The Price of a Dream

What is the highest bid you can take to buy your dream? How much will you sacrifice to live your passion? Do you set aside your integrity, your pride, or justice to attain that one dream? If you had waited years, and years to be given the opportunity to do what you love, what would you be willing to sacrifice?

Much of my hope had been, that I would be lucky, and not have to sacrifice anything. I was very wrong. To pursue my dream, I have had to take injustice silently. My husband told me that he admires my restraint. Restraint in the face of injustice is very hard, very hard indeed. I can feel the deep pressure in my chest from wanting to scream, “this is not right!”. To screams those words could cost me my dream, my passion, the job that I was born to do. I would say that if it was a injustice toward another, I would have to scream. This is my injustice, I do not have to speak up if I do not want to.

What has been done to me here, is a simple act of unfairness. One side has done something very wrong to me, and that side has been rewarded for it’s deed by the very structure that is offering me my dream. True, it offers it for it’s own gain, but still, it happens to be my dream up on the board. Do I take the eraser to it and walk away? Do I release the pressure in my chest, claim justice and lose my beloved life’s goal. I have decided not to. I want to have my career.

My mother was once in this very same position. It was not her dream in question, it was her job, and one that she prided herself in. She would come home from work miserable. She had been pushed to the breaking point, over and over again.  Eventually it was over, she had survived with her dignity in tact, but much worse for the ware. I remember telling her, the know-it-all stupid teenager that I was, to stand up for herself. Now I see why she did not do so. My mother and I have something in common now.

I was humiliated, scolded and belittled in a hypocritical situation. I knew what was happening was wrong, even my husband testified to that effect. I took it. I did not speak up for myself. Should I have? In doing so I would have been walking away from my knife, from my stove, from my passion, and from my dream to be a chef.

Was it worth it? My integrity for a chefs knife? Will the Great Spirit know what I had to restrain to hold that knife? Will my food taste like the woman who sacrificed what was right in order to have the honor of preparing it? Will it taste of the devotion that I have for it? Will you take a bite of creamy risotto and release a tear, as I did in the dark room of injustice? What would you pay?

When she’s gone.

When she is gone. I do not know what to do.

My mom is in Northern California celebrating her mother-in-laws 90th birthday. I dropped her off at the airport this morning and I hated it. I do not like it when she is away.

It was a trip that was hard for her. She has not traveled in a few years. My task is to care for her animals. I am left in a situation I have been in before. My mother raised me to take care of animals, to respect them. I have four cats, she has four, all adopted. However, my mother has a dog. This dog of hers is so devoted, like her last dog; will not eat anything until my mother comes home. When my mothers parents needed her to do what it is I guess that daughters do… clean up the mess, she traveled to Southern California from Oregon to help them.

I spent almost a year tending to her animals. She spent almost a year tending to her family, she suffered in silence. I stayed here and suffered in silence. I would travel from my home to hers to care for them, twice a day, 30 min each way. She traveled through hell, watching her father and brother die. I told her I was going to come down. She told me not to. She would not let me feel the burden. Eventually I just moved into her house. I could not travel anymore.

I ate Mortadella and brie and baguette for a year. I almost lost my marriage. I traveled and traveled and traveled. I gained 20 pounds of wine and Italiano meats and cheeses.

My mother lives less than a mile from me now. I moved closer to her. Now, she is always near. After my father died, my mother moved close to me. Then… her father died. Then her brother died. And finally, after my mother had brought her here to live close, after my mother had nursed her and suffered the abuse of a woman who had lost control, my grandmother died. I woke my mother up to tell her the night her mother had past, I had to be there for at least that. On this I was not going to let her down. I stayed with her.

Every family member that my mother and I had had, died. Now she is visiting my fathers family. I would not go. They are not my family anymore I guess. It is my own decision, they cared for me when I was younger but as I got older I was isolated and endlessly teased by my uncle. I was called a “satan worshiper” , “black devil” and such. I had always felt unaccepted among my fathers family and my cousins. But… I belong to my father, not them and he loved me. In the end he told me he loved me anyway, even through the bad years. My mother has always loved me regardless.

