Thinking . . . . pondering. . . So, I just read a blog entry about a man who went to burningman . . . his truck was dinged and dented when a part broke. Burningman said he could file a claim and fix it but he realized that after he came home, everytime he looked at the ding in the side of the truck it was with nostalgia. He kept the dent . . . thought about painting a kiss. . . that is beautiful.

When I was in my first year of college I took a class on religion. My favorite story was that of a Buddhist woman who went to the temple to burn incense . . . she asked for blessings from the Buddha and began being blessed greatly. As her blessings increased she began to get selfish, she wanted the blessings for herself only. Next time she went she cupped the incense to go straight to her and the Buddha statue only. She burned and singed the Buddha's face. It was an amazing story.

The class opened my eyes to Buddhism and I began collecting Buddhas here and there. My first one I bought was a sitting Buddha, Lotus style. As soon as I got it home I dropped it . . . breaking his nose off. I delighted in this because it is my reminder to share the blessings in my life. The next Buddha I got fell and broke as well. I bought a Buddha lamp and it broke . . . To this day, every single Buddha I have bought has broken or had a chip out of it. I absolutely love that reminder. It has become a running joke in our house. Last year at Christmas Makiah bought me an oil warmer with three buddhas on it. Within days it had broken . . .

My point? Nothing really. Reading his post made me think of my own experience. Made me remember to embrace the experience . . . . good or bad. What looks like a negative can quite simply be something beautiful. So, if you see a cracked Buddha, thank somebody for your blessings

I woke up this morning feeling giddy and excited. Three days from now I will journey to a dried up lakebed in the middle of nowhere to spend the days rediscovering who I am. I wasn't going to make it this year due to a myriad of issues but at the last moment the playa called me, and I couldn't say no.

Going to Burningman means so many things to different people. It is so easy to get swept up in stories of orgy style parties and endless drugs. Some people talk about the hippies or the ravers, whatever their particular bent is. That is all true . . . as with any city, if you look close enough you will find just about anything.

But, on the playa, its magic. It is the only place in my life I have ever felt connected and fully accepted. Nowhere else do I feel that people understand me. I understand that my outlook and view on life is often significantly different. It is one of the reasons I tend to not make connections in this every day life. Its far simpler to have many polite aquaintences. However, on the playa . . . its understood. The people who actually treck to the playa with everything they need to survive the week . . . those people get it. They understand the need to experience everything this life has to offer. The good, the bad, the unusual. The experiences that you draw from in those down times to pull you through.

When I think of my burningman experiences, the ones that move me are the ones that taught me so much about myself. My very first burn with the Tribe (my group) we had planned and worked on our project for months (a move theatre in the desert). I had taken several trips to Sacramento and San Francisco. I was ready . . . I was fired up. We got to the desert and began to build our circus tent. The wind was thrashing and dust was flying. It was hot, the sand stung, it wasn't the best of times. I was very task oriented, wanting to get this "done". Soon, a group of men . . .adult men . . began whooping and hollering. They had lost their hula hoop and were chasing the hoop down the playa. I noticed and went back to the task of holding down the circus tent while the men attached the gromets. Next thing I knew . . . the adults in MY group were chasing this hula hoop. They left our job to go chase a childs toy.

That made me so angry! We had so much to do and these adults were chasing a three dollar item. I stopped to figure out how to keep working while this pack of now 15 or so people chased a hula hoop. I thought it was idiotic that these men ran after this rolling hoop in the wind . . . leaving responsibility behind . . .

And then, it hit me. Thats what we are here for. Jimmy grabbed my hand and pulled me along. Soon, I was one of them . . . I was chasing a hula hoop across the desert. That hoop would roll in the wind, fall down, pop back up and roll more. It would slam into cars or structures and pop in the air. Others joined our run . . . I lost my shirt somewhere . . . This went on for probably thirty minutes. Finally, the hoop was caught and everybody began to cheer and hug, clap and cry . . . it was amazing.

it wasn't the hoop. No. It was so many strangers gathering for sheer fun and joy. It was acceptance and a community event. We all were best friends after that. We had connections.

