Tag Archive | calm

A new house!

Getting a new house is exciting, fun, and, well, challenging! Even when a home is move-in ready, there is all the bustle of packing, unpacking and finding places to put familiar things in unfamiliar places.

When the home is NOT move-in ready, that adds another dimension entirely!

We bought a bigger house in the same neighborhood (location, location, location!). In order to do that, we paid more than had we moved elsewhere (our b-i-l sells foreclosure/ renovated homes) for similar size with more yard and better condition. Staying here eliminated the need to start over socially, and kept us close to my elderly mother’s apartment to see her often.

We knew going in to this home that we would be doing work on it: we wanted to turn the separate -entrance basement into an apartment.

What we didn’t realize was that we would become nomads for two months!

Our living area of the home needed a lot of work we hadn’t anticipated: new flooring (warped floorboards from water damage), new paint to cover torn sheetrock, improved lighting. Then we noticed that the countertop was melted down to the wood by the stove, so new countertops too!

While the sheetrock, electrical, painting and flooring work was done, we moved from hotel to friend’s camper to Airbnb to b-i-l’s cabin 75 minutes away–quite a lot of traveling!

Admittedly, we prolonged the process a month by choosing a gorgeous grey bamboo hardwood flooring–did you know it needs to acclimate FOUR WEEKS to adjust to Utah’s dry desert conditions?

After seven weeks, our flooring–carpet and bamboo–was finally installed, walls painted, and lighting completed. We moved in. Sort of. We have a bed in the bedroom. A piano in the parlor. Everything else is in storage. Why?

Still no countertops, sinks, nor water hooked up to toilets! It felt like camping to use a bathtub as a sink, with no countertops, and the toilet flushed by pouring into it a bucket of water (from a tub faucet). My husband got a long-enough water connector so we had self-flushing toilets within two days!

It turned out that having Mother practically next door came in very handy while camping in our home. What luxury to use her washer and dryer, kitchen, and TV with couches, which she graciously shared. Sweet! (She lived with us for a year before this so we are on great terms. We also give her gifts and do nice things for her to make this temporary situation “win-win” for her as well as for us, intruding on her space as little as possible.)

Later this week our granite countertops will be installed. With sinks! Then we will be ready to really move in our household belongings from the two PODS in our driveway, where they sat since the twelfth of August, two months ago.

But before the countertops get put back, I am frantically painting the cabinets! The light oak clashed with the grey floors. So the cabinets get painted dark grey to match. White doors and trim. Quite an adventure for a novice refinisher like me!

While it will be nice to really settle in and enjoy our new home, I already talk to my husband about our NEXT home when we sell this one in a few years… He closes his eyes, puts a hand to his head and shakes it slowly: “Not another ‘new’ house!”

The Third Time’s the Charm

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Which would you rather believe: “The third time’s the charm” or “Three strikes and you’re out”? I prefer to focus on possibilities of success, rather than failure. Still, it can be daunting to accept two failed marriages and then be willing to take on a third, hoping for better results. After all, the definition of insanity is said to be doing the same thing and expecting different results. Something better be different if I want things to be better!

My fiance, Jay, pursued me for fourteen months before I took his intentions seriously. He is a very persistent man! He knew what he wanted and prayed about it, and felt he should continue to date me even when I wasn’t very encouraging. With my track record, I was leery of permanent commitment to him. He reminded me so much of my first husband in looks and mannerisms–the man I thought my first husband was, that is, but turned out not to be. I’d been fooled before, and wasn’t eager to jump back into the fire.

But with loving patience, kindness, and understanding, Jay helped me to realize at last that he really is who he appears to be. He is authentic: sincere, delightfully flawed like I am, and very inspired and spiritual. We are yin and yang for each other, completing each other in our own unique way. This is a second marriage for him, and he also learned much from previous mistakes.

One of my pet peeves is hearing people talk as if divorced people can’t possibly understand relationships nor should they try teaching others about relationships. Really? One can’t learn from their mistakes and have anything valuable to share? My belief is that my mess is my message. “I have not failed, I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work,” said Thomas Alva Edison, inventor of the light bulb. Like Mr. Edison, my failures were just ways that didn’t work, and now I can try better ways.