I guess my point for this silly post is that, I love my mom. You see? She is too far from me now with a family I do not trust. Her dog is now finally sleeping after eating. I checked on her cats, all accounted for and pissed off that she is gone. I do not blame them. I would never want to see my mother get on a plane. I would never want to see her leave.

My husband is carving a pumpkin, my son is playing… life seems as it should be.

But the history… I want my mom. I want my dad. I want it all. Right here. As it should be.

I miss you mom. So very much. I hope you are having a good time. I know you would rather be here but… you always did do the right thing. I love you.

The Hours

I have just curled up on the couch with a beer and my cats. The house is empty save myself of human activity for the first time in months.

I have hit play and The Hours is now covering the screen. Nicole Kidman works the beginning of the movie playing Virgina Wolfe (a personal icon of mine) with a narration of her suicide note followed by a very long swim in the river.

Few movies affect me as this one does and even fewer comfort me as this one does. The cast is Emmy and delicious. Staring the greatest actresses of my time. I am in the mood. When I sit to watch this movie… I know. The mother of darkness, my soul’s never ending companion is upon my mind like the weight of a soft naked woman sleeping. I am depressed. No cause or reason. Just depressed.

I like the quiet of the house. Empty of life save my kitty sharks, prowling the house and my own thoughts.

My husband and son and uncle are at a family BBQ. I tried (and my husband praised me) to attend. However I was not “there”. I could not smile for the life of me and in the face of happy, talking, socializing people I withered like so many dead flowers. I had to escape from the people I truly love because I could not keep up. The sweet naked woman that blankets my mind stirs and sends me to myself. I needed aloneness. To leave the awkwardness. To lay beneath the down with her. To be alone with her. To suffer and embrace the depression that controls me.

I want to be social. I want to be normal. But I am not. I never will be.

I have always heard that I should never allow this disease to “control me”. But I am starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I should stop fighting it. My mind has worked this way all of my life. I strive to be “normal” and thus make a mess of myself. I do not want people to see me as different, crazy, depressed or what have you. But I want people to know. I have a disease. I can see things others cannot. Should that hold no value? I can see in the dark. But like all in the dark, I lack the gift of the sun, of light.

So here I am. Feeling quite pathetic. Like a child on time – out.

The hours of my life pass so loudly, shuffling through time like clinking high heels on marbled floors. But only I can hear them. They would call this madness. I must be mad. But the floor must be walked. The hours will pass.

My life will end up floating through a cold river. My words written on endless paper. My time will be spent struggling against those waters and those words. I will break all of my bones upon those river rocks.

My time will be spent with a soft, naked woman who curls along side me and whispers. Or my time will be spent missing her while she is away.

She whispers to me during the hours. And when all is silent. I can hear myself.

“Dearest. I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of these terrible times and I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices and can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems to be the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness, you have been in every way all that anyone can be. I know that I am spoiling your life and without me you could work.”

I will not recover this time.

I will fall asleep with her… I will.

Emotion. Co.

Today in question was not the best of days. I expressed my opinion oh so candidly and I could not help but think of my mother. I had to think of her as I prepped my chicken, I thought of her as I chopped my herbs, I thought of her as I told my best friend that on her birthday she was worth it. Telling a woman that “she is worth it”, is not so romantic as it sounds. Women are trouble, men just… well we have our opinions. Men are just men and some of them are really asses. Unless you are me and you catch a fine one. Super fine.

I thought of my mother today as I often do. I think of her and one other woman, my best friend. Today was her birthday (not my mommies) but my friends so I decided to play the whole “I love you” bit and go over there, cook dinner and express my heart and soul.

The thing is, like my mom, I really love this woman. Simple and honest. Just love her. I could eat her alive.

Just like my mom, she claims no self worth. Either do I for that matter.

Why are the most dedicated, loving, intelligent, compassionate women I know so ignorant of their worth?

Why do we make eachother feel worthless?

I wish it was not so but it seems to be a never ending cycle. All of the men I know are overflowing with self worth and yet the women who support them are not.

