tamarjacobson

Quote of the day:

Small change, small wonders … these are the currency of my endurance and ultimately of my life. Barbara Kingsolver

Well, I did it …

I cut my hair …

I haven’t even trimmed it since last April …

I just wasn’t going to allow just any old Philadelphia hair stylist even touch my hair. I only wanted my Michael from Studio M in Buffalo. After all he has been cutting my hair (only once a year!) for 11 years. And the last time I saw him was last April.

But finally, yesterday I decided. Enough! I need a change. After all recently I became an adult. It is time for a change and Philadelphia is my new home. I pulled my warm winter coat around me, gathered my purse and walked up the Hill to Natural Cuts.

"Ellen," I said, once she got my name right and took the "a" off the end of Tamara, "Okay. Let’s do it!"

And she did.

A year ago at Tamarika: The search begins; Joy; Delurking means

Update:

Well, my son checked in and as always expresses the honest opinion that I cherish so much. After his exclaiming, "Wow," in an e-mail to me, I asked what he meant by that, to which he replied: "That you look significantly different than i remember." Then I wrote asking if that was a good thing for him, and he answered: "let’s give it some time and see. prospects look good so far."

Quote of the day:

When I was twenty-seven, I felt like a pebble on the beach. Now I feel like the whole beach. Shirley MacLaine (at Ronni Bennett)

Liz, at I Speak of Dreams, reminds us about National Delurking Week. So come out, come out, whoever you are and share the joy!

I had been thinking about delurking actually. I know I read other blogs and more often than not do not comment. And yet I also know how good it feels when I receive a comment.

For me, I think it has to do with preferring silence more since I am older. I always did like to observe and listen. Not only did I learn more that way but it kept me safe because I always (thought) I knew what was going on. Now that I’m older I just prefer it. So much of what people say, I fear, is empty noise just to say: "I am here," or, "Look how much I know!"

Not that it is a bad thing.

As competitive as I am, I still prefer to bow out and let all those craving to be the biggest, strongest, right-est think they won. It is all illusion anyway.

Shaking my head, wondering what all that’s about so early in the day: Hey! Tamarika, too deep, too deep. It is really quite simple:

Happy National Delurking Week

That’s all.

Quote of the day:

If they’re shooting at you you know you are doing something right. White House computer technician, Andrew Macintosh, to Charlie in West Wing

Watching West Wing last night was like donning an old winter coat. Warm and comforting. Like finding old friends. I found myself laughing and crying as if I was seeing it for the first time. When the scene came on with Andrew, the White House computer technician saying that quote (above) to Charlie, Tom turned to me and said, "That applies to you too, honey." I choked with tears for his understanding. I knew exactly what he meant. And he knew I knew. We shared a moment.

Speaking of coats. Tom bought me a fine, new, warm winter coat for Christmas. I have such trouble buying coats for myself. It always seems like an enormous expense. And so I wear my old coats until they are threadbare and no longer warm. I guess Tom could not stand it one day more, and surprised me with an Iridescent Down Parka. I wore it today for the first time. Zipped and snapped it up close around my body and out I went to do some grocery shopping. As I walked around the store I found myself humming happily when suddenly I realized, "Hey! I am warm. Toasty, comfortably, deliciously warm!" I almost shouted out loud with delight. What a great feeling. As if I was snug and safe in my own skin. All bound up with warmth. I immediately called Tom at work and interrupted some Deanly meeting or other. "I just have to tell you," I exclaimed with glee, "This coat is wonderful. I feel so warm. For the first time in years! Thanks so much." Tom was ecstatic. "I’m so pleased," he replied, "I just couldn’t stand to see you in those old coats one more day."

It occurs to me that even though the life road we travel together sometimes feels quite rocky, Tom and I do, in fact, share warm, supportive moments together.

