SHOULD I CONTINUE TO "SING THE BLUES"?

     I can honestly say, I like my marriage 100% more now than, I suppose, 5-6 years ago!    

     Why? 
     Five, six years ago even a possibility didn't exist of Taka becoming vulnerable and open in a conversation with me! Many such occasions ended with him responding with an annoyed: 
"Wha-at?!" - to a first word out of my mouth. We din't treat each other like spouses or friends. I was very lucky, I had my parents living nearby and could always go to them, when I needed support or a place to hide out. Taka had his work, his office in our bedroom and, as I called them, "his favorite wives" - the computers. 
     Things really changed for the better. They are still very far from normal, so you hear me complaining and doubting the validity of my attempts to repair our relationship. My sister, who reads this blog, told me in our last conversation: "Stop bellyaching, already, you are together with that man for quarter of a century!"
     What do you think? Should I just resign myself to co-existing with Taka, "working" in this family, as a devoted employee? What will happen, when it's just him and me left bouncing in these four walls? 
     Should I continue to write funny stories about cats and forget to disclose to you the desire for closeness and real relationships?
     You tell me, what you think, I'm all ears!    

THE INNER CHILD AND WE

     Mr. P. peered at me closely. "So, did you like it?", he asked. He referred to an exercise we used in our counselling session. 
     "No, I didn't!"
     My ears still rang and I felt disoriented. All he asked me to do was, to write a few words on some blank cards. How can the reaction be so bad?
     Mr. P. gave me three cards and told to write one secret about myself on each of them. That's when I began to hear that familiar noise, as if my inner child stuck fingers in the ears and started shouting: "La-la-la-la-la!!!!!!!!!" - trying to suppress the debilitating memory. 
     Yes, it's that bad. I was a young adult, when something happened to me, and for more than fifty five years I managed to, mostly, forget about it. I still can't talk with anyone about it, but in  the recent years and with therapy that event from my past began to regularly surface in my memory.
     That was just one thing I wrote on a card! Two others were almost as painful, because they were, what I thought, honest admissions about myself. 
     The exercise consisted of writing these secrets on one side of the cards and the names of the people, whom I really, really, respect on the other. I put down the names of Mother Teresa, Dalai Lama and my dad (he is the only familiar person, I could think of). Mr. P. then asked me to pretend, those people told me the things - the secrets on the opposite sides of the cards - about themselves:
     "Now, pretend, you are close to Mother Teresa, Dalai Lama and your father, of course, and they told you these things about themselves. How would you feel about them afterwards? What would you say to them?"
     I knew, my dad had some of the same problems as myself, but to think of Mother Teresa and Dalai Lama in terms of my own shame was very shocking. I felt pity for them, the giants of wisdom and compassion, and overwhelming desire to assure them that, no matter, what they thought of themselves or what happened to them, the tangible accomplishments of their lives showed us: they were so much above all that and should not torture themselves by what might or might not be true about themselves, or what was already in the far away past. 
     I knew, of course, where Mr. P. was going with that, but it was no less moving and liberating. He told me then to address the words I wanted to say to the people I really, really, respected - to myself! Seeing as I was still reeling (he didn't know, why) from my memory, he began to himself voice all of my own accomplishments as a wife, a mother and a friend. In the recent years I became more hardened than before, so Mr. P. was more emotional than myself, speaking with tears in his eyes.
     I did hear him, nevertheless. Yes, we have a duty: to be honest and gentle to ourselves first, so that we can heal and make a more wholesome impact on the others. Yes, I could accept the idea that, the good things I've done in my life supersede my shortcomings. 
     Mr. P. talked of how, when some thought surfaces, that can sabotage our emotional well being, we should not resist it or give in to it. Instead, we should "rest with it", which means, as I understand: we need to delve into our consciousness and attempt to understand, why we are so bothered by that thought or memory and how we can deal with it as adults. 
     Most traumas happen to us early in life. We might not be able to react to them in a mature way then, but with some degree of recovery it becomes possible, as we age. 
     That's what I have to do then. It is hard to face my fears. You wouldn't believe, if I told you, how many times I "escaped" from writing this post by switching to check my email or if my online Scrabble partners made their moves! Silly, but my inner child still refuses to acknowledge the damage that I suffered and beats at my fingers with its feeble little hands, trying to prevent me from admitting the truth to myself. 
     Will I be able to do it? I'm afraid. I'm afraid, I'll have to tell someone about it. I'll need a lot of help. 
     So, no, I didn't like what the exercise felt like. No one would be happy to feel the hot wave of shock and self-recrimination  that accompanies that memory. But I immensely appreciate  the opportunity to get rid of it and live a healthier life!
     