Better ways come through better knowledge and application of that knowledge. I have a partner who is aware, accountable and respectful. Armed with hundreds of hours of personal development seminars and mentoring, including relationship workshops, we make a great team! He is the man I consider my best friend in the world! We are each ready to embark this second/third time into the waters of marriage together, and stay afloat.

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Another misconception I had when young was that people could only truly love when they were young and good-looking. Perhaps I got this from the silly Harlequin Romances I used to read as a teenager. I didn’t realize that age really doesn’t matter, if the couple has their health and faculties–perhaps even if they don’t. I didn’t think older people had passion! I didn’t realize that, even as a grandmother and grandfather, we could relive the same passions we felt as teenagers! Jay makes me feel like I’m sixteen years old again! Our love is as vibrant, young and fresh as if this was our first love, which in many ways, it is.

Our top aspiration is to have an eternal partnership, for we believe that a man and a woman can be sealed together forever. We want our relationship to last not only for time, but for eternity. Our goal is an eternal family unit. Our dreams of a loving, equal partnership are coming true!

We are each aware of the baggage we carry, and have coping tools to deal effectively with what comes up. We’ve already been practicing helping each other work through things when one of us gets triggered emotionally, and this is the man I choose to keep by my side always. He truly is my best friend. With him, I feel calm and confident. He brings balance to my life, for in my quest for independence I sometimes focused too much on material mental goals and not enough on the emotional heart of connecting. I can be my authentic self with Jay. He finds me beautiful no matter how much I dress up or down. We each seek each other’s well being, We belong to the same church and have the same spiritual beliefs, and invite God to be part of our relationship. The contribution of husband, wife, and God will suffice, “for with God all things are possible” (see Mark 10:27). Christ’s Atonement is sufficient. Through Him we are a new man, and a new woman. We are humbled by past failures, but hopeful through faith in Christ.

It took those other times of failure to bring us to this place of finding each other, to appreciate what we have together! Our love feels like a cathedral with stained glass windows of beauty, richness and history. It is sacred to both of us. We cherish this opportunity to love and be loved. To be in a loving, respectful relationship, where we honor each other as a noble son and daughter of God.

We now go forth together, soon to be joined as husband and wife, man and woman, equally yoked and ready for the path the Lord lays before us that we choose. For we truly believe that this time is the charm.

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Stuck in Oz

Dorothy was so eager to get home! All she could think about in Oz was getting home to Kansas. While she appreciated the friends and support she found in Oz, her heart was set only on going home.

“There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home!”

What if the Ruby Slippers hadn’t worked?

There are no Ruby Slippers for my father. My father is stuck in Oz! He wants desperately to get home. But his Kansas is not an option. It is cost-prohibitive to have someone care for him full time in his home, and he requires 24/7 care. Family is not an option either, as his mental conditions include anger and abusiveness. He suffers from dementia and from cognitive disorders caused by microvascular damage to hundreds of blood vessels in his brain, caused by multiple mini-strokes. All he knows is that he wants to go home. Yesterday!

He is instead in a lovely Veterans Home, a spacious facility with his own room, delicious foods, caring staff, and fun activities.FullSizeRender

There is a garden there, with flowers and vegetables. On the patio of his wing there is a lovely planter box waiting for its first plants.

“Let’s plant some chrysanthemums!” I suggest.

“No, I want to plant things at home,” Dad replies. He misses his 3/4 acre with its many nut and fruit trees, ample space for garden and flowers. He wants to tinker on his own property, his own yard and house.

The Veterans Home staff let us know that he needs to have hope of going home, even if it is not a viable option. His mind does not reason logically. He needs hope of getting home, home to his Kansas. So they let him know what he needs to do to go home. He needs to be able to get into his bathtub by himself. He needs to be able to take medications on his own. Dad is content to work on improving these skills, with the goal of getting home. He is happy and patient with his progress, and participates in activities.