Well what can I say? I seem to have wasted the whole day. I mean I did the laundry, prepared a great meal for dinner tonight and even submitted a proposal for a conference in the fall. I managed to workout on the treadmill, lift weights, and complete twenty minutes of yoga exercises. I even read a few chapters of Nora Ephron’s, I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman, and laughed out loud, I mean really loudly. Did I mention filling the bird feeder for all those confused birds out there? They don’t seem to know whether it is winter or spring. They were gathered around the feeder in their tens, even through the pouring rain. And so, it seems like I achieved quite a bit today but not really. You see, I should have been writing my chapter. I was so sure I would begin it today. Indeed, I completed all those course preparations last week in order that I would be ready, willing and able this morning to jump into the chapter. I know what I want to write. The words are on the tip of my tongue, making my typing fingers quiver with glee. I even slept in this morning, something I hardly ever do. Usually I am awake and up by 5:30 or so. This morning I slept until 7:00. So many other things suddenly become urgent today. Like cleaning all the mirrors in the house. Or sorting through old cards and letters and putting them neatly in a brand new shoe box. Oh yes, I forgot to add that I discovered, by chance, while skipping through television channels this afternoon, Heavenly Creatures. A movie I had been meaning to see. I simply had to sit down there and then and watch the whole thing, getting up only once for a bathroom break and to make a cup of tea. And then I gave Ada a jolly good brushing.

Evening falls and I look forlornly out the window at the darkening sky. It seems like I wasted another whole day.

A year ago at Tamarika: … Come on, get happy …

Update:

And now Shimon has started us a new Scrabble Game: Super Scrabble with 200 tiles! What a fantastically efficient distraction for chapter writers and Scrabble junkies!

The sniffles have gone. Head is clear. Spring-like weather to arouse restless passions. Flocks of Robins feasting in my yard. Time to get busy and set the work schedule. Courses to prepare and chapter to write before returning to work place. New friends to dine with. Old friends might pass through on their way home. So many conference presentations to plan for. Work-out to keep up with in training for my June hike.

Will there be time for blogging and twittering? Gee I hope so. And yes, I know so. Because in order to fulfill all the rest, I need all my support systems to buffer and hold, cradle and encourage, cheer on and acknowledge, value and validate.

Plus, I just want to have fun! Frank calls it fun online.

I have set myself a few goals and am certain there will be some emotional challenges ahead.

But, I have to say, fellow and sister bloggers, I feel charged and ready.

New days a-dawning. What do you say? Let’s just have a blast!

Quote of the day:

If you asked me what I came into this world to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud. Emile Zola

(From the Next, a new twitter friend)

Just recently, Joyce made a comment …

I am intrigued about the ways in which you speak of choosing to become an adult. It sounds like a wonderful practice.

… which, got me thinking, and wanting to clarify and confirm for myself.

For many years Bob, my therapist, explained to me that I kept myself hinged to the double-bind, crazy-making relationships of childhood in order to remain attached to my family. He explained that if I gave up that system of relationships, and chose to become an adult, I feared losing everyone and being alone. At an intellectual or cognitive level I thought I understood what he was saying. Two years ago, when I left Buffalo, and Bob, I had reached a point in therapy where I was just beginning to understand emotionally, in my guts, what we had been talking about for a number of years. During the past two years, privileged to spend so much time alone with myself, and because of a variety of incidents with my family, I think I have finally got it!

For example, most recently I experienced an interaction with a family member that threw me right back into the bind. As I put the phone down from our conversation I could sense the old familiar discomfort rising, and I started to feel crazy with not knowing how to behave, what to do or how to fix it. All of a sudden, I recognized what was happening and felt immediately at peace. In fact I realized it had nothing to do with me, and that I could actually decide not to become a scapegoat. It was a little lonely and scary because I was not used to feeling that way. But at the same time, it was empowering. I made a decision that was good for me and I truly did not care whether people would love me for it or not.

It is all within me. I have the power to unravel the bind and reflect it right back. I have the right not to own it. I can send it back to its real owner and say, "No thanks, I don’t want to do this anymore. I do not have to be re-active to these prompts any longer." In that way I feel I am becoming an adult. Empowered by making decisions without worrying what others might think in order that they will love me. I cannot get it right anyway. Those were childish desires, worries, bonds. The main point is that as I let go I am cut loose, free to be me no matter what.

Alone and alive.

But responsible too. For becoming an adult means taking responsibility for my life and no longer blaming anyone else for what happens to me. I reject feeling victimized, excluded or abandoned. It means realizing where I begin and end, and that the other person is a separate entity with different thoughts, problems, feelings from mine. We are not all of the same mind like some kind of collective consciousness – like the Borg.

You see, Joyce, at some level I feared I would cease to exist if I broke free.

