Closing the Year

Reluctantly, just about a year ago, I began to put words to thoughts that swirled in my mind, first at The Swan's Heart, and then later here.

As with so much, I was guided into that writing by Master's insistence. He was convinced that I needed to find a way to voice the wanderings of my mind, and that writing would provide that outlet for me. I was unsure, and not at all happy at the prospect, but obedient. His wisdom has borne fruit in friendships formed, certainly, but in growth for me as well. I have worked my way through a good bit of my own "stuff" here in the blog classroom this year.

I believe that I've found a bit more balance though pouring out so many words here this last year. I know that, in times when I have struggled with my own limits, my own boundaries, my own small-minded short comings, it has been in the effort to stay open and honest here, that I have eventually found some way through the confusion and doubt. I grant that it has not always been easy to read my fussing and fuming here, and I admit to a significant wonderment at those who continue to peep in at the curtains to watch and listen to me whine when there are places that are far sexier. For all that, I've found a few dear souls who have come to feel like good friends, although we've not actually met. You know who you are and you have been for me and mine solid rocks of kindness and stability through a year that has tossed us about some... Bless you for that.

I've learned that I am stronger than I once believed I could ever be -- and softer than I ever let anyone know or see. I've learned truly what it means to "be owned" in times when that has meant to be cared for and indulged and protected and treasured, and too, in times when that reality has demanded that I bend to a will that demands all that I have had to give. I've learned to serve and love and open and give, and I've been hurt for the sake of that love. I've wept and I've sung and I've trembled and I've laughed.

I would do it all again.

When the year winds down to the closing moments, I will look back at lessons learned, at joys shared, at sorrows borne together, at pain and pleasure given and received, at love wrapped around it all, and know that it has been a year I will always be glad to have shared with Master and with T.

"To believe in something not yet proved and to underwrite it with our lives: it is the only way we can leave the future open." -- Lillian Smith

Wishing all who come this way much goodness in the year ahead.

swan

She's Home and Doing Well

My God, as a man who has lived through old fashioned abdominal incision hysterectomies in my former marriage and with my Mom, I am amazed by the new laproscopically assisted procedure. We came out of the hospital seven hours after we initially reported for surgery. Swan has three small bandaids on her abdomen where the laproscopes were inserted and that is all the visual signs of the procedure. She has some discomfort but nothing at all extreme. She is tired and spacey and groggy and all the typical post anesthesia symptoms, but all in all, remarkably well. They told us she was quite anemic despite the rather agressive iron supplementation we've had her taking. They prognosticate that in four weeks when her recovery is more advanced, she should have way more energy and vitality than she's had in quite some time (god help us all:)

I don't have time to say thank you to each of you who have been so kind to our swan and all three of us, with your generous expressions of caring and well-wishes for us through the last couple of weeks and especially yesterday and today.

It is wonderful to have so many friends pulling for us.

All the best and thank you:)

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

Surgery Is A Success!

Just a quick word...Swan is out of surgery. She is doing fine. The surgery was "uneventful", per the surgeon. Tom and I were there until the surgeon came out and then I had to leave for work. Tom called me at 11:30 am and I got to talk to Swan. She is groggy and sleepy and chilly but sounds good. Tom is chasing down nurses for warm blankets. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, they will be going home in about 2 hours.

Thanks for all of your love and concern. We will keep you posted.

T

Thank you all... Back soon

It is early morning.
We are off to the hospital.
I am well.
Master and T will let you know as soon as possible what my status is, and I'll be back here when I can.

Thank you so much for all the well wishes. It means more than I can say.

swan

December 26th

We've made it through all the festivities... all the family gatherings are done and over with, negotiated with relative success (considering the logistics and demands of all the complicated interweavings of our extended tribe). We've feasted, toasted, gifted, laughed and cried, hugged and smiled our way through the days of the holiday together with all the wrinkly relatings of our family here, and today, it is just us three with a rare, quiet day to spend together without a single demand on us from the outside world -- pure luxury!