It reminds me of my Aunt Grace. She lived in a nearby care facility. Every day that I visited her, she was so excited: she was going home! Her son was picking her up that very afternoon! She was packed and ready to go! And so it went for her, day after day after day. Hope kept her happy and cheerful. She was going home! And finally, she was allowed to go Home. Home to her beloved husband, who departed this life decades ago. Home to her other loved ones on the far side of the veil. Home to health and a perfect mind. Home to the true Kansas.

I have also wanted to go home to my Kansas. When I found out that my first husband, father of our three children, had been living a double life and not the person he pretended to me to be, I wished I could go back! But there was no Kansas for me to go back to. I was also stuck in Oz, in a land not of my choosing, three children with me. When I remarried, the situation for me was much harder, and I wanted still to get back to Kansas! But Kansas was in the past, and I couldn’t get back there, no matter how I tried.

So after raising the three children plus one from the second marriage, I left and began my own new adventures. I no longer want to return to Kansas. That is only a dream of what might have been, a fantasy of lost opportunities and hopes.  Instead, I have my own corner in Oz. I’m finding new friends, new dreams, new opportunities. I’m at home in Oz.

Hopefully my father can come to terms with living in Oz, since this will be his home now. He can’t understand it, but hopefully he can enjoy the time granted him. Even if it is in Oz.

Forgiving Father

My dad is seventy-six years old. He currently resides in a rehabilitation center, where he’s been regaining strength in his arms and legs to hopefully live on his own again. This week the staff there informed us that living on his own is not a viable option for him, because of his cognitive difficulties. He has dementia. This is only one problem of many.

Dad struggled the past fifteen or so years with the sensation of having bugs in his skin, crawling, itching, and hoping someone could verify their existence. He thought he got the bugs from some kittens he had at the time, which all died soon after he started itching. Dad went to dermatologists, emergency rooms, physicians, and psychiatrists repeatedly over the years hoping for relief. Blood tests and examinations found no markers for parasites of any kind. Dad went to all lengths to kill the bugs he thought lived inside his skin. He put Lysol in his bathwater (don’t do this!), scrubbing at his skin for hours every day. He refused to let family members touch him, for fear he was highly contagious. He tried swimming in the Great Salt Lake, hoping the salts would heal and disinfect. He insisted on a blanket covering car seats he sat on, requesting we wash coverings as soon as we got home. He wiped off chairs in his house before we were allowed to sit. He withdrew from grandchildren, terrified they could catch parasitical bugs. Despite being told by dermatologists that he was safe to be around, or to swim with, Dad held fast to his fear of being highly contagious.

Dad thought anyone who disagreed with his self-diagnosis of bugs were in on a conspiracy against him. He also thought people were stealing from him. He claimed people were coming into his home, replacing his nice things with old versions. He had elaborate theories of why neighbors and others would do this, and stories of what they had done. He opened nearly half a dozen bank accounts, closing one whenever he thought it compromised and opening another. He hoarded possessions. He put multiple locks on his doors. One hospital psychologist told me in passing that Dad was paranoid delusional.

After my parents separated, when I was nine, Dad insisted on psychological examinations for himself and for my mother, hoping to prove he was a more fit parent and should receive full custody. Although my mother suffered from depression, the profile showed that my father had multiple personalities.

I didn’t learn this until I was an adult. I knew as a child that my dad was sometimes Santa, happy, loving and giving. Other times he was Mad Dad, scary and mean–to my mother especially, but also to my sister, brother and me. Dad grew up mainly in foster homes, Grandpa taking him at times until drinking and beating my dad, who was just a boy. It was the kind of home Grandpa grew up in, and Grandpa ran away for good when he was only twelve. Alcoholism went back to my great-great grandfather, with mean drunks, abuse, and divorce. But Dad doesn’t remember bad things he said, the beatings of my mother. He doesn’t understand why she left and destroyed his perfect family.

Now my father is not to live on his own, because it isn’t safe. Neither is it safe to have him in our homes. He still succumbs to temper outbursts. This crossroad is heartbreaking. I feel we have come around full circle. Where once we were dependent upon Dad for our sustenance, he now depends on us to manage his bills, his finances, help him get groceries, and now we decide where he will live.