It probably sounds weird, or irrational, even a bit crazy. As I write this I can see how it might sound that way. And yet, that is how I actually felt. Or, of course, still feel sometimes. A person is never fully cured, whatever that means. Our earliest emotional memories are stored in the brain forever, never to be erased. If I have been so deeply enmeshed, attached to a collective consciousness, like I have, it is terrifying to break the ties that bind.

And so, to conclude for now, I wonder about it being "a wonderful practice," like you suggest. It is more like learning how to survive. I have so many regrets that it has taken so long – almost 58 years – because the pain has been excruciating along the way. And I am sure I still have a long way to go.

However, it does feel like some kind of awakening. A lot lighter, less weighed down with trying to work it all out. More detached and yet connected.

Becoming an adult seems to open me up to loving more without fear.

Quote of the day:

As I row, row, row
Going so slow, slow, slow
Just down below me is the old sea
Just down below me is the old sea
Nobody knows, knows, knows
So many things, things, so
So out of range
Sometimes so strange
Sometimes so sweet
Sometimes so lonely

The further I go
More letters from home never arrive
And I’m alone
All of the way
All of the way
Alone and alive

You just have to go, go, go
Where I don’t know, know, know
This is the thing
Somebody told me
A long time ago

The further I go
More letters from home never arrive
And I’m alone
All of the way
All of the way
Alone and alive
(Rowing Song, Patti Griffin)

The rain has turned to a mist over the Wissahickon Creek woods. Ada calls me to play in the next room. I sit down to write a post to the haunting sounds of Patti Griffin. Anya first introduced me to her in the summer last year when she created a CD of various and sundry music she thought I would enjoy, including some magnificent African pieces. And then Gilad sent me Impossible Dream for Christmas. I can hear some of you chuckling to think I have only learned about Patti Griffin so recently. But it is never too late.

The Rowing Song speaks to me. For the further I go into my personal shiva it becomes a bit lighter somehow. Just as after taking awhile to make a decision, the choice is finally made, and there is a big, welcoming sense of relief. I start to realize feelings of joy at choosing to become an adult. Am smiling and happy while I water the plants, and have been playing the piano and singing again.

The further I go
More letters from home never arrive
And I’m alone
All of the way
All of the way
Alone and alive

Yes indeed. In fact, the letters from home have been arriving less and less in more ways than I care to describe, and I become more and more alive. I am singing along now. I will definitely want to learn to play this one, and sing it with all my heart.

A year ago at Tamarika: Talking about freedom

• Blogging is writing for the world to see
• Blogging is writing just for me
• And today is my blogging anni-ver-sary
• Anni-ver-sary, anni-ver-sary
• Today is my blogging anni-ver-sary

Two years to the day you’ve been here with me

Mentors and friends and passers-by

Politicos, media junkies and fella psycho-travelers

Gardeners, cooks, photographers, artists

Writers, therapists, poets, musicians,

Teachers, philosophers

The elder and the young

London to India, France and New York

Those from the West and some from the East

North and South and Israel too

Cyber waves carry us through time and space

Sharing holidays and sad times

We’ve seen it all through

Movies, books and news events

Trials and tribulations

Tales of pets, tales of woe

And all kinds of celebrations

• A-blogging we will go, we will go
• A-blogging we all go

Thanks: to all who comment and those who don’t

Those who have blogs and those who haven’t

Readers/old friends from days gone by in Israel or Buffalo

Readers/new friends from the here and now

To so many new blogger friends, and old, constant companions: Danny, Frank, Jean, ainelivia, Joy, Ronni, Richard, Amba, True Ancestor, Pedestrian, MaryB, Winston, Always Question, Rubies in Crystal, Blaugustine

[And thanks to all those blog-lurkers, who I don’t know are there, for stopping by to check me out]

A year ago at Tamarika: Blogging-a-versary

Update:

Many thanks to Frank who generously links to me!

Quote of the day:

Like I said, you can’t avoid grieving. You can’t avoid feeling badly. You’re going to grieve for the rest of your life, on and off, for those who have departed. Everyone Needs Therapy. Read more: here

Ada has to visit the vet today for an annual, comprehensive wellness exam. The last time I visited the vet was in July when Molly died. I have been staring at the cat carrier and thinking about picking up Ada and placing her gently inside before heading out the door. I know Ada well. She will cry and yowl and moan until we reach the clinic. It is her way of talking to me. I have great fear about what the vet will tell me. Will Ada be on the brink of some fatal disease? Will we need to do surgery? Will I lose Ada too? Of course, none of these feelings are rational. Ada is in great health, eating, sleeping, playing. Her fur is sleek and shining and she snuggles up close to me when I sleep. However, it brings back memories of past losses, and immediately those old hurts rise up to greet me. I look at Ada lying peacefully in the chair and feel closer to her than ever before.