Where did our confidence go? Was it ever there? I believe my mother was made to feel worthless by her mother who hardily praised her and depended solely on her sons to keep her happy while my mother (who did all the work) was never recognized. But my mother IS very special, intelligent and compassionate. She keeps me going on these really bad days. She has more value to me than anyone. I wish her mother had told her so. Maybe then she would not feel as she does about herself.

I wish I could take my mother and my best friend to some fantasy world where we are all loved and praised and where we could believe in ourselves. We deserve it.

Here She Comes

She is coming. Like a red head in heat.

Finally she comes for me.

My blood has slowed with sugar. My throat is swollen with lumps and my stomach has taken the bulimia to it’s peak. My heart has become weak and fluttered. My mind can no longer grasp concepts such as movement and space, I feel constant vertigo.

The panic no longer matters as I feel my own death coming. My heart clicks. I hear the ticking. I feel the ticking.

Soon I will be dead. Months at most. Dead.

I hear it now. Death. All of my fears in death. Now I cannot fear. It is real.

Here she comes.


I have just finished my study on Cancer. Talk about F**ked. Sorry but it is true. Only those who have it can understand. Cancer is the deepest bodily betrayal of itself.

Cancer is both merciful and vengeful.  Cancer is you. You are cancer. I did not quite understand what cancer was before my education. I was under the impression that cancer was an invading source that only destroyed and left PBS specials in its wake. Cancer is that. But is is so much more. Cancer is unique to every person. Cancer is customized like a pair of boots suited to fit.  The Latin term for cancer is  “crab”. No star signs here, no dreams of astrological. Just a wipe out disease. Both a murderer and it’s victim.

Tonight I shucked 3 pounds of crab. The spiny legs, the dark body meat. The crab cut my fingers as I was seeking its flesh.  I ate the cancer with butter over newspaper.

My education has given me a glimpse of the process of cancer and so much more into the cellular destruction of the body and the consequences of treatment. This was my last unit of study and test before my degree; quite rightly so as it was the most difficult to read, to know.

Still I wonder what is cancer? I have “learned” what cancer is. Or have I?

When I was a child I watched an HBO special (back in the 80’s) of a child, male, who suffered from leukemia. Leukemia is cancer of the blood and one of the most fatal if not the most fatal of cancers. For years I feared that I too had cancer. But that was all that I could conceive before I discovered what cancer was. I am starting to see what cancer is.

Cancer is our bodies destroying itself cell by cell.

Why would any body do this? I do not know, they do not know. No doctor, no pharmacist, no chemist. No one knows why the body’s cells do this. They speculate but do not seem to know for sure. They have speculative causes and theories but cancer seems to touch each patient differently.

Cancer has now become my life’s metaphor. I feel cancer in my life. People that are like tumors must be cut or radiated or chemically stripped off of me. Cancer has now become a very unique understanding for me.  But this is all it can do for me. I do not have cancer. But now I know what cancer is. My every day life. Those who have died have not died in vain to compensate drug companies and blasphemous power seeking charities. Those who have died have given me an understanding of what is my body, yet foreign and clumsy, a knowledge of it. Cancer, cancer of  all.

I have just received my degree and for this I say to you. All of you whom I will meet. All of you who have cancer.

I do not have cancer. I have a disease of the mind that will inhibit my growth and my life. You have cancer. I can relate to your demise. But I want you to know I will see you and your sick cells. I want you to know that I will be there for you if you need me. I want you to see me as well. I know what it feels like to have your own body destroy itself. I know what is happening to you. I am just a girl who has learned what cancer really is. But I understand. I see you. I see you.

This cancer. This is so much. Why do we have cancer?

This is the rub. Why? Cancer? Why?

Why do you find us… so unique?

Are you a good parent? Am I?

Today as I was walking through the store with my family. A woman, who was an employee approached me.

She had witnessed me, point blank , tell my son after a quick tantrum; ” You will not raise your voice to me, I am your mother.” This was all that I said and my son responded with an apology.

The female employee said with a smile;

” I was just telling another girl what a good mother you are. So many mother’s let their children run wild without respect for other people.”