We are --

*So much more aware of the passing of time, especially as it impacts Master's parents.
*So much more impressed by the maturing of the children as even our youngest member moves nearer and nearer to his last year of high school and the decisions about college that will take him finally from the "nest" and into a more adult sort of relating with us all.
*So much reminded of the old axiom about not being able to "go home again" as my late Christmas phone call to my son had him regaling me with stories of my own mother's various wickednesses as she tormented the various attendees at my brother's home who did not live up to her standards for decorum and morality.
*So much brought face to face with my own gratitude for a family that loves me as a call to my other brother made clear that he is so awfully alone in a life chosen because there was money to be had in lieu of relationships...
Our presents are all unwrapped and scattered about -- Master's myriad knives of many sizes, T's amazing cooking utensils, my absolutely stunning Hudson's Bay (8 point) wool blanket... The desires of the heart, lovingly sought out and given with much anticipation and joy, now held close to each of our hearts...

Today, we'll wander off, in just a bit, to the local movie house for some time spent escaping into some cinematic fluff. Our list of "want to see" films is actually remarkably long, and our time for seeing them is a bit dauntingly short, but oh well, we'll pick and make a go at it.

Life is good. We are happy here.

Best to you all.

swan

Maturity Sucks!

Age is nothing we can resist. Oh, sure, there are some who will work like fiends with potions and lotions and exercise and surgery to try to hold off the advances of age. But we are not at a point in our progress, as a people, to stop the ravages of dementia.

My hubby's parents are elderly. Dad is 87 and Mom is 85. Every year, Tom has said "Well, we had them with us for another Christmas. Never thought they would make it thru' another year." And I have certainly agreed. Dad is well enough. He still drives. He still flirts with the ladies in the dining room at the nursing facility. But Mom is not in the best of shape. She broke her hip last year. And since then, the slippery slope of senility has been dragging her down. She is a tiny woman. A mere 98 pounds after a good meal, dripping wet. And she is forgetful. Some days, she thinks I am Tom's ex-wife. I usually just let it go. It is easier for her, less confusing, and who am I to make her life more difficult. She never remembers who Swan is. I usually try to work Swan's name into a conversation to help her to remember.

We have these rituals we do during the holidays. We do Christmas Eve dinner and gifts with Tom's parents and ex-family. It used to be a dinner at a hotel. Now we do it at the nursing facility. We are trying to make it less stressful, less confusing, and physically easier for Mom. She didn't want to be involved last night. Said she was sick, and was going to stay in bed. Was cranky and downright mean until she heard that our ex-wife brought their dog. That perked her up. She joined in. But it was very apparent she was lost most of the evening. Was unable to introduce us to the staff that stopped by to visit and called the dog she loves the name of a dog that has been dead for about 40ish years. Last night she agreed to join the family at our ex-wife's for dinner tonight. Tom drove over to pick them up and she refused to go. She was sick, she was cranky, she was not budging.

Dementia is a scary thing. I am sure that she has to be terrified to step out of her door everyday. The fact that today she might remember most things and tomorrow she doesn't remember why they moved 5 yrs ago....how horrible that must be! It would appear that our future events with Mom will need to be at the nursing facility. It is a lovely assisted living center. They have a beautiful 1 bedroom apartment. But for her to be included, we shall have to go to her. It is too much emotional stress for her to come to us. I cannot imagine how hard she must work to remember the smallest things. To be lost within yourself and not know how to fix it. No wonder she is angry and sick and cranky.

So...My next task, as the "social director" that I am.... will be to "gently" motivate the rest of the family to events and gatherings at their location...not ours. We have been blessed to have Mom & Dad with us much longer that any of us ever imagined...it is now necessary we make her remaining time as comfortable as possible.

There will also need to be times that we get Dad out. He needs a break sometimes. He is good at getting involved in the activities of the facility. But there are times that nothing is better than family, and our family needs to remember Dad's needs are equally as important as Mom's.

