Hello again world! Long time, no blog. I wish that I had a good reason for being absent, but unfortunately all I can really blame it on is sheer and utter life obsession. Or rather, relationship obsession. This is going to be hard for some people to read. It is not meant as a bash or pointing fingers. It is simply meant to help me express my understanding of a life event that I believe other readers can appreciate and, more than likely, relate to.
I am going through a break up. It doesn't matter which side of the break up I am on in my opinion, because whichever side you are on, the breaker or the break-e, it is going to be messy and ugly and hard and terrifying for both parties. Hopefully, anyway. Whoever invited break ups should just... hmmm maybe before I finish that sentence I should do a little bit more self inquiry.
When I was younger, as in ten years ago, my life revolved around relationships. Who I was with, who I was going to be with next if it didn't work out, how the person I was with wasn't fulfilling my needs, blah blah blah. I'm a serial monogamist. I have been for years, and I finally had a realization one day that it wasn't because I actually wanted to be with these men (ahem), but because I needed them to fill some void in my life. Some empty space deep within my gut that was begging to be fed. Apparently being a child of an alcoholic does not help this at all. In fact, it could have a huge part to do with my need. I was so terrified of being alone that I would suffer, and hate him, and then ultimately hate myself for being so gullible as to stay in a situation that did not make me feel good. A situation that did not make me feel more full and alive and... dare I say "happy"? What a concept.
Well, even though lessons have been learned over the years, I am here again. In the same break up boat that's sinking 50 miles off the shore line.... in shark infested waters... at dusk. Oh what a predicament this is!!
Wait... what? How did I get here? I thought it was supposed to be forever. In fact, I was SURE that this time it would work out. (Do you hear God laughing at me? Maybe it's just the AC unit outside)
Well it didn't work out. This is where it gets serious by the way. I am heart broken. I am trying to be strong, but it's that crazy question and answer that still runs through my brain. If you don't know if it will work out, how can you trust it? And my answer? You just do. I know it seems crazy but you just have to trust that one day it wont end. With my particular relationship (or what lasts of it) I believe that there was some lesson that we were supposed to learn from each other. Maybe I helped him learn something about himself that he didn't know was there, or he knew was there and was maybe hiding from. Maybe he taught me to fight for myself even when it runs the risk of being alone and starting over. Again, two situations that I have FOREVER been terrified of. Maybe it was just two people that were/are in love and just trying to make it work against all odds. It could be a million things. But I guess the most important thing to remember is that it didn't work, but that doesn't mean that my life and my loving is over. I have a whole life to live that will be full of souls that I will connect with and love without attachment. Maybe there will be one that I'm supposed to be with "for better or for worse"? Who knows? I hope so.
When I moved to Chicago, three years ago, it was the first time that this guy and I broke up. I know. I know. After that, the transition to get better never really happened. I was anxious all the time, and hurting, and missing him terribly. I think that he was going through the same things, which is probably why we got back together. But the universe has a different plan for me. That plan is to learn something about myself that has to take a whole lot more heart ache to discover and nurture to full bloom. Sitting in my situation (moved back for a guy that said he wanted everything I wanted, and then decided that he didn't anymore) I could sit around being angry at him and at the world and at myself for letting it happen again. But I believe that I am going through this for a higher purpose. I am not the same girl that moved to Chicago to escape from love, and escape from my mother's death. I am stronger now. I know what I need to be happy and move on. I have taken the first step towards real self acceptance. That is why in my deepest gut and layers I know that I will be okay.
So, in ending, I suppose the purpose of this blog wasn't meant to vent that I am sad. It is meant as hope. When thinking back on the last three years of my life, I shock myself at my own strength. I keep looking towards the heavens asking for guidance. From God and from my mother. And I think that my questions are heard... and they will eventually be answered. I hope, wherever you are, whatever life event is currently sitting on your kitchen table, that you can find peace. Peace in the knowing that you DON'T have to know everything right now. You don't have to understand it. Just live it, and know the more you focus on the positive and amazing things that the universe has to offer, the more you will cultivate it in the living present moments of your AMAZING life. Namaste.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
Gluten free veggie soup recipe
Here is a veggie recipe I made yesterday that is hearty and delicious! You will be full for hours! Try it with a dollop of sour cream and some sharp cheddar cheese sprinkled on top. Happy eating!
