Sometimes Siri says that to me when our Internet is dodgy, as it often is.
Alas… this morning, I feel the same way. Last night, I made the mistake of finishing off some brandy. There wasn’t much of it left, but the bottle was taking up needed space on our booze cart. I decided to kill it, so I could reallocate the precious booze cart real estate. Now, I fear, it might be killing me. I feel pretty crappy today.
In retrospect, I probably should have just dumped the last of the brandy down the sink. I think that specific bottle came from a bad batch.
On the occasions I’ve enjoyed it, I’ve woken up feeling unusually terrible, even when I haven’t had much of it. This is not a normal reaction for me, because I’m a seasoned drinker. That particular brandy is a favorite of mine, too, and I’ve never had this severe reaction when I’ve had it before.
Anyway… because I feel yucky today, I don’t feel much like writing anything of substance. The good news is, I do feel much better than I did a couple of hours ago. My head is not quite so achy and my stomach is a bit less distressed than it was when I first got up. Maybe I might soon even be able to face the idea of swallowing a pill without hurling, so I can do something about my acid indigestion.
I don’t need anybody’s sympathy. I should have known and done better. I know it would be best for my health if I became a teetotaler. On the other hand, I don’t want to live to be old, anyway. I’ve seen what happens to the elderly. It’s not pretty.
The good news is, at least that bottle is gone now. I won’t be buying more of that stuff anytime soon.
Here’s a repost from January 16, 2016. I am reposting it because it sort of relates to today’s fresh content, right down to my sharing of Ron Block’s beautiful song, “Someone”.
Today’s post is going to be some personal, self-indulgent, introspective drivel that may not interest everyone… apologies in advance.
Yesterday, a guy I used to work with who is now a Facebook friend posted a tribute to a retired Air Force colonel who recently died. The colonel, whose name was Luke, had been a manager at the restaurant in Williamsburg, Virginia where my friend and I used to work. I never knew Luke, but I heard many stories about him. He was one of those people who became legendary everywhere he went.
My friend’s tribute to Luke was very moving and inspiring. Luke knew my friend when he was very young and broke. He stood up for my friend when others were against him. He helped him become who he is today. Luke was a few years younger than my dad and may have even run in the same circles with him a time or two. He retired from the Air Force six years after my dad did; but he was a full colonel, while my dad retired as a lieutenant colonel.
The restaurant where my friend and I used to work was notorious in Williamsburg. It had a great reputation as a place to eat, and a horrible reputation as a place to work. The chef, who was also one of the owners, was rather famous because he’d been on television and written a lot of cookbooks. He was also a Marine. Having worked in his restaurant, I definitely picked up the military style that was used there to keep things running. That didn’t mean there wasn’t chaos from time to time. In fact, when I worked at that restaurant, my life felt like it was totally chaotic. I was suffering from depression and anxiety and felt like I’d never amount to anything. At that time, I was also living with my parents. I was in my mid 20s and had a college degree and international work experience. But I still felt like a big loser and was unable to find work that would help me launch.
I remember the day in March 1998 that I decided to apply to work at that restaurant. I’d had a huge fight with my father. He told me he thought I was a very arrogant person and that I’d never succeed at anything in life. He said, “You’ll never make more than minimum wage!” At the same time, he and my mother were putting tremendous pressure on me to move out on my own. I was paralyzed by depression and anxiety at the time, and their demands made me feel panicky, helpless, and hopeless. I was also very angry about a lot of things, particularly that my parents seemed to be ashamed of me and didn’t seem to recognize that I really was trying to become a full fledged adult.
Immediately prior to working at the restaurant, I had been temping at the College of William & Mary. I was there for several weeks, working in their admissions office, as well as several other places on campus. I spent the longest time at the admissions office, where I filed away report cards, SAT scores, personal essays, and all of the other stuff hopeful high school kids sent with their bids to achieve admittance. Having worked in the admissions office and in other places around the campus, I could see why people wanted to go there. It’s an excellent and prestigious school. Looking at all the stellar academic records and flawless personal statements written by potential students, I felt a bit sad for myself. I was a college graduate working as a temp, filing endless reams of papers. It was mind numbing work that didn’t pay well.