T

Mixed Emotions

We are deeply immersed, now, into the holiday festivities.

This evening, we will take a moveable feast to the assisted living center where Master's parents have their home. We'll be joined there by His ex-wife, her mother, and His teenaged son. We'll grill filet mignon, put out a baked potato bar, serve up a green bean casserole that has been suitably modified for our dietary restrictions (but which will most likely pass as the version everybody knows and loves in spite of all that), and finish with homemade cheese cake and berry compote. There'll be gifts and conversation and champagne toasts all around. We'll once again marvel that another year has come and gone and we've still got the grandparents all with us...

Tomorrow, we'll gather at the ex-wife's home. The cast will be nearly the same with the addition of Master's daughter and her boyfriend. More gifts, more food, more family time.

In between, the three of us will weave time for "us" around the more public events -- time when we will cocoon into our own home and celebrate the amazing reality of our small family unit.

Last night, our evening at Phantom was wonderful in some ways. Our seats were fabulous, and the performance was excellent. T, I believe, had a wonderful evening. Unfortunately, Master was scheduled (at the last minute) for a sleep study the night before which left Him exhausted, and He wasn't in any shape to really enjoy the evening. Still, it was a gift that was just perfect for our T...

A week ago, I called my son, who still lives in Colorado. He is the older of my two children and will be 30 years old this summer. I still remember the moment that they laid him in my arms the first time... I promised myself then that I would raise a good adult that I'd be proud to know some day -- and I am. He is kind and good and decent in ways that make me so glad to know him. I needed to tell him about my upcoming surgery, and try and assure him that there was really nothing for him to be concerned about. In the event, it was my wonderful son who had me laughing as he explained to me how critically important it was that I get this resolved so that I don't continue to hemorrhage in my junior high classrooms and risk traumatizing some poor young guy... "Really, Mom!"

And then he got serious, telling me about his sister -- she's in jail, Mom. Charges in two different counties: distribution and conspiracy to distribute. Crystal Meth. Again. Likely a sixteen year sentence this time. She'd called him. Asked him to call me and call her grandmother and see if we'd spring for a legal defense fund. And, my good, strong, decent, kind, truthful son asked her if he could bring her some cigarettes when he came to visit her. He knows that the other thing is no-way going to happen. Shouldn't happen. I can't look too closely at that -- not really straight on. I've been here before. Know the pain and the anguish and the absolute futility. She, too, was laid in my arms at the moment of her birth. My heart breaks, and I cannot save her.
I am feeling quiet. Emotions reined in tight. Leashed. If I let them go, I'd shriek, and that would be so awfully unseemly on this eve when the world waits for the promise of peace and joy.

I am choosing to believe today and tomorrow and for the new year. Because I must, because I cannot imagine what else to do. Because...

Happy Holidays to all of you. For your friendship and for your love and for your words of wisdom offered here and in private -- thank you. May all good things be yours in the new year.

swan

In the Clutches of the Medical Profession

The run up to "The Day" has commenced.

I've been on the phone pre-registering with the hospital and confirming insurance information and all that rigamarole. In the next few days, I'll be put through a variety of pre-operative tests and physical examinations to make sure that all the health-care providers and facilities have taken all the necessary steps to cover their proverbial asses against any potential catastrophe which may befall should they fuck this up in some significant fashion.

I understand the drill. Annoyance and aggravation added to insult and injury. OK. Fine.

I'm not here to grouse about that. Much.

What I am most hacked off about with all of this is the simple reality that all this poking and testing and peering at me over the next week exposes US to the potential of some medical professional noting a wayward bruise or area of broken skin, and then becoming suspicious of the origin of that marking. Suspicion of that nature can trigger a report of suspected abuse under the requirements of laws that designate physicians, and many other professionals (like social workers, therapists, and teachers) as "mandated reporters."