Veggie Soup
2 tbs unsalted butter
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 medium jalapeno, finely chopped
4 stalks celery, chopped
10 oz chopped carrots
1 15oz can white hominy, drained
1 15oz can diced tomatoes with green chilis
1 15oz can diced tomatoes, zesty chili style
3 small zucchinis, diced
5 cups fresh green beans, snapped to bite size pieces
6 cups fresh kale
4-5 cups water or broth
1 tbs cumin
3 tbs chili powder
1 tsp paprika
2 large bay leaves
salt & pepper to taste
optional:
cilantro
sour cream
cheddar cheese
Saute butter, onion, carrots, celery, and jalapenos over medium/high heat until tender. Add remaining ingredients. Simmer on low for about 3-4 hours.
Freeze or refrigerate remaining soup.
Veggie Soup
2 tbs unsalted butter
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 medium jalapeno, finely chopped
4 stalks celery, chopped
10 oz chopped carrots
1 15oz can white hominy, drained
1 15oz can diced tomatoes with green chilis
1 15oz can diced tomatoes, zesty chili style
3 small zucchinis, diced
5 cups fresh green beans, snapped to bite size pieces
6 cups fresh kale
4-5 cups water or broth
1 tbs cumin
3 tbs chili powder
1 tsp paprika
2 large bay leaves
salt & pepper to taste
optional:
cilantro
sour cream
cheddar cheese
Saute butter, onion, carrots, celery, and jalapenos over medium/high heat until tender. Add remaining ingredients. Simmer on low for about 3-4 hours.
Freeze or refrigerate remaining soup.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Follow your heart? or follow your heart?
My father is getting remarried this weekend. Sunday actually. Two days from today. *sigh*... Not *sigh* because I am not happy for him, because I am. *Sigh* because of everything else that has surfaced since his decision to remarry (which I might add was six weeks ago... but I digress). The decision was hard on my family. We have only met his fiance a few times, we have not met her son who will be moving into our old home, and we were barely made known about the wedding plans. It all seemed to be moving so fast and we couldn't figure out why. I suppose though that every marriage my father has been a part of happened rather quickly. Two days before my father was supposed to marry my mother he got into a car crash and was on crutches. But he didn't want to push the wedding back so they got married in the hospital. The man is persistent is what I am saying.
All of my mothers things were still in her closet up until two days ago. My sister, who recently flew in from Afghanistan for the wedding, and I drove out to Sunset to "help" pack up our mothers things. China, antiques, clothing, memorabilia, things that reminded us of her. He told us to take all of the pictures too. He didn't want anything that had her name or photo in the house. His words twisted my heart like a wet washcloth, but I tried to not think about that. My sister and I removed the items from the home. We cleaned the slate that was the home that my mother built. She created the memories, and the decorations. The roosters in the kitchen are hers. The dishes and the pots and pans are hers. But they will be used by a new family. A different family. A family that doesn't say the name LORI. LORI. LORI. Yet for me... the name is my mother.
Ever since my mother's death, a little over two years ago, I have been on a constant journey in trying to come to peace with everything. I have had to deal with guilt of her and my relationship the last couple years of her life. I have also had to fight the anger that I had towards her and the disease. I could never wrap my head around it. What set her off, what made her so unhappy that she couldn't put the drink down. Well... while we were cleaning out my mother's closet we came across a very interested folder. It was about two inches thick stuffed with postcards, letters, faxes, emails... I pulled out one of the papers and read:
"Honey, is it really true, can you really care for me this much? It was nearly impossible to return to Hemingway after our conversation; I found myself reading entire paragraphs without comprehension, thinking about you as I was. I imagined you sleeping, envisioned those long lovely limbs of yours, saw your pretty braid lying across the pillow. As much as I love to read baby, even Hemingway can't compare to you in the milieu of my thoughts. Maybe someday, no, someday we will lie together in a cool bed and mix the two loves of books and us. How I would love to love on you this morning... If I was a lumberjack I would chop through whole redwoods by myself this morning, my girl. As it is I'll simply write a novel by noon."