My sister is a William & Mary graduate. She’s done very well for herself. They never would have accepted me. I didn’t measure up to my sister’s greatness, although I do have some things in common with her. We are both returned Peace Corps Volunteers; we both have advanced degrees in public health; and we both worked at that same restaurant in Williamsburg. She worked there when it first opened, and I worked there eighteen years later, when I decided I would make more than minimum wage and get on with my life.
I remember being very determined on that day in March when I applied for the job at the restaurant. It was my first time waiting tables, though I had worked with food in other capacities. I had even been a cook. I enjoyed working with food and thought I could be successful. It also wasn’t lost on me that the skills one learns waiting tables can be applied to many of life’s trials.
As I sat for the interview, I thought of my dad and how pissed off he made me… and how much I wanted to get out from under his thumb. It was my second attempt at getting a job at that restaurant. I didn’t mention my initial unsuccessful attempt to the captain or the manager who interviewed me. I knew if I got hired, I’d make money and be able to get away from my dad and his belittling comments. I would someday prove myself. I set my mind to it and got the job. I’m still friends with the man who hired me.
Working at that restaurant was one of the most difficult experiences of my life. It was even harder than being a Peace Corps Volunteer. The work itself was very demanding and stressful. It was physically and mentally challenging. I remember coming in every day, when I first started working there, and feeling like I was going to throw up. I lost a lot of weight and learned how to wait tables. I made good money. I was also sick a lot during those 18 months. I saw a lot of people quit and a lot of people get fired. I was incompetent as hell at first and worried that I, too, would get fired. One time, I accidentally spilled beer on a customer. My dad sneered when he heard about it and asked if I still had a job. I did. I learned that if you were reliable, worked hard, and were honest, you wouldn’t get fired. And eventually, I became competent and even good at the job.
I was promoted a couple of times and made enough money to cover all my bills. Living with my parents allowed me to save up for the next step I needed to take. I sought help for the anxiety and depression I had been suffering from my whole life. That process, too, was very difficult for me. I came to some tough realizations about people I cared about and trusted. After a brush with insanity and suicidal ideation, I finally felt a lot better and made the decision to go back to school. I took the GRE and applied to graduate school and was accepted. I haven’t had to look back. It was my final escape from Gloucester County after several dramatic attempts, one of which being my decision to join the Peace Corps.
Going back to school was a life changing experience for me… as much as the Peace Corps was. But, I have to admit, working at that restaurant with people who knew and loved Luke, was equally earth shattering in the grand scheme of things. I never knew Luke, but seventeen years after quitting, I am still friends with many of the people I knew in the late 90s when I was working at that job. I have read their tributes and comments about Luke. I can see that they all think of him as a comrade or even family… Maybe they even think of me that way. I hated the job when I was doing it, but now I’m honored to be in that group of people. We were the ones who didn’t quit and had achieved some success.
This morning over breakfast, I was talking to Bill about all this stuff on my mind. I remembered how my dad had told me I’d never make more than minimum wage and would ultimately amount to nothing. Back then, that comment was devastating to me. I was in my 20s, and unsure of what to do with my life. I felt like I was really struggling, even though others surely struggled more than I ever have. I kept doing all of these things that I thought would help me succeed, yet nothing seemed to lead anywhere. But now I think of my friend who wrote the tribute to Luke; he actually slept outside a couple of nights because he lived far so away from the restaurant and had to take buses to and from work. He’d missed the last one and couldn’t afford a motel. He did what he had to do to succeed in the job and survived. Now he’s thriving, living in Washington, DC and enjoying what appears to be a very good life.