Because a doctor could see bruising resulting from a spanking and decide it might indicate that I am abused, we always avoid SM play that might result in any kind of marking prior to medical appointments. Logically, we know that the odds are against anyone seeing my butt in a routine pre-operative physical. However, the penalties, if we guess wrong and a doctor makes a report of suspected abuse are so potentially horrific, that we just can't afford to risk it. So we err on the side of caution, and abstain. For days ahead of the appointment. Days ahead of the surgery. And then, of course, there will come the days after...

All because our kind of loving leaves marks that the world doesn't understand. Or accept. Or approve of. Simply because the laws insist that I cannot consent to Him spanking me -- that what we do is "legally" assault, no matter how either of us feels about it.

And so, right now, when I most need His hand on me to steady and center me; to calm my fears and quiet my mind; to wipe out the shrieking fear for at least a bit of time... We dare not go there.

There are so many sex laws that need to be changed in this country. So many silly, antiquated, out-moded and out-dated notions that ought to be let go to fade into memory. Tonight though, I'd settle for just a simple change in just a single arena -- let go of the laws that make it impossible for me to tell my doctor that the bruises and marks I wear are not signs of abuse but badges that declare my free choice to love and live as a woman who knows who she is and what she wants...

Where is the wand-waving fairy godmother that could make that happen?

swan

I Gots the BESTEST Famdamily In the Whole Wide World!!!!

I am a theatre geek. I adore all things theatrical. I like watching them put it together. I am the one who will find the "oops" in a movie, where they made a bad cut & splice. I did alot of theatre in High School and in College my major was Theatre with a Speech minor. I wanted to teach High School Drama and Speech and Direct on the side in local theatre.

Last year for my birthday I asked for, and got, tickets for the family to see "Oliver!" at the Aronoff. It was fabulous. I was in the show when I was younger.

This season "Phantom of the Opera" is being done. **sigh** I didn't even ask. It is Christmas time. We have family obligations. There is alot of expense. And for the 3 of us to go....well...it is huge. So I figured I would get to see it the next time it came to town. In 2 or 3 years.....

Well, Swan is about to have surgery. So Tom and Swan went shopping for me for Christmas this past weekend. They came home with bunches. And she took the bags to her side of the condos and came back to my side with LOADS of wrapped packages. I got oodles of gifts! And last night I got to open one. I have been wanting new champagne glasses. I have all these bits and pieces of different sets. I wanted 12 matching so when we have the entire family, I can set a matched table. AND I GOT THEM!!! And they are beautious and unusual and ME!

Tonight there was another package at my place at the table. Before dinner I got to open another package....I opened a Coldwater Creek box. I like Coldwater Creek. Always snuggy clothes. Very good, but the box was VERY light. I moved the tissue paper and in the bottom was a picture of the flyer for the "Phantom of the Opera"! I started crying. Swan started crying. I could barely breath. And Tom said look in the tissue. There were 3 ticket....ORCHESTRA SEATS, no less!! We are going to see "Phantom" this Friday night. It seems they had it all planned for New Years Day, but with Swan's surgery they had to BEG Ticketmaster to take back the other tickets and they got new tickets. And I get to go. And the best part of all is that I get to go with the dearest people in the world. Who else would realize that there is nothing else that would thrill me more than an evening of theatre?

Yep, I will be the one in the Orchestra section with the HUGE smile, holding hands with my family. Who could ask for a better Christmas?

I love you guys! You are the BESTEST famdamily in the Whole Wide World!!!

T

A Small Wager

OK. This is a game that everyone can play :-) There is a small, un-redeemed wager here in the Heron Clan... It has to do with the picture you see here. Hint for our non sports-minded friends: the pictured fellow is the quarterback for the Indianapolis Colts football team -- Peyton Manning.

To play our little game, all you have to do is guess the nature of the wager and figure out who is holding out.

Simple.

Let your imagination run free. It is the season to spread a little joy and merriment, so feel free to join in our simple pleasure.