   

DOUBTS

Am I deluding myself that, there is time and possibility yet to change the relationship with Taka? I don't have confidence even, if he shares my hopes, or just bides his time until we, finally, give up and go our separate ways. All the effort and hope could be just a form of deluding myself again of the safety and normality of staying married to my husband.

LIMBO, LIMBO, LIMBO...

Things are absolutely quiet and boring here. For a few weeks we didn't go to Mary's house to play mahjong.

Everyone, except Taka, of course, is in limbo.

PUPPET MASTERS, MY FOOT! - repost

I am tired, my friends. I take something for the rash, visited on me, undoubtedly, by the furies or my own conscience, sick of something that I've done... or thought... 
     Never mind... The medicine takes care of the itch. Will the furies let me be from now on or not, I don't know. All I want to do is sleep.
     You know, that thing that I touched on about whether God loves idiots or not. It often comes to my mind, although I never could put it so clearly. I guess. the despair made me more exact in crafting the words.
     Does God love idiots? 
     I have a strange family. Odd things happened to all of us often, mostly, because we'd make a stupid mistake, or get muddled in our thinking, something like that... We could be excellent at other times in our lives: shrewd, full of deep realizations and instinctual or spiritual insights, but then we'd do something stupid and spoil everything. 
     Might God have made us this way ? What other forces could be responsible for screwing up a family so badly, yet still imbuing us with a certain unending hope? 
     I'm describing a character of a village idiot, aren't I? No matter, how many times we get knocked down into the mud or, more often than not, knock ourselves in there, we get lured by the next ray of sunshine to still go on living and providing a comic relief to some invisible Puppet Masters, who could one day get tired of our routine and cut the strings.
     Wait a minute there! I started by asking if Heavenly God of endless Grace and forgiveness loves idiots. Now I switched to blaming some, perhaps, non-existent other powers, who enjoy watching us struggle on this track of time and life. What about God?
     I once told Sonny that, money makes the world turn. Then I added: "And love is why it turns." Power is a much bigger motivation than money of why all beings do things. And we begin to crave power and control, when we don't feel loved. Love is - everything. Destructive or life-giving, it rules the Universe. And I choose to believe, God is the source of the sweetest, purest, eternal love. 
     Do we love our idiot children? When they make stupid mistakes or make a wrong choice on purpose, do we love them? Do we want for them to always be able to pick themselves by the boot straps and try again, even though we ache together with them from a previous setback? 
     Wow! I didn't know, where this discourse would end, but, it seems, I just found once more that ray of sunshine I was talking about! God loves us: the morons and the geniuses, the devils and the saints not only because He has no choice: we are His children, after all; He loves us because that love is what turns the world on its axis and gives Him the power to Continue To Be. 

WHO IS THAT CAT?

     The little yellow and white kitty is ready to come inside.
     We first met her about two years ago, when she started to walk past the glass door into our backyard. She always looked busy and didn't pay much attention to us. Time to time, Taka found a dead mole or a mouse in the grass, and we knew, the kitty did her job of keeping in check the rodent population.
     A couple of times I left food for her on the back stairs, but it was obvious: she was not going to rely on mere humans for her survival. 
     Then came the day, when she walked up to the first stair of the two and couldn't make it up any further. Her back leg hung useless, hardly touching the ground. 
     I began to leave food for her, where she could reach it. She (we don't really know, whether it's a she or a he. The cat is on the small side, though) took residence in the bird-of-paradise bush, directly opposite to the back door, and came, limping, every time we called her, while recuperating from her injury. 

This was about that sorry period of time, when Dr. Park, Roberta's Korean husband, moved into her little room and began to establish his "territory". By that I mean, he, at first, seemed like a wonderful, happy, very helpful man, only to show his true character later, when he began to yell at me for the smallest reason and mistreat Roberta. He scoffed at the fuss we made over Goldie - that's how we called our "outside" cat - but then, realizing, she was somewhat important to us, also began to take care of her. As soon as I'd inform them of Goldie coming for her meal, he would grab a handful of cat food and run to the glass door, yelling gruffly: "Goldi-a" - at the top of his voice. He usually scared her off, and came back, looking glum. 

Dr. Park immediately disliked Sylvie for her witchy bright green eyes and an attitude, that resembled his own. 

It's OK, she didn't like him either! 

