Flo

A recent journal writing prompt, “What I let myself yearn for”  lead me in several directions.  What I wondered is “do I really let myself “yearn”?  How would I define it? A longing in my heart?  Any sort of longing, so it could include even clothes I see in catalogs? “Yearn” sounds like something that creates an ache because of its absence, maybe an ache so deep it’s unrecognized as being there at all.

Last week in a class, I told my adoption search story.  It wasn’t a time where everyone was sharing, but I offered to talk of it.  It became personal and not really classroom –focused.  What I mean is, I didn’t try to talk about it and tie it to the information we had just been presented on searching for adoptive parents.  I just sort of laid my story out there, with some of the time-line I’d experienced.  I told how it’s not a “search and reunion story”. It’s just the search.

My birth father lives in St. Paul, Minnesota.  Since 2000, when I turned 40 and did life-cycle-change things like participate in a triathlon, I’ve been trying to contact him.  In my head, I’ve always, honestly always, known I was adopted by my father, Don Barner.  Following his death in 1998 and my brother’s soon after, I was propelled in so many directions due to my emotional upheaval.  One of those was this “search”.  The thing is, after all this time, my birth father doesn’t reply.  I have decided my next step is family members.

Last week in  class it became very clear to me why the serach weighs heavy on me (1) the sense of rejection that is perpetuated because he has never responded (2) the feeling I carry that I’m the “dirty little family secret” (3) the disconnected feelings of attachment that I carry because of the adoption.  It’s engraved in my small child self – the one who at 3 years of age went excitedly to court when she became a ”Barner”.  There  are so many times I wonder “why” about my feelings about things and honestly, I don’t want to ‘wonder why’ any more.  Instead of analyzing I’d just rather do something – analyzing makes me feel stuck; paralyzed and in the “freeze” part of freeze•fight•flight.

“Buck it up – figure it out – take some action – make a decision”.  Can’t say that’s my higher self talking there, but some very determined part of me.

The plan – write a letter to the family:

“Hello, my name is Flo Holt…”

!

Flo

You know that  little check box that says “remember me”?  It’s  a regular feature on most websites that require a log-in and was at the bottom of the WordPress screen as I logged in a few minutes ago.

“Remember me” is what I should be saying, with a big, not just big but GIGANTIC question mark – like this: “REMEMBER ME?”as it has been a very long time since I’ve written in this space. (Hello?  Hello?  Are you out there??)  I’m not missing.  I just wandered.  Wandered off. Wandered for a bit.  Wandered away.  Wandered afar.  Wandered around. (I can go on and on about it…) Really, I’m still out here and haven’t forgotten about being in this space, either.  Sometimes (well, I probably should say “often”) it’s a juggle for time, for priority and many things racing to be first in line.  For instance, in the midst of writing this ever-so-brief blog I was interrupted to: put the bassets out; put the bassets to bed; feed/water the outside cat, TJ; try to unhook the hose from the spigot as it is freezing tonight (no luck on that one);  put the laundry in the closet (it has been on the floor for days – probably 10 days).  Now, I look at the clock and I have to stop and go to sleep.

No worries. I’ll be back.

Namaste’,

Flo

One year ago, I wrote http://cloud9000.com/flo/dear-future-self-remember-me/. This week, I have been receiving forgotten emails from me, dated the beginning of April 2007.  If nothing else, they are entertaining and make me laugh! 

Here’s a reminder: Futureme.org allows you to send an email to yourself, at a specific time in the future.  Tonight I wrote about Homer, Wally and Abby – just to remind me of what I am doing right-this-moment.  Sometimes, I forget to be in-the-moment and tonight I want to remember this feeling.

Namaste’

Yesterday, while sitting in a court room, watching the process of an adoption - I was proud to be part of “the village”.  Proud to be part of the support system that loves and embraces the family.

On such a momentus occasion, it was funny to watch the children – the parents were attentive and solemn, listening to the judge.  They agreed this is what they have always wanted and answered questions such as “what do you do for fun?” and “what do they like to eat?”.  At the beginning, the children sat on their parents’ laps, listening and participating as best they could.  Quite soon, the children were climbing under the bench to the bench behind them to join the other children.  The bench seemed alive with moving children – back and forth, up and down (benches are great for sliding, you know!)

The air itself seemed to vibrate with applause and laughter, hugs and happiness.  The parents feel blessed and the village found such joy in participating in the celebration of love.

Homer basset didn’t have surgery last week.  Considered to be “non-surgical” due to the other spinal issues he has, we brought him home and with medication, there has been limited improvement.

It’s surprising to me how much life changes in just a few days – we carry Homer up and down the stairs and watch him totter across the back yard, doing his “business” with the other dogs.  His positive demeanor has returned and he is pain-free. At times, it feels we’re living with an infant, which is different for us and all the while  Homer continues to be his warm, loving and happy self.  For this I am grateful.  We are enjoying his presence, his companionship and have to laugh at his ability to be so very joyful as his physical limitations increase.  This is a quality I’d like to possess.

He is a good friend and we are happy he is here.