This, to me, is completely foreign. I have never once thought I was a good mother. I stress over details, discipline, encouragement and as most parents do; when do I get myself back? My child is a constant struggle. A very dear friend told me as of late “The nut cracker works fine, you just have a hard nut to crack”.

This woman in the store admired my approach to child rearing, if you can still call it that. I felt very good, for once about motherhood. Everyone about seems to think I am a good mother, I however disagree. I could be faster, better, smarter, stronger.

Inside of my heart I love my boy, who questions me and tells me I am wrong. He challenges me constantly and while it drives me to madness it also blooms proud in my spirit. I am rasing him as I promised I would.

My rules:

1) I will accept my child no matter what or whom he has decided to become.

2) I will love him completely regardless of any circumstance.

3) I will discipline him for any disrespect of another being, be it animal or human.

4) I will always hold him to his word.

5) I will never tell him a lie.

These are the rules I wrote in my diary long before he was born. I have kept them all. I do not think I am a good mother. He is only four and there is much more to come for him. How he sees me now as an “authority”  that will some day change into an “understanding”. I only want to ask of him what I ask of myself. I seem like a harsh mother, but perhaps the woman at the store has given me a new understanding. I was a black sheep child… who struggled against all that was handed to me. Maybe my real purpose in life is to raise this “unexpected” child. To make him my better? Maybe this is what all of us parents are meant to do?

To love and live for, even if we are judged harshly, our children.

The hardest nut of all.

Work Vs. Home

I believe there are many people out there, be man or woman who would rather stay at home than work. I have tried this “housewife/houseman” method. For me, I completely disagree. I pay respect to any man or woman who can competently handle this day to day life of taking care of the “homestead”, for I cannot.

Work Vs. Home. I beg anyone, be you psycho or loon to counter this blog and write for Home. I write for Work and this is why. Challenge me people will you?

I have done the dishes.

Work – People are shocked at my willingness to do their dishes, to “better” the work environment and save them a moment of dish pan hands. I am praised.

Home – Cannot see the kitchen as the dishes have piled up past the sink and are crusted with egg yoke.

I have swept/vacuumed the floor.

Work – Wow, we pay “outside” people to do that. You just saved us serious money and the customers are not slipping on M&M’s. I have just boosted customer/employee safety and saved the company money by doing something myself. I am very competent. I am praised.

Home – Do we own a broom? BTW, where did those M&M’s go?

I have put the inventory away by myself.

Work – I have placed all products on the shelves, cleaned and managed thousands of dollars worth of merchandise. I am praised.

Home – Did you put the groceries away?

I have controlled expired merchandise.

Work – I have just saved the company hundreds of thousands of dollars over a very serious law suit involving an expired pregnancy test, condom and/or medication. I am praised.

Home – Was the bacon bad? Really? Are you SURE the bacon was bad?!

I have care for a lost child.

Work – “Thank you so much for taking care of my son, he just slipped away from me.” I am praised

Home – “Shut up mom!”

I have arrived at work early.

Work – I am showing great promise and my time management is above expected. I am praised

Home – Everybody is still asleep and I am forging for expired bacon.

I have handled a customer’s very serious complaint competently.

Work – I have taken a customer’s very difficult situation and “righted” it for them resulting in a repeat customer that now trusts me. I am praised.

Home – Did you buy center cut peppered bacon this time!?

I have set up the entire Halloween display.

Work – It took me hours to do this display and it looks beautiful. I am praised.

Home – I could not find a place for the fake spider webs as there are too many real ones. And yes, they are full of spiders and yes, they hiss when faced with the broom.

Two of my employees have called in sick.

Work – I have compensated for missing employees and run two separate departments while managing the store, I have gone beyond the call of duty. I am praised.

Home – There are TWO toilets in this house, you know.

I have received a raise.

Work – My management skills are above and beyond, I have been very successful and shown that I am a very dedicated and powerful worker. The company loves me. I am praised.

Home – My husband got a  raise.

Another Day

I am wondering this morning how many other people are unemployed at this very moment?