Thanks to my parents, I never had to sleep outside. But I felt like I was never going to launch. Now, I look back on what my dad said and realize that he had no reason to be ashamed of me. While I may not be the highest achieving person on the planet, I’ve done alright. And I have made more than minimum wage more than once. Maybe I didn’t end up being as successful and awesome as my sisters have, but at least I found someone to love, who loves me back. I haven’t done anything really shameful or embarrassing. In fact, aside from being overeducated and too fat for my Dad’s tastes, I’m even living an enviable life. Maybe that was part of his problem with me. Maybe he felt like I didn’t deserve what I have. He probably thought I wasn’t living up to his idea of what my potential was… or maybe he was just projecting some of his psychic shit on me. Who knows?
Anyway, though I can’t say working at that restaurant was a whole lot of fun most of the time, I did learn a lot and met some fine people. The skills I picked up have served me well in life. In fact, I’d say in many significant ways, I ended up rather rich. Reading my friend’s tribute to Luke made me realize something important. Ripple effects can be positive. Luke inspired and influenced my friend and my friend, in turn, inspired and influenced me. I’d say that’s worth as much or more than minimum wage. And I don’t have to be “someone” to be worthwhile.
This isn’t the way I feel about my dad, but it is kind of how I feel about success… This song is called “Someone”. It’s by Ron Block, a musician who has earned my admiration and gratitude. The words are very wise and meaningful to me. I think this song could be a theme for my life. (And at the time I wrote this post, Ron hadn’t shared a video of “Someone”, so I made one myself.)
This is going to be another one of my much too long personal postings… Some people might think it’s “inappropriate” to write this, but it’s what’s on my mind today. This blog is, really, more for me than anyone else. And maybe a few of you out there can either relate, or maybe there are even some “curious” people out there who wonder WTF when they read my posts.
I got a bit upset last night. I didn’t mean to get upset. In fact, the evening had started out relatively well. Bill came home from work with five boxes that were waiting for us after our trip. One of the boxes that came was from Bill’s younger daughter. In March, Bill sent her a box of gifts from our trip to France. Bill’s younger daughter, Catherine, who will be giving birth to her third child within the coming weeks, decided to send us a box from Utah.
Before she sent the box, she wondered what to include in it. Bill requested for her to send us things exclusively from Utah. He meant things like “fry sauce”, or maybe certain types of candy or locally produced products that are specific to Utahn culture. Catherine, who is a devout Mormon, joked that Utah is best known for sugar. We had a laugh at that, since we know how true it is. Since Utah’s population is heavy with people of the Latter-day Saint persuasion, sugar is the one vice in which many people freely indulge.
Sure enough, the box younger daughter sent, addressed to both of us, was full of sugary treats. She did send us a bottle of fry sauce, too. I’m eager to try it, since I’ve heard how good fry sauce supposedly is. Also included within the box of goodies was a Book of Mormon. In fact, when Bill saw the book, he said “We got BoM’ed” (pronounced “bombed”). He was amused, especially since Catherine served a mission for the LDS church and has clearly not stopped being a missionary.
I shared the below photos on Facebook.
She has inherited Bill’s kind heart and sense of humor.
The comment I made with this post was pretty banal. I wrote “Bill’s daughter sent us a care package from Utah… complete with a BoM.” I don’t think that comment indicated that I was upset about or threatened by the gift. On the surface, my comment was rather matter-of-fact, but I probably should have clearly indicated that I’m happy to share in receiving this box. The reality is, I am delighted that Catherine is talking to Bill and sharing with him.
It’s true that I don’t like Mormonism, but I understand why Catherine is grateful for her faith. I know that people in the church helped her when Bill couldn’t. And no, I don’t mind that she shared a BoM with Bill, especially since she underlined passages that she finds comforting. This is a way for her to connect with her father, a man whose company she was denied for so many years. He can read those passages and relate to her. They will help him understand her more. I have no concerns that he’ll go back to Mormonism. Even if he did go back to the church, I’d still love him, as long as he didn’t try to convert me, too. I have no interest in being LDS.
Reactions to the post ran the gamut. A lot of people don’t know the intricacies of our story, which is pretty convoluted and, frankly, absurd. I think some folks might have thought I was offended by Catherine’s gift of a BoM. One person wrote, “Well, it was a nice gesture.” I assume it’s because a lot of people would be turned off by getting a Book of Mormon.