Shady Park

Once I came home and saw a mailman, standing by the fence,  raptly watching, as Dr. Park, a sprightly 73 year old, showed up, running in full gallop after my male cat, Chicken Bone. We don't let our cats go outside, and Dr. Park readily took to enforcing that rule. If he just came up to Chickie quietly, he could've caught him without much effort, but Park's nature was different, and so, our neighbors were often treated to the spectacle of him chasing a puzzled tabby around

the house!
     But - back to Goldie. She recovered surprisingly fast and began to come over less often. Taka kept saying, we should not make a pet out of her, and I, seeing truth in that, didn't bother calling her name or looking for her.

Bring your laptop to a position, when the picture becomes lighter.

When Goldie started to rely on us more than before, I had no strength to reject her. She'd sit by the glass door, looking at our two well fed and spoiled cats and warm house interior, and I can see suffering on her tiny face. One problem with opening a door to feed her is: Chickie runs out for a quick bite of vegetation. It's not like I didn't buy special grass for him and Sylvie! He still feels, the grass is greener... well, you know... Because of my foot and knee problems, it's not easy for me to recapture him. Fortunately, Sonny responds to my requests to get the cat from the yard much faster, than when I ask him to help me with anything else...
     Goldie's bowl now sits on the top step, right by the back door. She took to sleeping in an empty cardboard box on the front porch. When she sees us coming home, she runs to the back and starts rubbing herself on the door screen in the anticipation of being fed. At times when Chickie sneaks by me and into the yard, she moves away to a safe distance, lies down there and watches the show, how Sonny catches Chickie and takes him back home. She, sometimes, tries to rub Chickie's side, when he dashes pass her, but my confirmed bachelor cat pays no attention to her or even makes a show of slapping her away with his paw. 

     The last time this happened, Sonny wasn't home. I knew, I'd have to go down the steps into the garden to fetch Chickie. I stood on the back porch and yelled at him with more fury than usual. Suddenly, Goldie appeared from nowhere. She caught up with Chicken Bone and, instead of being friendly, slapped him on the side with one paw, as if she was siding with me in telling him: "Get back, I tell you!" 
Another thing she does to assure us of her good intentions, is catch small animals, that inhabit the back yard and let us see her prey. Recently she played with a poor mouse for quite awhile, boxing it around and catching it again. The unfortunate creature's entrails decorated our patio for a few days. Once I saw her walking through the grass, dragging some larger animal in her teeth. It was a huge, at least, a foot long, lizard!
Every time I tried to pet her, she jumped back and pretended to snap at me with her teeth. Then she decided, it was not such a

terrible idea and let me touch her tiny yellow head. Now, it seems, she waits, when I would pet her! She sits by the glass door and watches us for hours. She makes a few steps into the room, when I open the door to feed her, as if gingerly asking a permission to enter.
 She can't Every time we attempted to foster a cat or kittens before, we ended up with huge flea infestation or a mess we couldn't deal with. So, Despite my pity for Goldie, she'll remain an "outside" cat. 

HOLD ON, YOU'LL MAKE IT!

     Well, this is the week three of Hanah living and working in Santa Rosa. Last Monday we went all together (Sonny, Roberta and I) to pick her up and bring her home for another visit.
   

 Traveling with Roberta became a problem. Every such event ends with a frantic search for a bathroom for her. Part of the problem is, she does not acknowledge "the problem", until we drive away from a place, where it would be a simple matter to walk to a restroom! Instead, like this time, she announces her need, when we already are on the freeway. 
     There were no obvious places, which would've had "the conveniences", except for a small deli. The man there looked at me coldly and said, their bathroom was out of order, despite the fact that, I asked to use it for frail, old Roberta. We drove to another business in that area, and they, thankfully, were very kind. 
     It took us an hour to get out of there. Roberta was so wiped out by her ordeal, she had to sit down for a while. I bought her some time by purchasing bed sheets (the business  happened to be a warehouse for selling bedding items). 
     By the time we got home, it was too late for kids to go to the movies, as they originally planned. We hung around, talked and listened to music. Roberta conked out, as soon as she made it to her room.
     All that occurred on Monday. Except for some troubling health issues and subsequent visits to a doctor, the week was very quiet. Oh, Taka began to take me out for short walks near our house!

Ah, we were so young, when this picture was taken!

Leaning on my cane, I make it to about a block away, and then we turn back. Despite it sounding like such an ordinary thing, I think, its marvelous, that we can spend some time together and talk and walk in a relaxed manner. And it's exercise!