Have fun!!!

swan

When the choice is given

All is settled now. The date has been confirmed. I will report to the hospital at 6 AM, escorted by "spice," on the morning of December 29th for a laparoscopically assisted vaginal hysterectomy. The doctor tells me that (barring complications or the need for unusual pain-control medications) the procedure is "out-patient" and that I should go home the same day.

I am maintaining my composure at least some of the time, although I am honestly terrified and frankly pissed as hell at the whole business. Unfortunately, this has come to the point of undeniable medical necessity. I am resigned. I have intractable bleeding and continual and escalating pain which simply must be dealt with now.

I have made this choice rather than continue to try and deal with this using the only other available medical options which carry unacceptable levels of risk and potential side effects that are too seriously dangerous to consider.

The interesting fact, in my mind, is that I have made the choice.

It is clear to me that Master is relieved and glad to have this decision made. He is clearly of the opinion that this is wise and good and will result in my improved health and vitality when it is all over with and the recovery period has been negotiated. I can see that He has struggled mightily not to push for this decision much sooner. He has waited patiently (through a good deal of horrific womanly messiness) for me to come to this point on my own. He has allowed this to be and to become entirely my choice and my decision.

For that, I am deeply grateful. I realize that, within the boundaries of the life we live together, that did not have to be the case -- that Owner could have pushed much harder in this instance, and perhaps even insisted. I know He chose to not do that, and I know why He did not. My heart overflows with the knowing.

Even now, as we navigate through the scary waters of these next few days, I can feel the gentleness and deftness with which He is holding me and guiding me. The sadist is turned lover, allowing me to say what I need and how I am in each and every moment. I am feeling as volatile and as fragile as a glass bubble, and still He is there, cushioning each little bump.

Thank you, Sir. I love you, Sir... always and all ways.

swan

Not an Angel

One of the annual events of my year is the Christmas program that happens at school each year. Even though I've long since outlived the point in life where I have any children of my own participating in Christmas programs or Christmas pageants, the very fact of my teaching means that once each year, "my kids" take part in the ritual of song and performance that is the re-enactment of the traditional Christian story of the birth of the historical Jesus... I never see the nativity story re-told that I am not transported in memory back to a winter long ago when my own daughter was small, and she was dragooned into a church pageant to play the part of one of the "Heavenly Host."

She was, at the time about a month shy of her second birthday -- really just a baby. However, because she was quite verbal, and tall for her age, those who were in charge of the festivities viewed her as older than she really was. They were quite sure that she'd make a wonderful angel. I tried and tried to convince them that she wasn't old enough for a role in the play yet, but there was no swaying the mavens of the church. They were determined, and so it was that my wild child was set to make her acting debut in the role of Christmas angel.

The appointed night arrived and all was in readiness. Wings and halo and shining white robe were donned and my darling looked somewhat angelic, but she was not a happy camper. I tried my best to soothe her, but she was having none of it... I feared the worst, but hoped things would go alright, after all, angels really only had to parade onto the stage and flutter a bit -- I was willing to hope that her natural instinct for the lime-light might see us through.

Well, onto the stage filed the Multitude. They made it all the way to the center and the lights came up. My precious one got right to the middle. Stopped dead center. Put her little baby fists on her baby hips, stared out into the crowd, stomped her baby foot and declared in a full stage voice -- "I AM NOT AN ANGEL -- NOT AN ANGEL!" She ripped her halo off. Tossed it to the floor and marched directly down the aisle and plopped into my lap. So much for that. That's my girl -- then and now... Not an angel, but a teller of truths.

I eventually learned that there was no pushing the child where she wouldn't go. Still isn't. She taught me about telling your own truth.

Anyway. As the holidays approach and you listen in your own way for those heavenly strains, I hope you maybe hear, above all the cacophony of the season, the voices of all the little ones who declare in honest baby voices the truth of their lives -- "NOT AN ANGEL!"

swan

Buster the Crab

For me, in my journey, Barbara Kingsolver's sturdy and adaptable hermit crab, Buster (High Tide In Tuscon), has been instructor, mentor, model, friend...