Maybe that is why I love the playa. Connections with others can be made in moments. A look, a touch, a gift, its there. It touches your soul. You come back with your heart so full of love and joy that it exudes for weeks. Here in the real world I can't hug a stranger or cry with a woman I just met. I can't put on a purple tutu, snakeskin boots and a cowboy hat and walk out my door to find somebody else with the same idea. Out there, I am truly me. Out there, I can express myself in any way I choose and be alright.

On the playa I am free. That is an amazing way to be.

I have been so busy posting about my own personal drama I forgot the intent for the blog. Moving my life to a place of simplicity, a place of peace and becoming as sustainable as I can. I realize this year that much of that has went by the wayside. Sustainability at least. I have put up less then 25 jars of food. Primarily I have done beets, pickles and beans. I think next weekend I may have a canning frenzy and put up 100 pounds of tomatos and sauce. Part of the reason I have put up less is having a smaller garden. I truly believe in eating seasonal and it doesn't make sense to purchase food to preserve when we live in a climate that produces year round. Part of the reason is that I have had a long slow easy summer and was too lazy to do much more then that. Least I recognize my laziness ha!

Yesterday we harvested the last of the corn and a patch of beans in the garden. I cleaned out a huge piece and will be replanting lettuce, spinach and onions there this weekend. I am a bit late to plant more flats of cabbage and broccoli so will grab some starts from the coop. So much for self sufficiency lol.

We are moving into my favorite time of year, fall. Some of that is really just due to harvest season and the excitement of canning, dehydrating, freezing, settling in for the winter. Primarily though it is the joy of cooking for my family. I love autumn dinners, big pot roasts, stews, hearty food after spending the days hiking in the woods. Love to watch the leaves change and feel the bite in the air. Jayme is 20 now and still gets so excited for Thanksgiving, she looks forward to the pumpkin rolls, the yams and turkey. She is like a four year old child on Christmas Eve.

When I begin to make plans to move away in a year, I wonder what it will be like to not have all of my children under my roof, all of them here for a big meal, to hear the sounds of them joking, teasing, remembering stories good and bad. I don't know that I am ready to give it up. Staying here seems impossible though. How do you move from being a mother, from your identity as a mom of many and begin to stretch into the realm of a woman on her own, without the buffer of your children's noises as a distraction?

Good or bad . . . I'm going to find out. I have everything to apply for a teaching position in Alaska, a few different options in Arkansas. Arizona is a possibility as well, if my dad moves down there. Somewhere. I will be . . . and my babies will be here. Katie will likely go to Washington for school, Jayme will stay here where she has her grandmother and friends. I will be with just my three youngest. Excited . . . but oh so unsure. I feel in my soul its right to go. I will go. I just don't know how . . .

BUT for tonight, I won't worry. I will have my kids and their boyfriends for dinner. I will just enjoy the simplicity of spaghetti and meatballs, of hearing them chatter, of feeling that all is well when all my chicks are under my roof at once. Maybe I will make a cheesecake and see Jayme smile. How many more times will I be able to do that?

Moving forward always comes with a price right?

Mornings like this are my favorite. The first chill is in the air, not enough to be cold but just enough that my morning mug of coffee feels so content. This morning is fuzzy, last night was far more beer then was necessary . . . precipitating me having to delete last nights post on here. Sometimes drunk blogging is a bad thing.

Work yesterday almost killed me. Two new cases and one just hit home so much. Much as I love my work with the teen crowd, at times it triggers me more then I would like to admit. Sometimes when you read through the history and you see that it parallels your own, it gets tough. Particularly when you see the parents following the same . . . denial, blame, shame, not supporting the child because they are so hell bent on protecting their own selves, which, most likely were hurt as well. Of course, I get the new case at the end of a long week . . . then I realize one of our toughest cases I have been working on is somebody I know intimately. That hurt. It's one thing to help with an abstract idea . . . an unnamed child . . . a situation you don't truly know about and then once you hear who it is? Wow . .. . my legs began to tremble, I could feel the tears stinging my eyes. My throat felt like it was tightening. I wanted to break down in that moment but I held it off . . . not for long, but long enough. Leaving all that at work, thinking how thrilled I was for a long weekend, looking forward to some time with my family and my mother calls . . .

