger even after the understanding grows up.

Musically prompted thoughts

On my way back across the street from Sam's at lunch time, the in-studio guest on WYSO today was an opera singer. I am no aficionado of opera, though I respect its artistry and the talent it takes to perform it. The brevity of my drive kept me from having to so much as extend my arm to change the station. But in that brief minute, the guest provided the translation of the piece she was about to sing: I should be left alone to weep, because it is better to weep than to keep the sadness inside.

I awoke this morning thinking again of a far less highbrow song about which I have briefly (and vaguely) blogged before. I believe I shan't share my thoughts any further now, except to observe that I still strongly disagree with the song's concluding couplet.

Rather than dwell on these cultural messages, let me not forget that God is my sustainer, who provides for my every need.

Another poor night's sleep

Intermittent cramps, which seemed odd because I exercised on Tuesday. Guess I didn't hydrate enough yesterday.

Pretty exhausted now.

At least when I'd given up

. . . my isolation was my own choice.

I spent a moment when I was awake with a cramp earlier checking in on my feelings. I was surprised to realize both how lonely I feel and how long I've felt that way. I had a brief, joyful, twofold respite from it, but that's over now. I knew it would be. The new tv season is starting, so it's about to get way worse. 

Don't try to tell me what I should do about it. I've tried, over and over again.

Then I hear a voice in my mind: My precious child, I am with you. You are not alone. Keep loving.

Today's pageview zip code

Ray, OH  45672  I drove along the northern edge of this zip code on my way to and from the Cheat Mountain Challenge in 2009, which was my last cycling century, perhaps ever. Now it looks as if the route through the southwest corner would have been quicker. I'm pretty sure this wasn't the zip code in which I was briefly lost on the way home.  I'm still pretty proud that my friend and I were the last two finishers of this ride ever; 2009 was the last year they held it.

I slept fairly well last night

 . . . but clearly not well enough to make up for the previous two nights of poor sleep. The fan I turned on early helped me fall asleep, but then I was a bit chilly in the night, so there was a constant sense of consciousness through the night related to that. I felt fairly refreshed this morning, but feel ready for a nap now!

Today's word

hare /HAIR/ - to go swiftly : tear

Not a new word for me, but a usage I hadn't seen. Would've made perfect sense had I encountered this verb in the wild somewhere.

Praising God

 . . . *always* lifts my spirits, at least for a time.

To sleep . . . perchance to dream

Ay, there's the rub. - William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Another long night

Is going to lead to another long day. But I have plenty to do . . .

Today's pageview zip code

Franklin Furnace, OH  45629, just north of, and across the river from, Teri's cousins' place in KY.

Remind me . . .

Never to tell my bosses that I "might have some bandwidth available next week."  Geez.

Feeling my age

I don't know how much of it is simply the activity level of the weekend, between the 50-miler on Saturday and the chore yesterday, but I feel somewhat lethargic this morning. I hope I haven't picked up some sort of bug from the old carpet and padding - variously soiled throughout the decades and deteriorating - that I took up yesterday. I made sure to wash my hands often, but am sure I was breathing in some less than ideal material. I didn't even think to don a respirator. The work was not as bad as I thought it would be, even though it was every bit as much of an individual effort as I expected, but I'm still a pretty sore old dog today.

Conclusion of Prince Caspian

"Sir," said the Mouse, "I can eat and sleep and die for my King without one. But a tail is the honor and glory of a Mouse."
"I have sometimes wondered, friend," said Aslan, "whether you do not think too much about your honor."

. . .

"You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve," said Aslan. "And that is both honor enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor on Earth. Be content." - C.S. Lewis, Prince Caspian

Two quotes from the final chapter that resonated with me when I read them with my granddaughter the other night.

I suppose I often get too caught up in what is past, and somehow manage to simultaneously be too full of myself. Those two things shouldn't even both be possible for me.

Echoes

It's odd that I should say so here, but sometimes I hate living in the Internet age.

Marijuana and alcohol used to lower their victim's inhibitions so they could abuse them? This is too painfully familiar to my own abuse as a teenager.

I don't wish for this outcome for (any of) my abuser(s), though.

Come to think of it, one of them ended up exactly like one of these guys.

Today's pageview zip code

Springfield, OH 45501; a pretty small zip

Most of this blog

. . . may simply serve as a warning not to make decisions with which you won't be able to live.

