tamarjacobson

… at work, after a commute, out of the cold …

[Photo, thanks to Sue D. for the memory & with special thanks for future plans, I hope, to Tracey and Sharon. All three of you brighten up my day in so many ways!]

Happy Winter everyone! My, how I love the snow.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: It’s a thin line …

Well, I have been tagged – chain tagged via La Vache and through to Frank – two of my favorite people in that virtual Cyber place beyond the horizon. Am wondering how to uncover seven secrets about myself when I thought I had told everyone everything by now out open in the public much to familial consternations. But the tagging comes at a good time between the completion of five chapters and only two more to blast through before Christmas. A good break. A breather. A meditation of self, self, self … agay…nnnnnnnnn …

So. Here goes:

1. Fear of heights. Not just a "oh dear look down there," type of fear. A screaming and gasping, losing breath and feeling faint kind of fear. And it seems to be getting worse by the age. Once I got stuck at the top of a not very high water slide and people had to come and save me. How embarrassing was that!
2. I have been married four times. It still freaks me out to think it. I had always dreamed of being married to the same person forever and having three children in a big house with huge glass windows and sunken living room all looking out over the sea or up at mountains or something. It makes me feel a failure at love, at life, at motherhood, wife hood, person hood. I confront my shame about it often – not on a daily basis any longer – but often.
3. I had two abortions. Both because I was young and when I was told I had to or he would leave me, I believed him. He was my husband and he told me that having one baby with me was such a bad experience that he could not do it again and if I did he would divorce me then and there. And all along I had thought having the baby together was the most precious and wonderful moment of my life and after he said that I stumbled around the apartment feeling as if I had been punched in my stomach. I never wanted him to leave me but he did anyway – abortions or not. And then, no one around me allowed me to grieve my lost children until years later – far away in America – a grief counselor gave me permission to mourn my heart out. And I grieved and mourned as if my heart was breaking for days and months and into almost two years – and finally understood, too, why I was never loyal to my first husband again.
4. I don’t know what age 58 feels like because I either feel like 16 or 32 or 64 but never like 58 because I don’t know what it feels like.
5. I am an atheist but at the same time I am a spiritual person and I don’t really know what that all means except that I stand in awe of nature and feel deeply connected to the human condition, but try as I may, I do not believe there is a god or a God or even a goddess or a Goddess. And I cry: at Ada’s sweetness and gentle nature; when my son plays the piano; at the hawk swooping over the bird feeder seeking out a bird or a squirrel or a chipmunk; when Charlie and Mar-Mar died; when I heard a dear, darling best friend has cancer; when I wasn’t allowed at my Mama’s 90th birthday party; at beautiful music; fantastic acting; strange and weird music or poetry or writing; at loving; at hatred; when a student says or does something wondrous, creative, inspiring or when they share with me a piece of intimacy about their lives; when I part from friends I love; when I part from my son; when I’m angry; when I’m happy and when I am sad; whenever I see my siblings or my mother or Israel after many years of not seeing them; when I interact with infants; after a glass of wine; and I especially cry when the music is booming all around me as I drive over a hill or the leaves are turning exuberantly … I cry, and cry, and cry.
6. I have groupie tendencies. I tend to adore people and put them up on pedestals and then find out that they are human and become disappointed over and over again. Sometimes I think I will never grow up and then suddenly I grow up again.
7. I don’t want to die because I cannot imagine ever leaving my son here on earth without me.

I want to tag people but I don’t think too many people read my blog any more; those I would tag have been tagged already; those I might tag would probably not do this … but if you would tag yourself from me, let me know in the comments section so that we can all share in your "inner beans" too.

Oh, and Frank?

Thanks … I think …

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Ah … learning experience

HAPPY HANUKAH!

Thanks so much to Charlotte for the picture.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Being a morning person

Update:

Quote of the day:

Traditions are the guideposts driven deep into our subconscious minds. The most powerful ones are those we can’t even describe, aren’t even aware of. Ellen Goodman

[New Yorker cartoon]

Yesterday I was out in my yard raking leaves. It was a brisk, cold day and it became quite strenuous as I threw myself into the task eagerly negotiating the wind whirling the leaves up and around me as I raked. At the same time I was thinking about what I had been writing in my book. My thoughts drifted back and forth and around and about seemingly uncontrollably, just like those swirling leaves. In fact thoughts go from one to another associatively latching onto memories that make us think of something else and then something different again. It felt as if my thoughts had no direct or organized sequence. And yet, somehow, when I reviewed them later I was able to understand how I went from swirling leaves to an understanding about my childhood relationship with my mother. In fact, it felt a bit like a revelation. Like one that I had not had so clearly before. For surely there have been many times I had thought about our relationship in the past. However, this time seemed different. I was reminded of a few lines from a poem by T. S. Eliot:

We shall not cease from exploration

And at the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know that place for the first time.

Suddenly in the middle of pushing the leaves into a large pile I was overcome with grief and almost doubling over in pain I stopped what I was doing, leaned on the rake and wept for a few minutes. It occurred to me then and there that when I was a very young child I loved my mother very much. I adored her. I loved how she looked and smelled. I most especially loved her hands. They were strong, firm and, in my eyes, the most beautiful hands I had ever seen. In fact, when I was eight while my mother was in hospital giving birth to my younger brother, I insisted on staying at a friend of hers because the friend’s hands resembled my mother’s. As I cried out there holding onto the rake, I realized that I have been missing her for a very long time.

Our relationship has been difficult with many challenging moments between us. However, loving her was never my problem. I realized that my problem was that I always felt that I was not her priority. More than that, I felt as if she wanted to be anywhere else, or with anyone else rather than with me. The only way I can describe the feeling is as if she was my lover but always dreaming of being with someone else while she was with me. At the same moment as I felt that old childhood pain rise up in me as if out of nowhere, I realized instantly that in my personal life I had always seemed to choose life partners who made me feel the way I felt with my mother: unloved and unwanted. Hence, a number of failed marriages ensued throughout my life. It was almost as if I had needed to repeat that feeling of wanting someone more than they wanted me or loving someone more than they loved me, over and over again. What a revelation!

Looking back, in reality, my mother did not mean not to focus on me. I was the fourth of five siblings and was born in the midst of three marriages. When I came along, her life was full of complexity and anxiety. She remarried when I was four and most of her energy and attention had to go into her new marriage and youngest son at the time. In addition, my mother was still caring for my three older siblings and negotiating relationships with her two former husbands: my father and the father of my older siblings. Unintentionally, I fell through the tracks. There just was not enough emotional availability or time for me. Today, as an adult, this understanding helps me forgive my mother. She did not mean for me to feel that way. She did the very best she could with what she had under difficult conditions. I realize now that she loved me. Life just got in the way!

Not only did my early childhood relationship with my mother affect my personal life choices, it also influenced my relationship with children. I understand why I have always cared so deeply for children who felt marginalized or unloved. More than that, I have always been very good at managing those kinds of children many teachers consider problematic. Somehow I identified with their pain, longing, or feelings of exclusion. I seemed to speak their emotional language. This sudden understanding that came upon me as I raked leaves in my yard surprised me. For, at age 58 I thought I had worked out and resolved most of my relationship challenges with my mother. I have been researching my self since my early twenties personally and professionally. I realized there is still more to uncover. Researching the self takes time, maybe forever!