Another person wrote “You have to try to look at it as someone sending you their favorite book for you to read. You might not enjoy it as much as they did, but it’s the thought.”
I was initially somewhat puzzled by these comments, but I realize they come from people who either don’t know the whole story, or know full well that I don’t like Mormonism, and figured this gift would be objectionable to me. I think I have good reasons for not liking the LDS church. BUT– I absolutely do understand that there are some good things in the LDS church, and there are also very fine people within the organization. I don’t have to like Mormonism to appreciate Catherine’s gift. I’m just thrilled that she’s reconnected with Bill before it’s too late.
I fear Catherine’s older sister will miss the opportunity to really know her extraordinary dad. I’m torn between feeling compassion for older daughter, and anger that she’s already thrown away so many years with her father. I know this is a choice that older daughter has to make and live with. I still think it’s an incredibly stupid move on her part. It would be one thing if Bill were the kind of guy who didn’t care about other people, but Bill is an extraordinary man. He is so kind hearted, unselfish, and forgiving. He is loving, thoughtful, and brave. I haven’t met many people like Bill in my lifetime. Very few people trigger protective impulses in me. Bill does. He is a rare specimen who, sadly, tends to attract predators who take advantage of his decency.
It’s been heartbreaking to watch the fallout from the dissolution of Bill’s first marriage, even though Catherine, at least, had the good sense to reconnect with her dad. I wish older daughter would wise up, but that’s something she has to choose to do. Once again, I find myself cursing about the fact that Bill spent more than five minutes with his ex wife, who wasn’t fit to wash the shit stains out of Bill’s shorts. That may seem harsh, but it’s the God’s honest truth. Ex is a sick woman who has done some really vile things in the name of avenging her “shitty” childhood. She makes other people pay for her tragic past. Her actions have had devastating ripple effects on so many people, many of whom seem to be blind to the damages she’s wrought until it’s too late.
Last night, as I was pondering the comments left regarding Catherine’s gift to Bill, I chatted with my sister, who reminded me of my own “fucked up” childhood. On the surface, we had pretty normal and fortunate upbringings. My parents were married for 56 years. They came from families where there was no divorce. In my dad’s case, there were many other siblings who loved and cared about each other. My parents always had work, and we never had truly serious worries about finances. I had a pretty privileged lifestyle as a child. I owned a horse, and attended horse shows and fox hunts. I had a car to drive. My parents were even home all the time, because they owned and operated a business out of our house.
And yet, there was so much dysfunction… my sister wrote that she’d sent our mom a Mother’s Day card with a unicorn on it that read, “Keep on doing ‘mom’ things. You’re so good at them.” I knew she was being passive aggressive and sarcastic, because our very talented and beautiful mom was famously not into being a mom when we were growing up. Our mom wasn’t the type of mom who doted on her children, or her friends’ children, or served as a role model to others. She couldn’t wait for us to grow up and get out of the nest. She should not have had four children. But she did have us, and here we are… all four of us dysfunctional and neurotic, in spite of the many privileges we enjoyed when we were growing up.
I don’t mean this as a slam on my mom. Actually, I have generally gotten along fine with her, in spite of acknowledging that she was often pretty negligent and had some screwed up priorities. In my case, it was my dad with whom I had significant issues. He once told me I would never make more than minimum wage. He was an abusive alcoholic, although he was probably more into being a parent than my mom was. He and I didn’t mesh for a lot of reasons, but I do think he was the more caring of my parents. Of course, he also wasn’t doing the “heavy lifting” of parenting. That was a task that fell to my mom, who really wasn’t into the job. In a different era, I’m sure my mom would have made different choices, but she grew up at a time when women were expected to get married and have kids. So that’s what she did. In spite of my seemingly negative comments, I do think she did the best she could, under the circumstances. But I would be lying if I didn’t say that my memories of growing up mostly aren’t idyllic.