If you are not familiar with Kingsolver's anthology of essays, and Buster in particular, the short version of the story is this:

Kingsolver, on a trip to the Bahamas, collected a variety of shells for her young daughter. Upon arriving home to Tuscon, it turned out that one of the shells was actually home to a hermit crab, subsequently named, Buster... Buster was given an aquarium home far from his familiar ocean, and life proceeded apace. Except that Buster seemed to display periods of depression interspersed with manic episodes that no one could explain. It turned out, eventually, that Buster was responding, in ways that no one fully understood to what would be tidal patterns in Tucson, Arizona -- hence: High Tide in Tuscon...

Like Buster, I sometimes feel myself ripped from an environment I understood, thrust by forces larger than myself into a strange and foreign world. Like Buster, I am sometimes hard pressed to adapt, responding to tides I cannot see, but only feel. Like Buster, I am reduced to being what Kingsolver calls "a good animal." Here, in this life that is mine now, my responses are more primal, simpler, less tied to the life that was. Here, I am simply present in my world. Finding what is and fitting myself into what is given. Buster finds his home in the place where he is. Some days there is quiet, some days there is intense wildness. Always there is sure knowledge that we are simply who we are called to be. Nothing more. Nothing less.

swan

What Does a Collar Mean?

Taylor asked, in her comment on my last post, what the collar worn by a woman in her mid-seventies might mean. Truthfully, without knowing the woman in question, there is no way to answer that question, but it set me thinking about my own collar, and what it means for me to have it and wear it.

Collars, within the life, are freighed with such symbolism. We who are given them, or who give them, sometimes allow that symbolism full value, somtimes not. Some of it is made more lurid by the fiction that is drummed up about us by those who look in at our lives from the outside and try to imagine what we must be about...

I know that the collar I was given by Master has deep significance to me -- and I do not wear it all the time. My life, outside our home precludes that. In fact, I did not actually have a formal "collar" to wear in the beginning of our relationship. I had the marks of His ownership, His initials, cut into the left shoulder blade of my back. That scarring served as the mark of my slavery. It was sufficient, I think, in His view.

There came a day, when I asked Him for the collar. It was a need that I felt. A lack that I suffered. He generously, feeling my need, granted my wish in this instance. I remember, with great joy, the moment He placed the collar that He and T picked out for me, around my neck.

The collar, represents for me, His presence, His power, His steadiness in my life.

It serves to center me, to calm me. I often seek it out when I am feeling lost, small, unsettled. It brings me a sense of peace that few other things do. In those instances, I will generally put it on myself if I am in a setting where I can wear it without risk.

Nothing moves me like having Him put it on me. It touches me deep in my soul.

Unlike the wedding ring that I wore for over two decades, the collar speaks to a committment made of soul and heart, rather than of legalities and social norms. It is purely chosen.

I have other pieces that I wear that also speak of our lives together. A ring, purchased before we were all together that matches one that T wears -- I think of it as my "sister" ring. And our heron clan pendant that I wear all the time. And the BDSM logo that I wear daily.

None of these are equivalent to the collar.

Together however, they make up the suite of pieces that speak to my life and my call...

swan

A Different Look at SSC

I've been caught with lots of "thoughts" lately -- many of them heavy. I'm not unhappy precisely, but aware that there is a weight to life just now that is keeping me from dancing through the days as I might otherwise.

If I review the year we've come through, the reality is that much that we knew we would face as a family has come and gone, and we've weathered the storms. We are here all together, and for that I am grateful. I am also tired, and a little wistful. I look around, and note that, by and large, we are surrounded in our cyber neighborhood, by people who are significantly younger than we are, and who consequently do not face the same sorts of "issues" that we face (never mind that we have the freedom to come and go without having to find babysitters)... Somedays I really do find myself jealous of all those years I let go in clueless youth, when I knew what I was but did not understand it or embrace it -- so much wasted time now lost forever.