Namaste’

The title – it’s the name we called Homer basset and Abbygail basset, the day we brought Homer home.  Tim asked me what we’d call them when they grew up and I’m sure I made some flip or sarcastic response.  The thing is, over 11 years later they are still the “basset babies” or “the babies”.  (It’s a good thing we didn’t ever have children – we’d have never let them grow up.)

Today, Homer is in the hospital.  He is in Denver and is likely to undergo surgery on Thursday.  I don’t handle this very well.  Married to a veterinarian, I am used to being able to be there the whole time, watching and observing, holding and hugging immediately following any procedure.  That is not the case this time.  It is hard for me, really hard.  There is some invisible sense of control that goes along with just being there and none of that is there right now. 

I am aware I am upset about something in the future and not right now, but that’s the case.  Homer isn’t sleeping at home and Wally basset wanders around looking for him. My feelings for Homer are immense, full, gigantic and enormous.  My love for all the creatures we share our lives with is like that.  Nothing much bigger exists.

In my head, I realize that there isn’t alot I can do – I can think positive and optimistic thoughts; I can project that he will be running around the yard in 6-8 weeks. In the meantime, my heart aches.

Flo

“When friends stop being frank and useful to each other,” wrote literary critic Anatole Broyard, “the whole world loses some of its radiance.” Make sure that doesn’t happen any time soon, Gemini. In fact, regard this horoscope as a warning beacon that motivates you to action. Intensify your intention to keep your best alliances frank and useful. Infuse a dose of raw candor into any relationship that is in danger of becoming lazy or dishonest.                                                             -Rob Brezsny

This isn’t the first time (nor is it likely to be the last) that I’ve written or noted Rob Brezsny’s words in my blog.  However, this week I find his words provoke alot of thought and go along with how I’ve been thinking for some time.  Things like the need to be honest in relationships and the need for others to be honest with me.  For the most part I keep myself out-of-the-line-of-fire, not being “called” on my actions-words-behaviors too often.  That doesn’t remove me from being a person that needs that in her life, that accountability, and I hope those who know me and love me clearly understand that is something I expect from them.  It should be reciprocal, not one sided.  Just the idea of it feels so freeing, yet I wonder how many of us allow for this in our lives?

It’s not an invitation to be broken down or trod upon, it’s the willingness to continue being human.  To be made aware of when I trip up or wander, which may cause hurt or pain for others.  In some ways it feels rather freeing.

Namaste’ 

Sometimes I find that I am unable to let go of things in my mind.  It’s as if I have some tendency toward obsessing.  In order to resolve that, today I took the time to write a letter to the President.  Don’t get your hopes up.  It’s not particularly appropriate and won’t be printed here.  You see, my nephew has now gone to Iraq and ranting at the President felt like a good thing to do.  It allowed me to express the emotions that I was holding inside, and then move on.

This is a technique I’ve used for years in journaling class and one-on-one with clients - “the unsent letter”.  I’m not sure where I first heard of it (surely a book) and it is highly promoted online .  The idea is to write a letter expressing everything you need to say, knowing you will never send the letter.  There may be many reasons you won’t send the letter, i.e. the content is too hurtful or too painful; the recipient is unreachable (for instance, deceased).  You get the idea. 

Give it a try and then gently, move on.

 Namaste’

“Kenny’s platoon is in lockdown” – when she says that I think “oh, it’s like jail, somebody did something wrong”.  What I say is “what does that mean”? “It means they leave in about 7 days”.  The phone is silent then tears and sniffles. What this means is my nephew leaves for Iraq soon.  I’m teary as I write. It feels there is no way to voice the barrage of thoughts I have related to this. I want to rant at the President, scream at him and resort to name calling. It would all be ineffective but the feelings would stop setting up house in my heart.

It seems there is no point in feeling all this, but it is there, camped out and may very well remain there until Kenny returns. Should be 6 months and I wonder if that’s true. My sister says he’s not nervous, that the other members of his platoon tried to reassure her; that she met other guys who had just returned and they were okay following their 6 month tours. “Tour” – as if it’s a joy ride where they join up with others, ride the bus to see war torn cities and buy souvenirs?

Part of the response is the dead Barner men. None of the men on my father’s side of the family are alive. 10 years ago Dad and Marty died; there is no way my sister is willing to sacrifice her oldest son for anything at all, let alone an inane, insane war. I call her back later, trying to ask what she needs in support. She doesn’t know. I’ll be there to visit in a few weeks, that will help.  At least that’s what I tell myself. 

I prefer not to watch the news and normally I don’t.  Tonight I learn that Pakistan is in a state of emergency, that a group of girls at Oprah’s school in South Africa were sexually assaulted.  I get overwhelmed by the barrage of news.  So, I avoid it.  The issue with that, to me is my naiveness about world issues, because I can’t find a forum to do so that includes positives and negatives.

Not feeling so well, I’ve hibernated at home today with work being done on my computer and my phones.  I open a new catalog which starts “NAMASTE’, In peace and respect…” and those few words quiet the ragged edges of my mind.  Who ever thought a catalog could start with such calmness?

I have a to-do list that could be addressed – things like “study Spanish” or “balance checkbooks” dominate that list and carry a fairly limited amount of excitement.  My enthusiasm is missing.  Instead, I sit on the sofa, surrounded by my mail and three bassets.