Letting Go

I've been holding on for a long time.

Longer than maybe I should have.  Longer than maybe that most other folks would.  Longer than anyone else thought I could, or should.

Walking along the edge of a cliff, feeling the pull.

For a while I was balanced, poised, steady.  Things got a little...rocky...a little...rough...but I kept walking, kept going.  "Surely the path will smooth out eventually...won't it?" became something of a mantra for me.  I am tenacious (stubborn would be a more accurate description - tenacity seems to be more of a virtue, and I don't really feel virtuous), steadfast, determined to find my way along.  I don't like to give up!

Somewhere along the way, I skidded on some scree.  I teetered, reached for something to hold onto, found nothing but empty air.  Flailed.  Stumbled.  Slid.

And over I went.  Toppled into the sea of sky.

Somehow, before I joined entirely the wheeling denizens of the air with my own graceless, downward flight, I caught hold of an edge.  Only just, scrabbling for better purchase, stone gnawing at my flesh, tearing, tattering.  I sought better purchase, tried to pull myself up.  I was too weak.  My weight, the weight I carried, was too much.  Arms trembling, fingers slipping, I tried to call out for help, but I had no voice.  Perhaps I was too scared, but I like to think I was just too damned tired.  I am certain that some part of me didn't care to hold on any longer.  Why should I?  The damage being done was too much, and holding on hurt.

Eventually, the inevitable - I fell.

It was bad, at first.  Everything seized up and the air rushed past, the rock face blurred, creatures of the sky cast curious glances at my plummeting form.

Fall long enough, far enough, and you relax.  Did you know that?  You sort of accept what's happening, and one can only maintain that adrenaline rush for so long before the fearful becomes the norm.  It wasn't fun, and I kept looking for a rope, a root, something to grab and stop my fall, but there was nothing. 

I'm still falling.  It's a terribly long way down, after all...

...but I think my wings are coming along nicely.

~~~~~

Someone and I are no more.  We...I...have reached the point where there's no reconciling our differences.  Although I didn't want to, I found myself feeling compelled to call the police a few nights ago, pushed by his drinking, his anger, his verbal and psychological abuse of me, of the kids.  I'd asked him to move out some time ago, to give us some space and time to breathe, collect ourselves, patch up the worst of the damage and see if we could rebuild.

He didn't.

And then things broke down entirely, and I was dialing the phone with a stomach full of dread, a heart full of hurt, a head echoing with hateful, blaming, goading words and the sound of fists pounding on the glass shower door while I tried to wash my hair.  Enough. Was. Enough.

I will not be the supply for a narcissist any more.

He will not remove himself from this house, despite having been asked and asked, so I will be forced to begin legal proceedings.  I don't like this.  I feel that I must, though, because what happens to me makes no difference to me, but my kids?  Are another story entirely.

I did the thing I dreaded, never quite believing what I was doing even in the moment.

Here's hoping I finish building my wings before I go splat.

People Soundtrack

Music.

It's a large part of me, of how I feel and express, create and connect.

You've likely heard about the concept of a personal sound track, like in the movies but for your life - songs that are indelibly embedded with memories of places, times, emotions.  Songs that unfailingly remind you of your moments.

I have those songs.

I find that I've got a track within the track, too,


It's my People Soundtrack.

I'm feeling...things...and decided that I'd like to share some of my people with you.


John Watson

John was a dear young man.  I'd never heard this song  before his memorial.  It's sweet, and lovely, and when I hear it I always say "Hello, John Watson" and smile a little.  I miss him so.

Matt from PHP
He's married and has at least one child, now, but I knew him when he was sweet, painfully young, and attending a social group of which I was also a member.  He recorded a version of The Moldau for me when he learned that I adore it.  I believe that he is still sweet, if not quite so young (the years, they do fly).

Gypsy (not her real name, but excepting those passed through the veil or already public in persona, I don't tend to use given appellations)
One of my dearest friends, Gypsy.  Before kids and life and whatnot, we spent a lot more time together.  She played this lush song for me and my French brain struggled to translate to English, but whether I understand every word or not (and there's a lot of "not", these days, but thank goodness for translating programs and my hazy memory of youthful French), I enjoy it.

K2

Sister of my heart, Godmother to my son, one of the dearest people in my life, this is but one of the many songs I found through her.  Decadent, dark chocolate song...

E
He's married to K2, and he's one of the very few people with whom I will discuss politics.  He's also one of my favorite tech wizards, and I appreciate how often he doesn't make me feel like an idiot.

Mizz R Green
Dear woman, Godmother to my daughter, we've shared a love for another that has brought us joy, pain, laughter, and commiseration.  With her I've learned lessons about polyamoury, some easy, some difficult.  She brought me this song during some dark days.

Manx
I've listened to s LOT of Neil Diamond in my lifetime, but until Manx did a karaoke version of this, I'd never heard it!  Now, when I listen to it, I think of my friend singing at the Starwood radio station by the road, waiting for others to come do some karaoke in the summer sun.

Mr. Grey (nothing near his real name, but it's the name he used when we met, and not, it's nothing to do with that awful book...as far as I know)
He didn't introduce me to this song, but I heard it just after we met and it struck me as sweet, and he's rather sweet, and somehow it stuck.  I'm rather fond of both Mr. Grey AND this song.  The video never fails to bring a smile to my face.  Lort, but how I wish I could dance!

Donna Donnovan
I am comfortable using her name because she is fairly public - she founded and is part of Appalachian Pagan Ministry, and they to good work.  She used this song for a video she did for the APM, and it stuck in my head.  I say hello to her whenever I hear it.  She is John Watson's mother, and I love her.

There are so many more, but I think it wise to stop here before a too-long blog becomes too-longer.

How about you?  Any songs that bring your people to mind?

In Which I Hit the Kitchen, But Not In A Violent Kind of Way (Unless You're A Chicken)

Awake for hours in the middle of the night?  Physical pain?  Depression?  Relationship disintegrated?  Bad dreams? Ayuh.

What to do, what to doooo...

Cook, of course, after running a couple of errands.  I wanted chicken soup, but decided that I wanted more than one chicken carcass for the stock, so I bought a whole, cooked chicken at the market.  Which meant I wanted to do something with the meat since I didn’t need it for the soup.

Rosemary chicken salad with cranberries, it is!

 Purple onion, celery, and dried cranberries with salt (Some day I'll tell you about my salt mix.  I adore it.), freshly ground black pepper, and rosemary, getting happy in the bowl.

Chicken - since I wanted the bones for the stock but already had plenty of meat, I used everything this dear bird had to offer.  A couple of generous dollops of mayo and it was ready to get all riled up.

 I'm going to let it sit and think about life, the Universe, and everything for a while, let all those flavors mingle like they were at a cocktail party, only without the cocktails or spiffy duds.

One of the reasons I went out into the world today was to get a new jar to hold the Chex Mix (not according to their recipe) I made last night.  I have my beloved giant pickle jars, usually, but the're all in use right now and who couldn't use another nifty, pretty glass jar? 

Score, and at 75% off, to boot!

Pretty...

Yes, I washed it before filling it with all that buttery, crunchy goodness.

Meanwhile, the stock is on the stove, slowly coming up to a simmer.  I'm still feeling pretty rotten inside my head, so I'm going to go lie down and see if I can sleep away some of the grump.  If I can't, I suspect there will be more shenanigans in Kitchen de Crazy, probably dark chocolate chip brownie type ones, possibly accompanied by vanilla-mocha buttercream frosting (or icing, I'm not picky).

How's your weekend shaping up?