I can and do get scared, when the days go by, as they have lately, and there is no energy or physical well-being sufficient to "play," or really even to make love. Our M/s remains in the pouring of a drink, in the ironing of a few shirts, in the routines of bedtime preparations, and basic moment to moment courtesies rendered. Ownership patterns, by now, run deep. Still, I can see ghosting across our days, a time when we will be wrapped in one another's warmth, and the physical reality of the SM part of our relationship will forever be stripped from our grasp, and I fear that will come long before either of us are ready for it.

I've never liked the BDSM community slogan, "SAFE, SANE, CONSENSUAL (SSC). In play, it never seemed to make any sense to me. It seemed some sort of pablum to try and make the outrageous a bit more acceptable. I didn't come to this to be acceptable. I came to this when I finally accepted that I was outrageously fine just the way I was.

There is NO safety from the depredations of time. NOTHING sane about finding only to lose the race because we were too slow to make the connections. TOTALLY non consensual fading happening here even as we fight to hang on to the moments and the patterns.

This life is about passion. About promises made beyond what is sanctioned. About risks recognized and accepted.

I want to live right now. All the moments. All the feelings. All the promises. Always and all ways. Darkness or light, I will walk this way.

swan

Grinch

The season approaches, ready or not, and I am NOT ready. Christmas time, for me, is always difficult.

Difficult on so many different levels.

Difficult because it implies a religious practice and observance and simple faith in which I do not partake and cannot find any path into anymore. There are still the imprints of the music, and I can sometimes get lost there, but most of that is so hackneyed that I can't even enjoy the largest percentage of it most of the time.

Difficult because there is the massive push to festivity that I simply do not feel right now. I am not the least bit festive feeling at the moment. My job is evaporating under me, and likely my career along with it. I go to school each day and take care of the children given to me for the day, and by the time I get home, I am emotionally wasted. And I am furious at the people who have brought this mess to pass... Their stupidity and naivety and just mean-spirited ugliness is unforgivable. Oh well, there will be some way to stay alive, but it will be without the singing joy of the classroom...

Master is ill, and no one can tell us what it is. Or why or how? Or what to do. Tests and more tests and no idea what to do next. Only days and nights of worry without a plan.

Money is tight and there are gifts that should be bought to send to so many people so that the season can be bright. Why? How?

And I must deal with the stupid body that rebels and bleeds and hurts. And I can't get it scheduled or planned or settled.

I am grumpy and grouchy and grinchy. Hurting the ones I love who love this season and want to sing and dance and make merry. Someone ought to stick me in a big box with a shipping label and call UPS. Send me off to who knows where... Just get me the hell out of here until sometime after Valentine's day...

I am the Grinch

swan

Focus

Enough wallowing.

I really do appreciate every, single, dear, one of you who has reached out to me in these days to offer support, and encouragement, and words of comfort. Thank you. The kindness of strangers... I am humbled.

Still, I have work to do. Here. Where my heart must be. No matter the vagaries that life brings.

I have read, around the circle, of disquiet, and I do understand. I, too, have been uneasy, and lacking in calm and peace -- not a happy slave; more pouty than pleasant. It has been noted, and not with pleasure. Before the news of the impending departure of the parts... Before announcements on the employment front that make my economic stability less comfortable than any of us like... I was fussing, for no good reason. Just because, and duly called on it.

I live this life intentionally. I mean to do it with integrity. I want to meet the obligations I've assumed and the committments I've made with grace and growing skill. I too often fall short. Most often that is because I forget where my focus should be. Must be.

It is when I get wrapped up in what I want, in feeling lost, neglected, abandoned, lonely, needy -- that I forget that my promise was to serve, to surrender, to be guided, to trust. The needs of the One I serve provide the marker for my life, the beacon on which I have vowed to fix my sight. When I fall out of that line, I do, indeed, get lost.