Ten years ago I could land a job without even applying for it, now nothing. I am either not qualified enough or I am over qualified for the jobs that do open up. This is all very annoying. My tasks today are to do the dishes and as my best friend informs me, to also make the bed. A few years ago at this time I would be half way through a latte and just going through last nights paper work after opening up Walgreens. The day would unfold with several tasks that had nothing to do with dishes or bed or a four year old that has just entered the “talk back” phase of childhood. I have been alerted that this phase is actually not a phase but a new fixture in our lives. Pitty is appreciated.

I have several years of management experience and consider myself a damn hard worker. These things do not matter any more. There are not enough jobs. I am not above myself and would have no problems working a position under a position of my previous experience but that does not matter. Then I am simply over qualified. You would think that putting an over qualified person in any position would be a good thing.

So my job options are now internet scam artist, work from home scam artist or any company that does telemarketing scamming. I am starting to think I should have checked “deceptive little bitch” on my future career application in high school. I have never been on unemployment but I sure have paid into it. If only I could get all that money back now. This blog sucks and now I am all pissed off and frustrated. I will try not to take it out on the dishes. Ah.. screw it, I will break em all

The Rancher

This morning was a very troubled morning indeed…

To sum it up the morning from hell partially consisted of a car that wouldn’t start, a bathtub that was very difficult to scrub, a bottle/can recycling session that resulted in a typical “sudden Oregon downpour” and the inevitable fall on a freshly washed floor that is now covered with mud, blood and lingering swear words. The rest of the morning, I will leave to your imagination.

Any who… A completely irrelevant story came to mind. It has in no way any connection to my morning but it was a story I always wanted to tell the world. Yes, the story you are about to hear is true and entirely not connected to the passing of my morning stress.

The dear friend of mine whom told me this story is third person, as the person who was driving behind the main character of this story and decided to stop her car to watch it play out. If there is a truly unique mystical way to the universe the Rancher will either read this some day and feel appreciated or has won the lottery, I am sure he would prefer the latter.

My friend was driving on I-5, north of Sacramento, Ca and witnessed a large truck hit a dear and send it flying to the side of the road, my friend, in shock pulled over in front of a pick up truck that had pulled over immediately after the accident. Needless to say the actual truck that hit the deer did not stop, as far as I am concerned, they never do. People suck, I hate them..Wait, I am telling a story. I will try to keep the emotions in check. Seriously, this story is one of the only reasons I have a VERY small amount of faith in humanity.

Ok, so she pulled over and and ran towards the pick up that had pulled over to find a man and his wife emerging from the cab. This is what she told me.

The man and his wife ran up to the deer to investigate while my friend watched and apparently, others pulled off the road to “see” what was happening. The man checked the deer to see if there was anything he could do, I think this is when they found out he was a rancher. The doe was pregnant and very far along my friend said. The Rancher proceeded to get a knife and his wife, a blanket from the pick up. My friend said, right there on the side of the busy freeway with growing spectators he proceeded to cut open the doe’s belly and then womb to remove the baby fawn. The fawn showed no signs of life, and get this, the Rancher proceeded to do CPR on the fawn, mouth around her little muzzle and pressing on her chest in rhythmic motions.

Apparently after several minutes the fawn started to breathe on her own. He had actually saved it. The Ranchers wife came in with the blanket and swaddled the baby fawn. My friend said everyone there clapped for the Rancher and a dozen questions came fourth but, my friend said, the Rancher and his wife were eager to get home to see if with a bottle and time they could get help the fawn survive. And so, they were off, as was my friend with a huge smile on her face.

This story for me came at a time where I can honestly say, I hated humanity. I can also honestly say that if not for these events, I would have even less faith in humans than I have now. I hope that this can bring some contentment to someones heart. At least if you are a person who is tired of selfish, cruel people and “road kill” as they call it. As for the man who killed the deer without stopping to at least acknowledge it, well, if at all lucky the Rancher one the lottery and the deer killer got a call from the IRS.

Thanks for listening.

Wait. I remember now. Soaking wet, on the way home I saw a deer in the graveyard we live across. What da ya know?