Loss is difficult and I have had my fair share. This past Christmas I bore witness to Jazzy‘s last days with Randy, Milya and Maddie. She died of old age and had a glorious life full of love and energy. She died with love all around her. When we returned home from San Francisco I lit a memorial candle for Jazzy. And as it glowed and flickered I remembered animals who I have parted from: Molly and Terry, and I wondered about Jenna and where she might be these days.

Naturally, the feelings of sadness triggered thoughts and memories of my father, Charlie and Mar-Mar. I had the honor of sharing with them those most intimate of times, their last days, hours, and even moments, their last breath.

My advisor and friend, a renowned grief counselor, Tom Frantz used to say, "It’s all about grief."

Loss is not only about people or animals who have died. It is about saying goodbye to my past lives. Bidding farewell to childhood, adolescence, embracing adulthood, leaving home. These days I realize, deeply, that I have finally left home: released my grip on my mother’s strings, cut the enmeshed, psychic, umbilical cord. There have been numerous incidents or reasons that have brought me to this point. Some of them I have written about in my blogs these past two years. Most, I have experienced alone with myself, or written about in private journals. Last night I lit another memorial candle for this period in my life. It is peaceful, sobering, even, in a way, sad. After all, it means letting go of ancient pains and habits that have helped me survive all these 57 years. At the same time it is exhilarating to stand alone, free with the adult me making choices based on what feels right or deserved. Shedding self-destructive patterns and trying out a more nurturing, compassionate path. The end of an era. Necessary Losses.

Physically, I left home nineteen years ago. However, it has taken that long to untie the intense enmeshment, psychic strings, and unhinge double binds. This morning when I awoke, I lay for a few moments realizing that in a way this past week I have been sitting shiva. Only, it has been alone with myself. No friendly mourners stopping by with supportive comments or hot meals to tide me over. Just a head cold and sniffles, my bedside companions, that seem to be miraculously lifting even as I write this post.

Sneezles by A.A. Milne

Christopher Robin
Had wheezles
And sneezles,
They bundled him
Into
His bed.
They gave him what goes
With a cold in the nose,
And some more for a cold
In the head.
They wondered
If wheezles
Could turn
Into measles,
If sneezles
Would turn
Into mumps;
They examined his chest
For a rash,
And the rest
Of his body for swellings and lumps.
They sent for some doctors
In sneezles
And wheezles
To tell them what ought
To be done.
All sorts and conditions
Of famous physicians
Came hurrying round
At a run.
They all made a note
Of the state of his throat,
They asked if he suffered from thirst;
They asked if the sneezles
Came after the wheezles,
Or if the first sneezle
Came first.
They said, "If you teazle
A sneezle
Or wheezle,
A measle
May easily grow.
But humour or pleazle
The wheezle
Or sneezle,
The measle
Will certainly go."
They expounded the reazles
For sneezles
And wheezles,
The manner of measles
When new.
They said "If he freezles
In draughts and in breezles,
Then PHTHEEZLES
May even ensue."

Christopher Robin
Got up in the morning,
The sneezles had vanished away.
And the look in his eye
Seemed to say to the sky,
"Now, how to amuse them to-day?"

This New Year’s Day I rang in accompanied by Vicks Vapor Rub and a bottle of Advil. As the rain came pouring down during the night so did my sniffles. I am wondering at which stage of the travels did I manage to catch this bug. Or perhaps it is just my body’s way of saying, "slow down, kid." In any event here I am blogging and sniffling, sneezing and wheezing, coughing and spluttering even as I type these words. Hold on … I reach for yet another tissue.

The best thing for it after my umpteenth cup of Tazo Chai is to probably take in a movie. I’ve seen The Holiday, Infamous, For Your Consideration, Babel, The Queen, Dream Girls, Volver, and Casino Royale. Looks like I might try The Good Shepherd … because tomorrow it is back to work for me: courses to prepare, chapters to write, and treadmills to tread.