I don't know what is coming. And I am afraid. Trust doesn't remove the fear (at least not for me -- not yet). It only assures me that I'll be held when the trembling shakes me to my core... I only need to try and remember to focus.

swan

I Give Up

If you grew up female in the 1960's, there came a day, inevitably, when your mother handed you a pleasant looking little box of goodies labled "Today You are a Woman." Inside were all the "feminine hygiene" products that introduced you to the secrets of the club of menstruating females: pads of various sizes, and the elastic belt with the little metal or plastic clips that rubbed the hide off of you (front and back). If you had a mother who was more interactive and more emotionally supportive than mine, you might have been talked through all the cryptic "stuff" inside the BOX. In my case, I was given a stack of single sheet newspaper to keep in the bathroom, and told they were for wrapping the pads in so that my Dad and brothers wouldn't see them.

So, was I initiated into the secret of womanly bleeding...

From that moment forward, I've warred with my wayward uterus.

Irregular periods throughout most of my young womanhood made me the girl you didn't want to be dating. I was nothing if not exciting on that score...

Still, it cradled and nurtured two healthy pregnancies with barely a murmur. And likely would have welcomed a host of others had I been so inclined. Birthing babies was the strong suit of the uterus from hell...

There were the days of my stint in the halls of the "good old boy" world of Oil and Gas Corporate ladder climbing, when the uterus seemed to understand that I was pretending to be a guy. Through those years, I seldom had more than 3 or 4 periods a year, and at least one medical practitioner opined that I might be menopausal -- at 26 years of age. Once I escaped from the dog eat dog world of really big swinging dicks, trading in my balls for something more civilized, my periods, interestingly, resumed with a regularity that I'd never experienced in the years prior to that lengthy stint...

28 days. 28 days. 28 days. 28 days.

Then, a few years back, things started to shift. Still 28 days, but the tide began to rise. Slowly at first, barely perceptible, but heavier and heavier -- with each passing month, my menses became more and more extreme. The culprits, it seems, as I move closer and closer to menopause, are uterine fibroids.

I've tried everything to try and cope with their silent depredations. I do not want to lose the old uterus. We've been together a long time.

Then, Thursday, for the second time in two years, I had a hemorrhagic bleed -- in my classroom, with children present. I believe I managed to get out before any children were traumatized, but not before I was. Bleeding in public is something we are conditioned against from the beginning...

I had to leave school in the middle of the day, shaken and scared, a mess of blood to my knees -- leaving my classes in the hands of a hastily summoned substitute...
I give up. There will be a hysterectomy. Probably December 29 if it can be scheduled. All will be gone. Done. Taken. No more blood. No more mess. No more cradle for the children, now long grown. No girlie parts.

I am devastated. I am furious. I am bereft. I am in mourning.

I am trying to tote up the positives. Dollars saved on hygiene products no longer needed. Perhaps the cessation of migraines driven by hormonal storms each month. Lower backache ended forever. No more monthly sore boobs.

Last night though, I dreamed that someone came and stole all the living room furniture leaving only empty space... Empty space...

It feels like having a well-loved and faithful old dog put to sleep. I'm really sorry, uterus, but it's time. I hope it isn't too awful for you....

Maybe there should be a bon voyage party... some brandy in the douche bag perhaps? Probably not a good idea, but WTF?

I am just so terribly, horribly, sad...

swan

Wishing

The one last thing left from the Thanksgiving holiday festivities (if you don't count all the leftover turkey) was the wishbone.

We'd kept it around, drying, until it was ready to pull and break so we could make a wish with it. Last night, He and I used it to make our respective wishes. I ended up with the long end, and so won...

By tradition, or lore, or myth, you are not supposed to tell what your wish is, or it won't come true. He, having lost, figured, I suppose that there was nothing to lose. He told me that He hoped that I too wished to win the lottery so that we could all retire and live the rest of our lives doing exactly what we chose to do ...

I can only say that at this point in our lives, with all that faces us, I am glad I won the wishing contest last night.

swan