So I had a bit of a meltdown last night. Bill came down to me, having just spent an hour talking to his analyst. I was drinking red wine, wondering how I ended up in this bizarre situation I’m in. My life is incredibly absurd. To people on the surface, it seems like I live a “dream”. I don’t work outside the home. I don’t have children. I get to travel a lot to some pretty lovely places. That would seem like a fabulous lifestyle to many people. In fact, last week, a long time friend of mine told me that she envies my life. I didn’t know how to respond to that. She really has no idea… and yet, I absolutely CAN understand that most of my problems are of the first world variety. I do see why some people might feel envious of me. Maybe that’s part of the reason why I feel like so many people don’t like me.
Unlike Bill, I don’t feel the need to try to please others in order to get them to like me. I figure that if people don’t like me, that’s their choice to make, just like it’s older daughter’s choice to throw away her wonderful dad without ever taking the time to try to understand why he had to leave her when she was little. He had to leave, because staying with Ex would have meant dying… perhaps literally, but almost certainly metaphorically. He could not live with his ex wife anymore. If he had been a woman and Ex had been a man, absolutely no one would begrudge him for leaving. Ex is a domestic abuser. Even Catherine realizes that. She even went as far as to send Bill a link to an article for victims of domestic violence, which makes me wonder what she’s witnessed in her mother’s relationship with #3.
Maybe some people don’t see this when they talk to me, but I really am a good person. I am a decent, loving, kind person. I’m not always “nice”, but I am, deep down, “good”. I come by these qualities honestly. I try to do the right thing whenever possible, even if it doesn’t seem “nice”. Last night, I was frustrated, telling Bill about how my life has gone completely off the rails of what I thought it would be before we met. I meant to have a career and children of my own. That ordinary lifestyle was what I had planned for my whole life. But instead, here I am, writing blog posts in Europe, watching my friends and family members with regular jobs, children, and grandchildren… wondering how this happened, and if I make a difference to anyone besides my husband. It’s not a bad life at all, but it’s not what I planned. I also know that some people probably think negatively of me because of it. A few years ago, I was interviewed for my university’s alumni magazine. The person who interviewed me approached me because of an extraordinary experience I had when I was in college. But when he heard the reality of my life, he must have figured there was no story there worth putting in the alumni magazine. I didn’t become “someone”. I am just an “overeducated housewife” with an absurd lifestyle.
I do know that I serve a huge purpose in Bill’s life. But sometimes I wonder if that’s the only reason I managed to be born. Was I just born to keep predatory people like Ex and former landlady away from Bill? Was I born just to encourage him to have fun and travel? How is it that I’ve managed to land in this weird existence, where I feel envious of people with careers and children to worry about, as some of them envy me for my supposed “good life”? It’s absurd, isn’t it? Especially if you know just how totally FUBAR and totally bizarre Bill’s life has been. Even the way we met was very strange and kind of hard to specifically talk about with other people.
This morning, just before I started writing this post, I watched the funeral service for my cousin’s wife, Chris, who passed away last month after a lengthy cancer battle. I didn’t know Chris as well as I would have liked to, especially having heard several well-spoken people sing her praises. Chris was a very beautiful, vibrant, creative woman, who obviously touched many people’s lives. She was much beloved by friends and family, and so many people had stories of how she’d blessed them with her happy, warm, and thoughtful presence. Chris was a devout Christian, as are many of her bereaved friends and family members. I don’t know who she voted for in 2016, but I’d be willing to bet lots of cash that she voted for Donald Trump. I know for a fact her husband, my cousin, did.
I don’t understand how decent people can’t see who Donald Trump is, and why he’s so bad for the country. I know my family members were raised with conservative Christian values, and that means they feel they must always vote Republican. I can respect that on some level. I used to feel the same way. But how can a Christian ever cast a vote for Trump or anyone like him? How can they not see how truly awful and inhumane he is?