Of course, this is a variation on the (now not so damned funny) faux motivation poster: It may be that the purpose of your life is to serve as a warning for others.

An "attack" from an unexpected quarter

Last night and this morning were probably the darkest I have been since April 1, 1996.

Since before we were married, I knew that one of my bride's shortcomings was her inability to understand the effect her words might have outside of her brain, that is, of the context of the thought in which she forms them. I'll never forget the first time I noticed it: it was our nephew's birthday, and she had not had a chance to buy him a gift yet. So she wanted to ask his input on what she might get him, but what she said was, "Was there anything that you wanted that you didn't get?" rather than concluding "that I might get for you?"  The next thing you know the kid was having a meltdown over some gift that was on his wish list that he hadn't received. 

Knowing that she struggles with this and as a result says things that mean something other than what she intends to convey doesn't make me immune from the power of what she actually speaks. And last night, she accidentally hammered me in my most vulnerable spot.  

I heard our therapy team (both #2 and #3, to be specific) insist to my peers near the conclusion of their program, "You're not that person anymore," and they tried to instill that thought in me, too. And yet, as Fr. Neuhaus has pointed out and I have previously reflected on, what we do determines who we are more than our aspirations do. Even though I have become healthy(er), it will always be true that I have done a terrible thing, and it looks like I'll always be vulnerable to my own accusation, especially when I hear it from the mouth of someone I love.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention: this made for another very poor night's sleep last night. 

It's about time you said how you really feel

Innocent remarks made about others sometimes tell the real story about how someone feels about you. This has been a problem for me, for decades. At first, there'd be a therapist around to help put a survivable spin on things, but once that wasn't the case, I would be knocked seriously off balance by news events even remotely related to issues like mine.  This evening, it was my bride's simple observation on something that was said about a neighbor - an accusation which she doesn't believe, and her observation was not accurate in all its rationale but valid in its substance while making crystal clear her true opinion of me.

Earlier I felt as if I was starting to recover from a really tough week of reminders of my worst brokenness. I was beginning to lay claim again to what I have thought of as my proper identity. 

Now I feel completely deflated. But I'm also physically exhausted from being up two nights in a row with a sick dog. (I'm grateful he doesn't seem to have anything seriously wrong with him.)

I may not write here anymore. 

Today's words

Some WOTD catch-up:

will-o'-the-wisp /will-uh-thuh-WISP/ - 1. a light that appears at night over marshy ground  2. a misleading or elusive goal or hope

A familiar word with an unfamiliar definition. I only really knew it from The Sound of Music, but I never really knew what it meant. I assumed it had connotations of flightiness. 

 quodlibet /KWAHD-luh-bet/ - 1. a philosophical or theological point proposed for disputation; also : a disputation on such a point  2. a whimsical combination of familiar melodies or texts

I've never heard either sense of this word before.

adjuvant \AJ-uh-vun\ - 1. serving to aid or contribute : auxiliary  2. assisting in the prevention, amelioration, or cure of disease

I thought this might be related to adjutant, a familiar term due to my military background

Judgment

To see judgment such as I know I deserve so prominent in the news and social media, combined with the historical reminders of this time of year, makes the refrain pound in my brain:

You don't deserve any better, either.
You deserve only pain, as you caused.
You deserve no comfort.
You deserve no escape.
Eat what you deserve.
Choke it down.
Let it fester inside you
Until it consumes you.

I feel myself shrinking.

I shared with my wife last night, told her how hard yesterday was, and why. I couldn't have done that a couple months ago. She hugged me. Still, I wanted to die. (I didn't tell her that, though I'm obviously not keeping it from her, either.)

21 years.

I managed to make the Sign of the Cross on the way to work today. It doesn't feel like it reaches me.
I have believed that the Truth is bigger than my feelings, even this overwhelming self-judgment and despair, but I'm struggling to believe now.

It is very hard to renounce what you embrace. I know it is a lie, this thought that my vile past puts me beyond God's mercy, but I am having a very hard time renouncing that.

But one positive in the midst of this darkness: I don't view further sin, even "less abhorrent" sin than my increasingly distant past, as means of distracting/self-medicating. I can at least finally renounce the lie that some sins are appealing, or even exciting, and worthy of my consideration.