She is upset, in tears, needs me. Why does everybody need me? Where do I go when I need somebody? Thich Nhat Hahn, one of my all time favorite authors wrote one time that if a person is in therapy its a sure sign that nobody in their life is listening to them . . . good point. Maybe thats why I am becoming a therapist? I listen to everybody else . . .

So, I go to my moms, she went and saw the surgeon today. First of all this is insane. She hates this surgeon, his bedside manner is awful, but he is so very skilled. I trust him completely but I don't think he knows how mean he is. Well, mom went to see him without me (and admitted it was a huge mistake). He told her she needs complete knee replacement, some veins stripped and sealed, possibly another stint, maybe a few other things. Point was, she was an emotional mess. We worked through it . . . I limped my ass home thinking all I could handle was blues and beer.

And, so it was . . . I had a date with a botonist I recently met. Great guy. Love that he butchers his own chickens and has a huge garden, love that he knows every single plant God ever made and that his weekends are spent backpacking. I guess I didn't love it enough. I cancelled the date. I just wanted to be home, with my family, in my space . . .wanted to cry when i needed to cry, laugh when I needed to laugh and figure out what the hell I am doing in my life. The blues came on . . . the beer came out . . . the kids laughed, we chopped our garden veggies, sauteed our chicken, threw in liberal amounts of basil and olive oil . . . had dinner. Jake wanted to dance so he spun me around the living room floor to John Lee Hooker and BB King.

Then, of course. Bill happened. Thats when my evening crashed and anger hit. He is so good at knowing when my life is moving forward. He preys on my weak moments. Some how, somewhere, our psyches are connected. When he knows I am weak and exhausted, sick of fighting and all the stress . . . he can move in for the strike. Its a bitch. The evening crashed. My sadness and grief moved into anger. . .

BUT, this morning, its a new day. I feel amazing. I realized about 230 this morning that he has no power over me any longer. The strings have been cut. He can say whatever he wants, do whatever he wants. Call me names, accuse me of whatever. It doesn't matter. I'm not his, I don't belong to him. He never belonged to me. I may have pulled my heart out and handed it over on a silver platter but he kept his so carefully guarded under a fortress nobody could bust through. My heart is safe from him now. . . . over the last two years, I realized I have been rebuilding, one step at a time. I have begun healing and patching, piece after piece. I didn't realize it until a few hours ago. I won! I am still whole and intact. I will move on. I will have another love . . . I will be far more selective, pick one who is able to love me back and fully participate in a life together. I will never allow a man to treat me the way he did again. I feel like the spheres have been completed. I have learned what I needed to over the last six years of having a life so intertwined with his. Not one time have I ever allowed myself to truly consider moving past him. I could go to a certain place and I stalled. Usually by him and his presence. No longer. Not again. He is now my history and that . . .. feels . . . . Amazing . . . . .

Lying here thinking about tomorrow, i realized what is bothering me. All my life . . . im the one that nobody wants. Not really wants . . . I'm the one that is the fun, the thrill of the moment, the one that is exciting and interesting to pass the time with until the right one comes along. Nobody has ever stayed. Nobody has ever stopped long enough to look at my soul and decide that I was worth it.

My last love thought I was worth it when it was convenient . . . like so many before him. I have dated women, dated men, dated some in between. I have learned that I am not one who grabs people and pushes them to the level of pure love and commitment. Maybe a committed relationship for a while . .. a month . . . six . . .even years . . . but eventually, I am lost and forgotten and do not matter anymore. I realize this is my pattern. I'm intelligent enough to realize that I am putting it out there like that. I am saying that I am not worth it.

I catered to my husband . . . whatever he asked I jumped for. Whatever he wanted I did it. Even when i didn't want to, even when every fiber in my being was saying no, no, no. I did it out of love, and then, there was the betrayal, not only to me as his wife but to his family. He hurt all of us so deeply. Since then the relationships have been surface level, they haven't went to the heart of it. They skim the surface. I am forced to put away my desire and need for a true partner in order to satisfy sexual whims and hold up facades like a curtain. Why do I do this?

Why do I consistently find myself in this pattern? Is it my own insecurity and fear of being alone or rejected that makes me passively agree to whatever the desire of my partner is? Paired with the self conscious and overarching feeling of worthlessness in a relationship that I settle for whatever I can get instead of clearly stating my needs? Why do I do this?