I listened to several people extol Chris’s many wonderful qualities as they spoke about her. I know they were a small sampling of many people who were touched by Chris. And please don’t get me wrong. Chris genuinely deserved every one of those accolades. She was a very special person. But I know, that as nice as those people are, they aren’t always as good as they seem to be. They are good to acceptable people within their own communities. I’m not sure they’re as good to people who are in trouble and need help. I don’t mean designing a room or catering a party. I mean offering real help to people who have very serious problems, sometimes arising from so-called “bad choices” they might have made. I mean people who might have done things that crowd would find immoral. As good as my relatives are, they probably think I’m immoral for swearing, drinking wine, and voting against Trump. Some of them might feel like I abandoned my family. I feel like very few of them miss me. If I died tomorrow, my funeral would probably be a pretty lonely affair. I know I haven’t touched people in the way that Chris did. I also know that my extraordinary husband is much better off with me in his life, even though a lot of people probably wonder what he’s doing with me. They don’t see the big picture. I guess I don’t see it either, at least as it pertains to older daughter.
Bill is probably like Chris in a lot of ways. He’s generous, thoughtful, loving, caring, kind, and incredibly smart. I can’t believe he married me. I would love to be more like him, because I admire how decent he is. However, this morning, when we were talking about last night’s little “meltdown”, Bill pointed out to me something I said during my rantings. He said, “you pointed out that you offer a counterbalance to my overly generous, people pleasing nature. If we were both people pleasers, we would be sitting ducks for predators.” And that’s true. If Ex thought she could drive a wedge between us, she would definitely try to do it. But she knows I can see who she is. And she knows not to fuck with Bill, because she will be fucking with me… and I am not nearly as “nice” as Bill is. But I would like to be nice. I would like to be thought of as a light in people’s lives, as my cousin’s wife, Chris, was. I don’t like to be annoying. I certainly never aspired to be a stepmother, or even an “overeducated housewife”. But here I am… obnoxious as the day is long.
I probably will address this video later, because there’s a lot I can say about it.
Which brings me to another point… One of the bones of contention people have with me is that I refer to myself as “overeducated”. I know a lot of people in the military community think I look down on them because of my education. If they got to know me, they might find out that part of the reason I call myself “overeducated” is because I literally am overeducated for what I do. That doesn’t mean I disparage others for not having degrees. In fact, if I had known this was going to be my life, I would not have gone to graduate school. But then, I probably wouldn’t have met Bill, and he was obviously meant to be in my life. I think education is very important, and I am grateful that I had the chance to go to school. The way our country is going, I worry that females may find themselves marginalized as they were in the not too distant past. I realize, again, that I’m fortunate. I just wish I could have used my education in a way that feels more significant. I was taught by my family that I needed to “be someone” and do something important. And I feel like I haven’t, in spite of multiple efforts… even though I know that I have made a huge difference in Bill’s life. But was this the only thing I was meant for? Was I, the daughter of parents who really didn’t seem to want me, and even told me on many occasions, only meant to help Bill evolve into someone who values himself more?
I love this song so much. I relate to it on many levels… although I did manage to find love.
Anyway… as Beau says in the video above, “it’s just a thought”. I would like to close this mishmash of a blog post with the beautiful lyrics to Ron Block’s song, “Someone”. If you ever wonder WTF when you talk to me or read my posts, you might consider these words and apply the context. I really need to hear this song every day. I hope someone reading this post will take the time to listen to this song. Maybe these are words you need to hear, too.
My father was an old man, he worked so hard and long He asked me to believe that he had all that he could want Holding up his hands he said, ‘These hands have bled for you Lord knows you’ve been worth it, too’
He smiled at me sadly as I walked out of his door I told him once again, just like time and time before I know that you’re contented but before my life is done I am gonna be someone’
I set out on my own to find the life I planned for me I was longing for a high and lonely destiny Spending all my days on the debt of my tomorrows Looking for some love but I found none, ’cause I was gonna be someone
It took me years of pain to find what he already knew Contentment doesn’t come from what you say or what you do Peace just like a river comes by resting in the sun And I don’t have to be someone
I set out on my own to find the life I planned for me I was longing for a high and lonely destiny Spending all my days on the debt of my tomorrows Living comes from resting in the sun and I don’t have to be someone
Peace just like a river comes by resting in the sun And I don’t have to be someone
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