Amazing

I am amazed at how I can have absolutely nothing to give, be at the utter end of my rope, and pick up the guitar and open my mouth to play and sing and lead praise, and in comes the Holy Spirit.

Did I mention I was at the end? The week after Labor Day week is a hard memory for me. Between that and Thanksgiving weekend . . .

This week, 1995

I'm reminded of this as a result of seeing a flashback picture / hyperlink to a video on ESPN. We'd gone to MD for Labor Day weekend. I took our daughter - I think our youngest - to Cal Ripken Jr.'s 2129th consecutive game - since there was no way to get reasonably priced tickets for 2130 or 2131, but with the O's out of the playoff picture there were plenty of seats left for this one - along with my high school best friend. In typical Cal fashion, he homered in all three of these games; he seemed to thrive in the big moments toward the latter part of his career, including his final all-star game.

After arriving back home in OH, we had a follow-up appointment scheduled with therapist number 1. Over the last half of the summer she'd met with me, with my wife, and with our oldest daughter. While were out of town, she was going to consult with her team after having met with us over several weeks; I think she'd met with me twice, once with my wife, and once with our daughter, but there might have been one less meeting than that, as she might have talked with my wife and daughter during the same session. We'd had to wait way longer than I expected for the referral, and were clearly told that as long as this had been an isolated incident we'd be able to maintain confidentiality.

The problem, which only I seemed to know, is that it hadn't been; rather, I'd progressively abused this one precious victim who should have been able to trust me implicitly in a number of sporadic incidents over time. It was clearly explained to me that, in effect, if I was dishonest with them about the scope of my behavior, they would have just handled it and counseled me and my family, even though the letter of the law was clear. I also knew, though, that being honest here was more important - on multiple levels and for multiple reasons - than minimizing the repercussions. The temptation was real: I was the only one who seemed to know the truth. So I spoke the truth that I alone knew, knowing that this would probably mean a mandatory report but hoping otherwise, and struggled to trust that everything would somehow turn out okay if I finally did the right thing in response to doing such a wrong thing.

So on the day of our appointment, my therapist explained to my wife and I that she and her colleagues had determined that my actions and these circumstances warranted reporting. Dr. Fox indicated her sincere belief that there'd likely be no further action taken, since we were already taking the initiative to seek help for our family as we needed to, and "the county has far more severe and higher priority cases to deal with." Still, we agreed that it would be better and most appropriate if I made the necessary phone call, which I did the following work day. (This was probably a Saturday morning appt.)

And thus our lives continued getting better . . . by first getting way worse. I still remember the sad empathy in the woman's voice when I called to self-report my abusiveness, as if she were sorry for what she knew was going to follow.

I don't want to seem as if I think I was treated unfairly, though. Nothing could be further from the truth. Not one other person has ever treated me worse than - or even as poorly as - I deserve over this. And only one person in my whole life has caused me as much pain as I caused those I love. Well, two, if I count myself, as I must.

The next weekend, while we awaited the steamroller we then knew was coming, we saw Waterworld at the drive-in that used to be at the corner of County Line and Shakertown.  I'm so glad these awful memories are not associated in my memory with a better film.

_{I can still barely live with myself. Thanks for the constant reminders, every other abuser. And I still can't live for myself.} 

An apology, if needed

If part of that definition was once too accurate for comfort - and if so, it would have had to be the very end and it obviously isn't true of your life anymore - I am very sorry both for being amused and for sharing it with you. I never imagined that part ever fit you, and therefore that it might cause you pain, or I wouldn't have laughed at it, let alone shared it. (The rest of it, though, is thoroughly you, and I mean that in the most complimentary way possible.)

If that isn't it, and I've given some other sort of offense, please let me know.

Of course, I don't know if you read that, or if you're reading this or, for that matter, if anyone is. I only have the slightest indication that you might be, but I could just be screaming into the void.

Not fair, part deux

So for some reason my bride decided last night that a game of 500 rummy would be a better choice than Farkle (a dice game). We used to play this when we were dating, and I almost always won. Last night was a repeat of those days. The thing about rummy that's different from Farkle: the latter really is mostly a game of chance, but rummy has strategies that can be applied to every hand, and if only one player understands how they interplay then that person is likely to win the majority of the time. I almost doubled her up last night, even though her cards weren't significantly worse than mine.

