Tag Archives: happiness

It’s Only 8:30!

26 Sep

The Scene:

Last night my husband, Brian, helped me put the clean sheets onto our behemoth of a bed.  After one month of not being properly made, he helped me configure my TWO down comforters and ONE cotton blanket into their rightful position (as opposed to the mountain style they were resembling this last month of summer), and we arranged our six pillows according to our liking.  My face was then washed and my teeth were brushed.  My son was taken care of and my daughter was still occupied in her nighttime French class.  My jammies were on and my blanket arranged on the couch, ready for my descent into its strawberry print lushness (a leftover from my teenage years–the coziest of blankies, especially with the warmth of the, still lingering, summer air).  After all had been arranged and accounted for, I sat back on the bedecked couch and let out a big sigh.

SIGH….

I had made it through another day.  It was dark outside.  Not on the brink of evening, but completely dark.  The night had come and I had made it through a full day of parenting, secretarial-ing, taxi-ing, cleaning, dog walking, spider killing, cooking, counseling, and dealing with the effects of a stiff neck.  I felt I had deserved the long sigh and the right to exhaustion, especially as it was late at night and I had been fighting the yearning for a nap since 2 in the afternoon.  Whew.  I then opened my laptop computer, and as the screen came into view so did the clock.  It read loud and clear, “8:30p.m.”

“It’s only 8:30 PM!,”  I exclaimed.  How is that even possible?  It must be wrong.  It has to be closer to midnight!!  And then it hit me…I am exhausted as if it were midnight, yet it hadn’t even hit the elementary-aged bed time hour.  Sad, sad, sad.  And so I quickly opened my “Bentrivka” portal to document my title, “It’s Only 8:30!” and then logged out because just the effort it took to even conceive that my exclamation would provide a reasonably good title for a post was the last ounce of energy within my tired mind and body.  And with that, at 8:35p.m., I sat back and allowed the mind numbing effects of television (as provided through Netflix.com) to release me from my connections to reality.  Thank you “Hot in Cleveland”, thank you!

Moving On:

In my last post titled “Living With No”, I hinted at having more to my bicycling adventure.  This is true.  But first I will introduce you to my bike.  She is a British Raleigh circa 1970’s.  Actually, early 1970’s, and she is a folding bike.  I have seen similar photos, online, but they indicate that my lady is a Raleigh Twenty, yet my girl doesn’t bear the “Twenty” verbiage that the others seem to possess.  So who knows what she really is!  What I do know is we enjoy a few jaunts about town periodically.  This is a pastime I typically enjoy.  However, with exhaustion (emotional or physical), it is difficult to pursue even that which brings forth joy and happiness.  But I am gaining ground in this area.  As mentioned by me previously, one mili-step at a time!  Or in this case mili-pedal.

I actually have a dream of living in an area where I would not require a vehicle at all.  All of my destinations could be reached by walking or riding my bike.  I do not currently inhabit my dream town, but I do utilize this fantasy to my benefit when the time frame allows.  Such as the other day.  I had errands to run (the bank, the other bank, and the new to our town used furniture store).  If time permits, I take the back roads and travel under the freeway where the atmosphere is serene and the route runs through a historical neighborhood.  I then have to pass by the Mission.  Yes, one of father Junipero Serra’s Spanish feats and the central beacon of our city.  Several years back the Mission became a Basilica and adopted the “open door” policy (this is actually the new Mission church, not the adjacent historical-must pay to enter-attraction).  With the new policy in place, the doors are unlocked and the grand, yet very peaceful, church provides sanctuary from the bustling of the outside world.  Though I am not Catholic, I have spent many hours within the non-protestant walls.  I have appreciated the simplicity of the hand paintings and the majesty of the arched, vaulted ceilings.  More recently, for reasons I cannot fathom, a golden alter was installed.  I suppose its gaudy position and magnitude against the simple wall paintings is a reflection of the truth from its past.  Echos of the ruling empire dominating the natives with the two coexisting as one.

I do not like the alter as it is difficult to ignore.  And when I take the time to visit the Mission church I like to pretend it is a peaceful place, built with peaceful intentions, and present because it welcomes all kinds of people.  I like to ignore the truth history provides regarding the slavery of the indigenous people, and I battle the teachings I have had through my own education and from that of my children, as I approach the open door to the quiet structure.  The golden altar, in a sense, screams “Remember the truth!”  And though I do manage to find my inner quite, it now takes a bit longer for me to get there.