20 years ago my mother had a relationship with another man. A man that I recall briefly in my memory. I remember that he and I shared blueberry pancakes on a trip. When I first read the letter I said a lot of cuss words in astonishment. Then there was a brief moment of anger. How did I not know about this?!?! Once the shock subsided I continued to read and saw how deeply they felt for one another. The conversation of my father and how he was never home and she wasn't happy. How this man vowed to care for her (and my sister and I) and to love us completely... "When you told me of how Elizabeth looked in her new outfit I loved the tone in your voice, the love present. I want to share those times with you, and be there to have an arm slung casually around Erin when showering compliments on Elizabeth. I can still recall the physical embrace from my father during the Army days, and would like the girls always to remember not only yours buy my embrace as well. My father was not good about showing preference for one son over another, and I promise you I'll think about such things and work hard to pull them equally to my heart."
I took the letters, stuffed them into my bag and didn't look at them again until today. I read through them. I talked to family members and and divulged more information from them. I asked about the relationship and what happened, etc. etc. They didn't tell me much except that my mother ended it because she didn't want to break up the family. She stayed because she thought it would be too hard for us. She sacrificed her happiness for our well being. My mother wrote in a letter to "he that shall not be names" and in the letter she said, "Cite me an example of a relationship, any age difference or none at all, where the possibility of a painful end doesn't exist. I'm waiting..." *sigh*
Shortly after their "break-up" my mother started to drink heavily. And the years of Alcoholism and depression and "family torn apart" really began. We were happy, we were loved, and then there was a shift and I never really understood what caused that shift. That is until I read these letters. I know that some people are reading this post and judging my mother for being an "adulterer"(I almost feel like I'm writing a book report on the scarlet letter). Maybe saying she deserved what was coming to her? What can I say? All is fair in love and war? The heart wants what the heart wants? Love it and leave it? I don't know what you want me to say. All I know is that she chose another's (her children's) happiness over her own and it killed her. I have been sitting and wondering how my life would be different had she left my father for this man that she had a great love affair with (She always loved the English Patient and now I know why). Maybe she would still be here.... coulda, woulda, shoulda I suppose. That is just me missing my mother.
More than anything, these letters and this revelation has made it painfully obvious how IMPORTANT it is to follows the path of our hearts. In yoga, we spend so much time listening to our bodies and our minds and our souls, but do we really respond? Do we remove ourselves from situations that are painful to us and search (even if we are desperately lonely for a time) for something that truly serves us and makes us feel like bigger and stronger and more vibrant human beings? My mother also wrote in the same letter about two friends, "I don't see any passion or great love between the two of them. It's as though they have settled in a nice, comfortable routine and don't have the energy to change it. I sometimes wonder how many people stay with the wrong mate or a bad situation, not out of love or commitment, but out of habit- that insidious, deadly anesthetic." Amen. I could probably count on one hand (at least) things in my life that I hold on to that do not serve me. Bosses and boyfriend, fear not. It is nothing as dramatic as this, but is it any less important?
My mother has taught me, and at an unimaginably desperate time in my life, that if I am not working from my heart it could literally kill me. Ugh dramatic right? I am not advocating for adultery. I am simply saying that I applaud her for being able to love so much. I wish she had the courage and the knowing that if she had left we would have been okay. But life goes on.