Tonight we switched back to Farkle, and she absolutely kicked my tail. Well, that's not very accurate: she won all three games we played, which were each fairly close until the end. In each case, she ended up scoring thousands of points in a single turn near the end of the game to either overtake me or to leave me in the dust. But that's the nature of the game, and I'd far prefer to play something like this with her, at which we are on more even ground.

Does that make me a stuck-up jackass, or does it just mean that after four plus decades of being in a relationship together - and 35 years of marriage - I've learned to respect our respective strengths and weaknesses, at least in this area?

Revisiting The Resilience Factor

Oddest thing: I just looked back through all my blog posts that contain the word "resilience." I remember this book as being very helpful for me when I was in therapy five or six years ago, but as I reread my blog entries that appears to not be the case. Maybe we ended up putting it aside to work on the specific things that I was dealing with at the time, the primary one being self-forgiveness. Odd that I should find that back at the center of things again now. At any rate, that period of therapy was a very helpful time for me, and this book (link to Amazon e-book) was a part of my work then.

My reaction to the Introduction is very different this time from the last time. I guess maybe I realize now that I don't know so much, that I need some fresh answers. I'm not assuming that I'll find them in these pages, but I'm going to restart here anyway and see where it leads me. Even if it turned out not to be as useful as I hoped (or as I thought I remembered) the last time, it may be a better fit now.

If I don't at least get to where I can unreservedly make the sign of the cross again, I'm going to be in major trouble when a next real crisis eventually hits.

Shit

TFW the only members of your entire family who agreed to come over for a Labor Day cookout have to leave because one of them has to take care of an oncoming migraine.

I understand, but it still sucks.

Today's pageview zip codes

Some Dayton zips: 45401, where we spent more than one - but, in our defense, not many more - April 15th getting our tax returns postmarked by the deadline; 45404, including Dayton Children's, where it felt like we were taking up residence when our daughters started their pancreatitis battles, a significant section of bike path that I have ridden frequently and run on occasion, and our grandchildren's home with their dad for a while; and 45405, where a steady uphill along Shoup Mill/Turner Rd. and Philadelphia Dr. set up a great downhill along Salem Avenue back downtown early on Sunday mornings, before the traffic picks up.

Right now . . .

 . . . I'm struggling to believe in mercy sufficient even for me.

 . . . I am having trouble accepting the things that have gotten me through the last twenty plus years.

 . . . I'm not feeling like a threat to my own existence because of that, by contrast to days past. I'm very low on the avoidance scale they gave me so long ago. I felt worse last night, but still wasn't nearly to the planning point. 

 . . . I feel incapable of raising  my hand in the simple act by which we identify ourselves as Catholic Christians.  I know that no one deserves the grace it represents, but what I seem to know more, right now, is that I don't.

 . . . I don't like this place.

 . . . I feel incapable of reaching out in any other way than this. If you ask me how I am, I will probably smile and say "fine."

I read two things today

The first was a share by a friend, a reflection based on a current event that, well, has put me back in my place, I suppose.

The second was a great little teaching about a ritual we too often take for granted. It covered things I knew already, but it was a good reminder of them.

But the first is making it impossible for me to engage in that ritual.

I expect I'll get past this . . .

Just need a wedding, II

We're kind of used to the wedding routine. At some point, it seems that most of them have a progressive dance, in which they ask all married couples to come to the dance floor and then dismiss them by how recently they married, beginning with the bride and groom, who've always only been married for a few hours by then. Usually there is an older couple that everyone knows is going to be the last one on the floor - often grandparents of the bride or groom - and it's usually some couple in their seventies or older.

As we found a place on the dance floor, I looked around us and said to my wife: y'know, we could be it this time.

As we danced, there was one couple clearly older than us - also much better dancers, btw - that I really thought had been married longer than we have been. When they dismissed everyone married less than thirty years, sure enough, they were one of the three couples left, along with us and another couple.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't really think of this as a competition. The longevity of our marriage is its own blessing. But I'm also not suggesting that I don't think long-standing marriages aren't worth celebrating. It doesn't happen just by inertia, and the sacrifices couples make for each other are real and worth recognizing; it's important, in fact, to talk about our struggles, lest younger couples not understand that very serious challenges can indeed be overcome. I had no idea I'd married someone who would be so unfaithful early in our marriage, any more than she knew she'd married someone who would fail her and our daughters so utterly (to be slightly less in the reader's face about things). Neither of us understood our own brokenness, let alone the other's. And we have overcome much to build the healthy, committed relationship through which we are blessed today.