He won’t want to be anywhere other than home. He wants to keep his house to pass on to my brother. He has no long-term-care insurance. He has some savings, but those could deplete over the years. There is no way that we can satisfy all my father’s desires: to be at home, independent, and in control.

This isn’t just about deciding where my father will live. It is about forgiving Father. It is about understanding his pain, his heartaches and fears throughout his life. It is about recognizing that Santa Dad is my true father, his true heart revealed. Mad Dad is his alter-ego, the suppressed side of fearful anger, the wounded inner child of generations lashing out. It is feeling his anguish, his desires to be a great husband and father, and how life screwed him over as a young child to the point where he couldn’t ever completely sort it out or heal. But he tried. He truly tried.

Santa Dad taught me to tell time, to dive off the edge of the pool, to ride a bicycle. Santa Dad taught me to stay away from drugs, alcohol, and tobacco. Santa Dad taught me to be a virtuous woman. He likened me to a butterfly, encouraging me not to let others rub off the pretty colors from my wings. Santa Dad lived his life for his children. He wanted to keep them safe, keep them healthy, keep them happy.

Father still loves our mother. Two years ago she dreamed about what he’ll be like in heaven, and that when he is healed she will want to be with him again. I too have hope for him to heal in heaven. When Jesus walked the earth, he cast out devils, made the blind from birth to see, cured leprosy, made the lame walk. I know He will heal my father: “He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds” (Psalm 147:3).

My parents both express desire to be together in heaven. I’ve told each of them my lifelong plan: that when they die, I will have them sealed together by proxy as husband and wife, and then I will be sealed to them, too (see Matthew 18:18). This to me is the ultimate forgiveness. That imperfect people, living imperfect lives, have hope of being cleansed, purified and healed in Christ, to live together as a truly happy family.

I not only plan where my father will spend the rest of his mortal days, but prepare a place in my heart for him in heaven. I have forgiven Father.

Meditation for Healing the Inner Child

Listen to your inner child

Are you looking to feel more peace, less stress, and more self-confidence? Healing meditation may be just the thing to regain balance in thoughts and emotions. This is an imagery meditation for healing the inner child.

First, choose a peaceful place where you can be undisturbed and by yourself for a few minutes. Turn off the phone and focus on YOU. A balanced, healthy self is foundational to everything else you do. Think of this as time wisely invested.

Get comfortable, uncross arms or legs to an open position. Your eyes may be open or closed. Relax. Take some deep, slow breaths. Notice your breathing. Breathe more deeply.

Notice your thoughts and emotions. How are you feeling right now? Take another deep breath, and let it out. Continue to breathe deeply and evenly.

Imagine yourself as a very small child, perfect and whole as the day you were born, with pure love for yourself and all those around you. See that loving child carried in your heart, feeling and wanting good things for you and for everyone.

What would that loving inner child tell you about yourself? What good things does your inner child like and admire about you? What do you most admire about this sweet little child? Tell your inner child what you most love about them. What do you miss about being an innocent little child?

Imagine that you ARE this little child. What do you most want to do? As a child, what sounds fun? As an adult, what would your inner child most enjoy doing? What makes you feel alive? Think of this inner child as part of you, close to your heart. What will bring out their joy? Do you have talents or hobbies you’d like to begin or start again?

Imagine being your inner child. Consider how important to this small child physical needs are–good food, water, resting when tired, going outdoors in the sunshine and fresh air, running around to play. See yourself outdoors, doing what you love to do. What physical activities do you most enjoy? See yourself resting or sleeping when tired from a busy, active day. Think of waking–what kinds of foods would make your body feel most alert and alive, healthy and vibrant? What sounds the most delicious? Now see that child as part of you, the adult. Are you honoring the physical needs of your inner child? What does your inner child tell you would give you balance and make you both happy?

Take some deep breaths. Slowly become aware of your surroundings. Take another deep breath. Notice how you feel. Do you feel more calm and serene? Does life seem more promising and inviting? Take a few minutes to write what you learned about yourself and your inner child.

If you would like further assistance in healing meditation and in healing your inner child, please contact me. I am not a therapist. I am experiencing my own healing journey and happily share what helps me.