So my Raleigh is my accomplice in quiet adventure.  She takes me places with speed and she doesn’t say a word.  While on her seat I imagine I am riding through the streets of London, and the country sides of Europe.  I pretend I am free.  And while I am free, I am being replenished.  Which is why it is ironic that when exhaustion hits, I fight her call.

Well it is currently 5:00p.m. in the evening.  Brian is home, Esther is on her way to another nighttime class, and Cole is holed up “saving a world” in some extra-terrestrial video game.  I do believe I have a window of opportunity for a ride.  Cheerio…

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Living with “No”

20 Sep

It wasn’t too long ago that my husband and I were living with, “Yes.”  And with, Yes, came some fun opportunities.  Hollywood parties, cavorting with celebrities.  Travel possibilities.  In fact, Yes is quite fun to be around.  She is very pleasing on the eyes.  Her scent is fresh throughout the day.  Yes is never tired, she is never boring.  She is a grand adventure!  The morning was exciting to wake up to, while she made our life her home.  But then slowly, one packed suitcase at a time, she began her move away from our world.  Oh she was kind about her departure.  Never once did she utter an unkind word.  She left no abrasive lesions upon us, and even her scent lingered for a while–long after her goodbye was said.  I miss her as our house guest.  Her presence brought sunshine when the sky provided none.  She, was a friend I like to have.  “Yes” is good company.

…now we are living with “No.”

No, is not so bad.  He, too, is not unkind.  Nor is he selfish.  But No, is blase.  He bears no scent.  He shines no light.  Being with him provides no adventure.  And travel does not seem to be to his liking.  And while he is a part of our life, our chores seem more abundant.  The spring in our step not so springy.  The gray of the day permeates, and sleep does not bring sufficient rest.  Though I would prefer to exchange his presence for his predecessor, it seems the good Lord has it in His will for us to entertain the present house guest a while longer (another aspect to No is the end of his stay is occluded, thus leaving us in the dark as to when he departs).

I honestly wouldn’t mind his living with us so much, but while having him here I have picked up certain habits that I’m not too fond of.  For instance, while living with Yes, I was motivated to care for myself and invest in activities that provoked excitement.  Waking up to No every day, I am struggling to even remember what those things were that used to motivate me.  Funny thing is, No doesn’t take up too much space but his stature hovers over much of our life.  So much so that I find myself pulling in ear marks of Yes, such as in my clothing, to help offset the drudgery of No.  For instance, I have resurrected my 1970’s floral print pants and am wearing them in circumstances of monotony (such as to the Long Beach VA).  Vintage Floral Pants

I have also taken to wearing a dress while walking the dogs.  Who needs exercise clothing when one can sweat in style!  I admit, the Nike’s are not the best accessory to my Leon Max creations, nor my Brian Bent’s for that matter.  But I am finding a glimmer of joy within the sheer absurdity of how I look as I ambulate, perspire, and shine while ‘Mutt and Jeff’ tag along on leash. 🙂

Fashion by Brian Bent

A Brian Bent original

I even thought I would fool my freeloading boarder by deciding to grow out my hair.  That’s right, my hair grows whether No wants it to or not.  However,  yesterday as I was readying myself to leave the house my daughter shyly asked, “Do you like your hair like that?”  To which I answered, “NO.”  With a sigh of relief she said, “Oh good.”  ‘Oh good’ was all she gave me…obviously the influence of Yes had worn off of even her.

So here I am, living with No.  He is a tough guy to be around.  And to help offset the heaviness of his presence, I am learning how to use new tools.  You know, the ones in the toolbox that are there but one hopes to not have to use.  One such tool is the “art of redirecting.”  That is right, I am redirecting my thoughts to the time of Yes, when I am faced with another No answer.  Another such tool is the “reminder wrench.”  The reminder wrench is used when thoughts of abandonment try to ease their way into my soul.  I take the wrench and use it to remember the word of encouragement from the Holy Word that says, “I shall never leave you nor forsake you” (Deut 31:6).  And, from the 55th chapter of the book of Isaiah:

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the Lord.
9 “As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
10 As the rain and the snow
come down from heaven,
and do not return to it
without watering the earth
and making it bud and flourish,
so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,
11 so is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.
12 You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands.
13 Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,
and instead of briers the myrtle will grow.
This will be for the Lord’s renown,
for an everlasting sign,
that will endure forever.”