We were pretty surprised when both other couples left the dance floor together, having been married less than 35 years. We are only eight months over that mark ourselves. Afterward, one of the groom's sisters, whom we know very well through music ministry from before she moved away from the area several years ago, spoke very earnestly to us as we were saying our goodbyes of the example that our relationship is for "us younger couples," and how clear it is that we love each other. It was really affirming for us that she shared this.

Sometimes I feel like I'm still failing at this. I don't always love my bride all the ways that I wish I did, and often the ways that I do are despite my feelings in the moment rather than because of them. But this I know: loving this woman is God's plan for my life, and I am blessed to do so, and doubly blessed that she loves me, too.

Sometimes you just need a wedding

Heard a nice homily last night and was at a wonderful wedding today, both of which were very helpful reminders of the bigger picture.

Today's pageview zip code

Miamisburg, 45342: where I got to set a PR this summer, and be with a friend when she won her age/category group! :D

SMH

An adult I know was recounting a recent discovery: "I was looking through this stack of cards from my birthday," - which was a couple months ago - "and found one that I hadn't opened. It was from" they told me who, "and had a $10 Kroger card in it."

I asked if the person who had just discovered the oversight had written a note to the giver explaining what had happened and thanking them for the gift. "No, I didn't know what to do! I just felt so bad!"  

"Well, don't just feel bad. Write them a note, explain what happened, and thank them!"

I have learned that a major part of our character is how we respond to a mistake. We can't control how people will react to that, but at least we know we've done what we can to put things right.

Darkness

So when a man who freely discusses the facts of his childhood sexual abuse refers to some subsequent time as the darkest of his life, it serves to confirm the notion that the evil we do harms us far worse than the evil that is done to us.

On further thought: although my time in the 45323 zip code included the day that I was closest to ending my own life, even that was not the darkest day of my life. That time came before, to get me there. Because the evil we do is darker, even if we don't fully perceive the darkness at the time.

#whenIbecamewhatIabhor

I think it would help to talk to a therapist

I'm in a bit of a quandary, though. For solo work, I'd want to see therapist #4, and the initial work this time will certainly be solo. But I could see it shifting to couple work before long, and that would mean #5, and trying to transition between them isn't the right approach.

But neither thing is likely to happen unless things get much worse, seeing as I just got chewed into last night for buying my first new pair of glasses in three years. "I have four doctor bills to pay," I was told (none of which are mine). I don't resent her health care needs, but I feel like I've been treading water.

Meanwhile, it is good for me to remember that I am not without recourse. I have some resources from my previous times in therapy that it might serve me well to revisit. Let me not overlook doing what I can just because it isn't what I think is the ideal course.

Today's bonus pageview zip codes

Enon, OH 45323: I spent the darkest time of my life living in an apartment here, 20 years ago. Thank God for the friend who provided me a place, who has since gone home.

Gary, pray for me.

Also, Fairborn, OH 45324

Last night I posted something that, in hindsight, I think might have hurt someone I care about, if she were to read it. It likely would have felt like an attack against, or maybe a gross oversimplification of, her struggles.

If you read that, and were hurt by it, I am so sorry, and I don't presume those lame words make things okay. I will think more before I write.

I can be so obtuse.

Today's pageview zip code

Clayton, OH  45315. Have driven through here many times, but always on the interstate. Oldest daughter's ex had friends here.

Two out of three wins, Dammit

Actions, thoughts, feelings. If two are consistent, the third will comply. Think the world is falling apart, pull the blankets over your head, the feelings will line up to keep you there for a while. Or: feel scared, think anxious thoughts, the behavior will follow. (I'm referring to me, here, btw.)

Vastly different scenario, but, feelings: get in line where you f&#*ing belong.

Not fair

Playing a game with my bride, a dice game of mostly chance. Once the first person reaches 10,000 points, everyone else gets one more turn to try to beat their score. We'd split the first two and were playing a rubber game.

"What ungodly number do I need this time?" she asked after I rolled a rare combination and followed it up with more than enough points to win.

"Only 5600," I couldn't manage to say without cracking up.

She'd needed 8600 the previous game.

Yeah, I had a run of luck this evening.

Not assuming

It's probably best to not assume that a person having one set of gifts implies some other one.