I want to love, I want to know that somebody can love me. I don't even know if they can? I don't know that i am well enough to even go there. Maybe there is a reason. Maybe Jim was right when he was screaming that I wasn't wife material and never would be . . . when he screamed I was only worth a fuck in the bedroom and barely at that. maybe . . when he said that I will never ever find a man because I am no good as a woman . . . maybe he was right. Maybe I should remain in my cocoon of a world. Maybe its time to go back inside.

Typing tonight out of frustration. Frustration born from never truly knowing what I want. I think I want something, so sure of myself, so absolute in the direction I am heading then something comes along and slaps me across the face, makes me question everything. The moment I feel balanced I feel slapped again. It isn't always a negative thing, not a bad thing, but maybe some things are just better left alone.

After the events of last June, I swore I would remain alone and celibate forever. The idea of moving any part of myself into anybody elses sphere did not appeal to me at all. I made plans to relocate when Katies done with school, plans to buy a house on 10 acres and hibernate the rest of my days out. Oh, not antisocial, no. Just alone. By myself. Thats me, thats what I want.

Funny thing is, when you are alone day in and day out, it becomes the norm. You no longer miss waking up in somebody's arms or asking how somebody's day was. You no longer look forward to making a special meal for your loved one or the friday night dates that you can reconnect with. No . . . you just begin to indulge in long solitary bubble baths, good books and isolation. Which is all fine. . . until one quirk of fate changes it all.

He was just sitting there, minding his business, alone . . . like me. . . we talked . . . we shared that spark . . .we went out. . . . we went from there. All of a sudden the dormant parts of my self was just thrust wide awake and ready. Its as if over a year of lying in hibernation brought everything out full force. . . I wanted him . . I wanted more. . . I still want more. But, when all is said and done, I cant imagine more. What would that look like at this time of my life.

I suppose its lucky that he has no intention on anything more. That keeps me balanced. There is that part of me that lies in bed at night and wonders . . . what if? What. . . . if?? and not necessarily just with him . . . I mean, yes, I like him. yes he is sweet and kind and has much to offer but, I don't know that he would be the one. I don't know that he wouldn't. I don't know.

But what I do know is that since the moment he walked into my life it seems that something in me has been released. All of a sudden I have more men asking me for dates, more comments, more setups then I have had in years. I am overwhelmed with people calling and wanting to connect. I don't know how to handle it. I don't know if I want to handle it. I want to curl back in my corner and stay there until somebody that is perfect steps forward and promises it will all be alright. That won't happen though, because this is the real world. Sometimes, the real world sucks. Fantasy is far better.

So, tonight I have a tumultuous storm of emotions. I have doubts and fears, I have concerns, I have joy and I have hope. I just need to settle and stop analyzing, stop thinking, stop pushing away out of fear. I need to realize I can leave my past behind me and slowly move to the future . . . and not alone. Not with him . . . no, hes made that clear but maybe with somebody. In the past two weeks I have met a backpacker, a christian daddy of three, a waterfall seeker, an old flame and a police officer . . . I have a host of options. I have people to meet . . . to get to know . . . to learn more from . . . So why am I so scared?

Summer got forgotten!

I realized today that I have not blogged at all. No pics of the garden, the veggies, no cannning or dehydrating stories. No camping or river pics. I have no clue why other then I just have taken the summer off.

I think over the last year of coming out of my shell, letting go of my history and preparing for a future, through therapy and some painful realizations I just settled into this summer doing very little of anything other then kicking back.

Of course I have my garden, but it isn't huge like last year. We are eating lots of veggies, lots of stir fry, lots of salad. I have canned some beets and green beans . . . getting ready to sow flats of winter veggies like broccoli, cabbage and caulliflower.

No rush though, no stress. Just a little here and a little there. As it should be. I will have tiem again to can 300 jars of food and put up vegetables for a year . .. this just isn't the season.

This weekend the kids and I are camping again. A new place on a river, I can spend my days fishing and the kids swimming. My dad loves to cook and his wife plans crafts. Its the only time in the year that I get to kick back and nto be on active duty all the time. I think I will take it . . .

Not much more to say . . . still dealing with a past that never goes away. Still arguing with Bill for all the reasons he should stay away and leave us alone. Still fighting to become human again. Its a good fight . . I think I will win