The ‘reminder wrench’…a good tool!  I know there are other tools still in the box, untouched.  It could be that I will have to peruse the contents and learn, yet another, instrument of peace, motivation, excitement, and elation before the year is through.  But for now, the ‘redirector’ and the ‘reminder wrench’ are doing the trick.  I have even borrowed a necessary item from my neighbor…the tire pump.  Yep, the tire pump is a good tool to have on hand for when No takes a nap.  Oh the places to go with just a few pumps of air.  More on that next time…

Raleigh bicycle

My Raleigh and Me

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Hungry, Hungry, Hippos, Alex the great, & Evita

31 Aug

Does anyone remember the Hasbro/Milton Bradley children’s board game ‘Hungry, Hungry, Hippos‘?  The reason I bring it up is because I have felt like I have been living inside that game these past two weeks.  Or maybe more accurately, a gopher bop game.  The “fun” machine that features a gopher popping up out of a hole (in the board surface) and the player using a cushioned “bopper” to whack it back down.  In both games, the winning strategy involves swift and striking, calculated movements.  With the object being to either hit as many gophers as possible or eat as many marbles as possible with the hippo head–violent hand maneuvers subject to a time clock.  And guess what?  Within both analogous childhood recreational games, I am either the gopher or the marble.  Itch, itch, itchy, itch, itch…I must pause to pacify my epidermal irritations.

So why write about subject matter that is so heavy, as in my last post?  Why bring down the various readers with my muck?  Well for the most part, shoot…there is no most part and I have backed myself into a literary corner by suggesting it so.  Essentially, this blog is where I live out whatever it is I am living out.  Which brings me out of the corner to the thoughts I wish to discuss.  Health.  In this case health of mind, health of relationship, health of family…my health.

I do not want to be the “gopher or hippo” in life.  The other day I wrote my “Every Once in a While” post in the morning.  I wrote it from a fairly heavy place–emotionally.  But I wrote it in the morning, and the day just continued to get worse, meaning, I was the gopher and whoever was the player had the lead in scoring points.  It went like this:

I left the house with Cole resting and ventured to the United Fifty (www.u50.com) shop where Brian was working.   I was so down my stomach hurt so I didn’t make myself a lunch.  I spent some time with Brian, when our daughter and a couple of friends dropped by for a visit as well.  But my stomach just wouldn’t relent so I declared I was heading home.  As I backed my car out of my spot I hit the curb.  The curb which was covered by a metal grate that slashed my back tire.  I called Triple-A (AAA) who came and put on my spare and then I drove to the tire store.  The mechanic fit me in but had a pressing need to pick up a vehicle from another client and I was pulled into the errand.  That errand ended up being a 3 hour excursion making me miss my Spanish class.  And by the time I returned home it was 6:45p.m.  Brian was preparing dinner for himself and Cole and wondering what took me so long.  No big deal except that I was a bit worn out and the tickets we had for the evenings performance of “Pageant of the Masters” in Laguna Beach (http://www.foapom.com/site/pageant_theme.asp) were not strong enough to rouse my energy level to the point needed for me to attend.  Hence, we didn’t see the show (tonight is this seasons final performance).  And if that is not enough for one little female to handle, my day offered an additional infraction.  I had purchased a “Groupon” for two 90 minute, therapeutic massages for a mere $99.00.  An absolute steal (for those of you who are unfamiliar with the world of massage).  I purchased them because both my daughter and I hold much of our stress in our shoulder muscles and while they should, in fact, be fibrous tissue, ours are more in line with the rock of Gibraltar.  So while visiting my husband I called the spa to set up our appointments.  Only the nice lady (owner of the spa) informed me the Groupon was to be used by only one person, it could not be “shared” by two differing names.  Well I did what any martyr mother would do, I gave the Groupon and the TWO, 90 minute massages to my daughter.  And at the end of the day, I wanted to cry.  I wanted to pout.  I wanted the spa owner, the Pageant of the Masters owner, the tire shop owner, Cole, my daughter, my husband and the rest of the world to feel sorry for me.  Especially as I felt sorry for myself.  Especially as my husband and I were still a bit emotionally downtrodden due to the A-bomb Cole had previously dropped (see last post).   …poor, pitiful, me.  I am a gopher.  I am a marble in a Hungry Hippo game.  I am hit (sounds more like a scene from the Milton Bradley game, Battleship, if you ask me!).