It's probably best to not assume that, even if someone indicates that they like and trust you with themselves and want to be your friend, what they mean by that is the same thing that you'd mean if you'd said it.

All things are possible

We had a great discussion the other night at prayer group about the importance of dying to ourselves, and how that might apply to our lives in a society in which few of us seem to be called to martyrdom for our faith. One of us observed that we often approach life with our expectations and aspirations firmly fixed before us: what our careers will look like, what activities we'll engage in, how our families will be. Then life happens in ways that can be very different from our hopes and dreams for ourselves and our loved ones. Letting go of our preconceptions so that our actual lives don't disappoint us and fill us with despair can be a great challenge.

God has two chief aspirations for us, from which all of His other dreams for us take root: He wants us to know and love Him with all of our heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love our neighbor as our self. It seems that many of our original expectations and aspirations turn out not to be the best means for those two things to occur in our lives. Until our faith in God is strong enough for us to trust that our real life is more conducive to God's plan for us than our preconceived one was, our resentment can interfere with living in God's joyful love.

I often feel like the father in Mark 9:24, to whom Jesus said that all things are possible to those who believe. "Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief." I found myself considering this today as I read a shared FB post from a friend, about a pastor who was healed as he preached about healing. Like my friend, I believe that God heals. (Well, when I manage to believe in God, which by His grace is actually most of the time.) I find it far harder, though, to believe that God is going to heal me or my loved ones. Perhaps it is because I have prayed for my daughters for so very long for healing for their respective pancreases. Or maybe it's because of my own unanswered prayers for healing of my body and mind. For the latter, I should be more cognizant that God has delivered me from all traces of my most severe and damaging brokenness, and allowed me to participate very actively in the process while also allowing me to help others who had similar struggles.

But maybe my faith struggles are from nothing more than my own sophistication and embracing of this age's rationalism. In any case, I struggle to have a simple faith that truly trusts in God to provide for my every need and those of my loved ones.

And so I find myself praying a variant of this as I reflect on the prayer associated with the Divine Mercy image: Jesus, I trust in You. Help my lack of trust in You.

Nice evening, despite small annoyances

Last night we went to see a movie being screened at St. Luke on the original painting of Divine Mercy, which the artist was commissioned to paint under the direction of St. Faustina. I was so pleased that my bride agreed to go see this, and afterward that she seemed to have enjoyed it despite her usual dislike for movies she has to read: significant sections which were in Polish, Lithuanian, or heavily accented English were subtitled. I didn't realize that St. Faustina had died so young, nor that the image which I have seen previously was (definitely, I know now) not from a photo of the original, which has a fascinating history. It turns out that I am most familiar with Kathleen Weber's rendition based on the Hyla image. Interestingly, I don't think I'd claim any of them as my "favorite," and I agree wholeheartedly with the last statement on this page from The Divine Mercy website: Whichever you prefer, just remember to be respectful of all the approved versions of the image, for they are all imperfect renditions of our infinitely perfect and radiant Savior! And we must always remember not to turn any image into an idol.

Oh, about those annoyances (first world problems): the air conditioner was blasting for all but the last 5 minutes of the movie. This had two negative effects: it made the room uncomfortably cool, and the air flow blew the ceiling-mounted projection screens, causing them to sway back to front and rotate slightly, adding a slight element of motion sickness to the viewing experience.

Observations about the film itself:  There was at least one observation by Jim Gaffigan - whose participation in the film and devotion to the image I greatly appreciate - that clearly reflects a lack of familiarity with the painting's early history, and should probably have been cut from the film: the painter couldn't have lamented not repeating his success, because he died long before this devotion caught on. (Harry Connick Jr. also provided some "modern culture" presence.) Finally, there was no more than a passing reference to the restoration of this original image.  :(  However, the discussions of the original painting's history, including of the key participants' roles and lives; the explanation of the proliferation of other images; and the participation of a wide number of people with such extensive familiarity with this image's history and this devotion made for a fascinating narrative.

Adventures (in advertising)

On the way home from work yesterday, one of the NPR sponsors that was mentioned was a cruise company that specializes in river travel in "Europe, Russia, and Asia." I'm far more interested in one of these than an ocean cruise. But what caught my attention yesterday is probably another sign of my nit-pickiness: it's been a while since I've studied geography, but I'm pretty sure that once you've said "Europe and Asia," you've got Russia covered . . .