The last letter I read was a letter to my beautiful Mother. The author should remain anonymous but I will say that she is my soul sister. When I read this letter it brought tears to my eyes and a fire in my heart and made me too want to "forage ahead" and take on the world with an open heart! This had nothing to do with the relationship. It simply describes the strong woman that my mother was at this time in her life:
"In your thirties you have moved towards a place of strength and purpose that is utterly unlike anything I've seen in you, ever. There was no hint, really, to me anyway, that you were going to actually make it to this place. You are strong, yes, always were. But there was a fork somewhere back there, and the odds were just as stacked towards the possibility of another reality: Lori the snob suburbanite. You know, the rich wife who stays shut up in the Big House all day feeding her discontent... laying old dreams on a shelf to gather dust or throw back jeering reflection's of failure and emptiness when looked at... You showed 'em all up. All of the women of the old neighborhood, the Sunview Drive people, their little lives...And the greatest gift is that, as you stopped judging yourself by those fake gold lame society standards, you also stopped judging those around you...So girl, set the pace, forage on ahead. When the last kid, Lizzie B., is safely in route to her own life, we'll go. WE are the writers, we should be living out there on the edge. My recent descent back into my interior spiritual journeys- zen, psychic energy, meditations, God, love- are all hands on the compass pointing me out into open ocean. I'll strain my eyes, looking for the residue of your wake. Big sister, if I should fall behind, wait for me..."
Wherever you are mom, whether you are looking down on me or not, thank you for this life lesson years after I lost you. You are a Warrior Goddess and I salute your bravery and your strong heart.
Your little Tortuga,
Lizzie B.
All of my mothers things were still in her closet up until two days ago. My sister, who recently flew in from Afghanistan for the wedding, and I drove out to Sunset to "help" pack up our mothers things. China, antiques, clothing, memorabilia, things that reminded us of her. He told us to take all of the pictures too. He didn't want anything that had her name or photo in the house. His words twisted my heart like a wet washcloth, but I tried to not think about that. My sister and I removed the items from the home. We cleaned the slate that was the home that my mother built. She created the memories, and the decorations. The roosters in the kitchen are hers. The dishes and the pots and pans are hers. But they will be used by a new family. A different family. A family that doesn't say the name LORI. LORI. LORI. Yet for me... the name is my mother.
Ever since my mother's death, a little over two years ago, I have been on a constant journey in trying to come to peace with everything. I have had to deal with guilt of her and my relationship the last couple years of her life. I have also had to fight the anger that I had towards her and the disease. I could never wrap my head around it. What set her off, what made her so unhappy that she couldn't put the drink down. Well... while we were cleaning out my mother's closet we came across a very interested folder. It was about two inches thick stuffed with postcards, letters, faxes, emails... I pulled out one of the papers and read:
"Honey, is it really true, can you really care for me this much? It was nearly impossible to return to Hemingway after our conversation; I found myself reading entire paragraphs without comprehension, thinking about you as I was. I imagined you sleeping, envisioned those long lovely limbs of yours, saw your pretty braid lying across the pillow. As much as I love to read baby, even Hemingway can't compare to you in the milieu of my thoughts. Maybe someday, no, someday we will lie together in a cool bed and mix the two loves of books and us. How I would love to love on you this morning... If I was a lumberjack I would chop through whole redwoods by myself this morning, my girl. As it is I'll simply write a novel by noon."
20 years ago my mother had a relationship with another man. A man that I recall briefly in my memory. I remember that he and I shared blueberry pancakes on a trip. When I first read the letter I said a lot of cuss words in astonishment. Then there was a brief moment of anger. How did I not know about this?!?! Once the shock subsided I continued to read and saw how deeply they felt for one another. The conversation of my father and how he was never home and she wasn't happy. How this man vowed to care for her (and my sister and I) and to love us completely... "When you told me of how Elizabeth looked in her new outfit I loved the tone in your voice, the love present. I want to share those times with you, and be there to have an arm slung casually around Erin when showering compliments on Elizabeth. I can still recall the physical embrace from my father during the Army days, and would like the girls always to remember not only yours buy my embrace as well. My father was not good about showing preference for one son over another, and I promise you I'll think about such things and work hard to pull them equally to my heart."