Now yesterday, I found myself again very low.  At the brink of tears.  And I realize the cause.  I have been carrying the weight of my son’s emotional health upon my shoulders.  This is a natural ramification of him returning home from the hospital, in May of 2011, regressed to his infantile physical state.  Being his caregiver and with him throughout the day and evening, I invest much time and energy into keeping his outlook positive, healthy, and forward thinking.  But I also do that with my daughter and with my husband as well.  Heck, I do it with myself and anyone else who G-d sends along my path–provided I can.  So it was, yesterday, that I realized “this needs to stop”.  This being, my happiness dependent upon the happiness of my children/husband and more specifically, my son.  Especially if my son, for whatever reason, cannot find true joy in this life (though I will not quit my investments in helping him pursue it).  This is not a new epiphany.  I was at this place when Cole graduated high school and joined the Marine Corps.  Many of you readers have moved on from this place long ago with your own children.  I believe I am here again because I, in a sense, was returned to my previous role as ‘hands on mother’ to Cole.  And now as he gains stability within his new physicality, my ‘hands on’ needs to let go…again.  Additionally I have my daughter transitioning out.  The road ahead is still a ways down, but we see it on the horizon and are experiencing the appropriate sentiments connected.

I am at a loss when it comes to time frames, suffice to say that at some point while revisiting my mishaps from the previous day, I thought to myself,  “This pitiful ranting sounds awfully familiar!  It sounds like the character, Alexander, from the children’s storybook, ‘Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.’  Which means my plight is not a new one.  My whining about it just compounds the sadness within me.  And, it “even happens in Australia” (a pertinent line from the book, for those of you unfamiliar with Alex).”  Well folks, I don’t want to be like Alexander.  I don’t want to live life as if swinging from an emotional pendulum which is out of my control.  And though I contemplate the ‘much and many’ in this life, the good Lord has truly given me a disposition of positivity…for the most part.

So yesterday evening, both Brian and I took a walk at the beach.  Crystal Cove in fact (see post titled, Crystallized).  And we both were fantasizing about running away for a spell.  But to where?  For how long?  I wanted a month, he felt a week would do the trick (I told him he is wrong!).  However, the reality of us taking a vacation this year is nil to none.  And together we decided that we need to invest in “fun” for ourselves and with each other–right here where we live–just as we were doing so together at the Cove.  Because at the end of the day we are married to each other, we are not married to our children.  It is most perfectly natural that Cole and Esther will move on from us because they did not choose us.  Our hope is that they will like us and want to visit from time to time.  It also donned on us that we hope we like them.  The last statement being most profound because I never truly evaluated any other possibility in life.  I truly hadn’t considered the possibility of not liking my own children.  Because the majority of my joy, these last 21+ years, has come from time spent with them.  Itch, itch, itchy, itch, itch!!  And what if I don’t like them?  …I will always love them, so it doesn’t matter.  But life will definitely be more fulfilling if they end up being people I enjoy being around.  That is just the pure truth of  it.  It will also be an added “life bonus” to have them find enjoyment in time spent with their father and me.

This is one long post!  I expect not one reader to even make it down to this line because I am sure each and every one of you has enough soap in your opera without needing to blast through an ounce of mine.  But if you did make it, thus far, I want to clue you into a promise I have made with myself (though I might forget I have done so).  Well more of an intention of mine than a promise.  I hope, if I can remember, to keep my writing from delving into the sad, sad places of my soul.  Not because I have to, or because I am hiding those places.  But because I do not wish to dwell in those places.  And because I typically don’t (dwell there).  Yet when the darkness is published, it quite possibly remains in the present tense.  So let us talk of sunshine, nonsense even.  I will strive to jump off the emotional teeter-totter that I have been riding, and writing about.  Oh I am sure “fiasco” will still run its fingers through my themes, that seems to be merely the “BentRivka” way of things.  But I refuse to clothe myself in any fabric that resembles that of a hippo, a gopher, or Alexander the great.

Besides, I am not a martyr mother.  I care for Cole because I want to.  Period.  I gave the massages to my daughter because I chose to reward who she is.  Period.  Oh she felt bad, for a split second, that I would not enjoy the muscular respite alongside her.  But her first appointment is this afternoon, so the sting of the circumstance didn’t set its roots too deep.  Thankfully.  And Cole cares about his father and I or else he would have split instead of giving the relationship between his dad and he another go.  And tires?  Well, they wear out.  They pop.  They need replacing.  And Pageant of the Masters tickets?  They expire, they come around again, and they were only seven dollars each–no big loss.

So please, “don’t cry for me Argentina.”  In fact, don’t cry at all.  Just send in some homemade chocolate chip cookie reinforcements to remind me of who the winner is, in my game of life.  Don’t ask why the cookies will help, let us just eat and be merry!  Now onto the business of figuring out, and learning again, what makes me happy.  Of course, my children’s health and well being will always remain at the top of my list.  That is part of my maternal code.  Period.  Itch, itch, itchy, itch…

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