I took the letters, stuffed them into my bag and didn't look at them again until today. I read through them. I talked to family members and and divulged more information from them. I asked about the relationship and what happened, etc. etc. They didn't tell me much except that my mother ended it because she didn't want to break up the family. She stayed because she thought it would be too hard for us. She sacrificed her happiness for our well being. My mother wrote in a letter to "he that shall not be names" and in the letter she said, "Cite me an example of a relationship, any age difference or none at all, where the possibility of a painful end doesn't exist. I'm waiting..." *sigh*
Shortly after their "break-up" my mother started to drink heavily. And the years of Alcoholism and depression and "family torn apart" really began. We were happy, we were loved, and then there was a shift and I never really understood what caused that shift. That is until I read these letters. I know that some people are reading this post and judging my mother for being an "adulterer"(I almost feel like I'm writing a book report on the scarlet letter). Maybe saying she deserved what was coming to her? What can I say? All is fair in love and war? The heart wants what the heart wants? Love it and leave it? I don't know what you want me to say. All I know is that she chose another's (her children's) happiness over her own and it killed her. I have been sitting and wondering how my life would be different had she left my father for this man that she had a great love affair with (She always loved the English Patient and now I know why). Maybe she would still be here.... coulda, woulda, shoulda I suppose. That is just me missing my mother.
More than anything, these letters and this revelation has made it painfully obvious how IMPORTANT it is to follows the path of our hearts. In yoga, we spend so much time listening to our bodies and our minds and our souls, but do we really respond? Do we remove ourselves from situations that are painful to us and search (even if we are desperately lonely for a time) for something that truly serves us and makes us feel like bigger and stronger and more vibrant human beings? My mother also wrote in the same letter about two friends, "I don't see any passion or great love between the two of them. It's as though they have settled in a nice, comfortable routine and don't have the energy to change it. I sometimes wonder how many people stay with the wrong mate or a bad situation, not out of love or commitment, but out of habit- that insidious, deadly anesthetic." Amen. I could probably count on one hand (at least) things in my life that I hold on to that do not serve me. Bosses and boyfriend, fear not. It is nothing as dramatic as this, but is it any less important?
My mother has taught me, and at an unimaginably desperate time in my life, that if I am not working from my heart it could literally kill me. Ugh dramatic right? I am not advocating for adultery. I am simply saying that I applaud her for being able to love so much. I wish she had the courage and the knowing that if she had left we would have been okay. But life goes on.
The last letter I read was a letter to my beautiful Mother. The author should remain anonymous but I will say that she is my soul sister. When I read this letter it brought tears to my eyes and a fire in my heart and made me too want to "forage ahead" and take on the world with an open heart! This had nothing to do with the relationship. It simply describes the strong woman that my mother was at this time in her life:
"In your thirties you have moved towards a place of strength and purpose that is utterly unlike anything I've seen in you, ever. There was no hint, really, to me anyway, that you were going to actually make it to this place. You are strong, yes, always were. But there was a fork somewhere back there, and the odds were just as stacked towards the possibility of another reality: Lori the snob suburbanite. You know, the rich wife who stays shut up in the Big House all day feeding her discontent... laying old dreams on a shelf to gather dust or throw back jeering reflection's of failure and emptiness when looked at... You showed 'em all up. All of the women of the old neighborhood, the Sunview Drive people, their little lives...And the greatest gift is that, as you stopped judging yourself by those fake gold lame society standards, you also stopped judging those around you...So girl, set the pace, forage on ahead. When the last kid, Lizzie B., is safely in route to her own life, we'll go. WE are the writers, we should be living out there on the edge. My recent descent back into my interior spiritual journeys- zen, psychic energy, meditations, God, love- are all hands on the compass pointing me out into open ocean. I'll strain my eyes, looking for the residue of your wake. Big sister, if I should fall behind, wait for me..."
Wherever you are mom, whether you are looking down on me or not, thank you for this life lesson years after I lost you. You are a Warrior Goddess and I salute your bravery and your strong heart.
Your little Tortuga,
Lizzie B.
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