Divorce, like marriage, should involve a fancy new dress and cake!

Human beings are creatures of ritual. Rituals gave our human ancestors a sense of control over all the uncontrollable and unpredictable events; weather, illness, famine, death. Rituals couldn’t prevent the death of your child but they gave you something to do; a candle to light, incense to burn, a blessing to repeat, so that you felt like you did something, anything, while you were slowly coming to terms with the inevitable. Modern life is a little more predictable. We know when it’s going to rain or snow. We are able to prevent or cure at least some of the diseases and illnesses that our ancestors succumbed to. Yet, no amount of modern science will ever make us completely in control, able to predict or prevent all of what life brings us. So, we still cling to rituals, whether religious or secular. They still bring us comfort and a sense of security.

All of our major life events still have a ritual involved, to prepare us for them, to help us through them. Birthday parties, baptisms, bar mitzvahs, bachelor parties, baby showers, weddings and funerals are all examples of modern-day rituals. Each of these events, whether or not they involve an actual ceremony, contains a certain amount of predictable elements. If you have ever been to a baby shower you know things are done a certain way, certain games are played and certain decorations are always used, just because that’s the way it’s always done! While all of these events usually contain some type of party or celebration (even funerals have a gathering afterwards with food and drinks), there is a point to the gathering that goes beyond just the party. The point is about family and community helping you transition into the next stage of life. It is about people who have been there and done that, showing support, giving advice and holding you up. It is about those who care for you validating your experience and the pain or the joy that goes along with it. “We understand”, these people are saying, “and we are here for you.”

There is, however, one major life event that does not have any rituals or celebrations. It is the one event that we still shy away from, avoid coming into contact with people who are going through it, as if it is somehow contagious. As if it will somehow call all of our own life choices into question. This event is divorce. Now let me be clear, when I say divorce I mean those marriages where people have committed to a life together and have been with each other through all those other major life events. No Kim Kardashian’s divorce does not count. What does count however, are all those relationships of two committed loving partners who had planned a life together whether or not some government or religious entity confirmed their commitment. I’m talking about those of us who really believed that forever meant forever, not the forever you said when you “loved” some in junior high school, but as I used to say to someone “real forever.”

I’m proposing divorce have a ceremony. I say it also needs cake. A mother and daughter team in New York may be onto something when they held the first ever Divorce Expo, an event that they say will help to empower those going through this life altering experience. The two-day event brought professionals together to offer the newly divorced advice on everything from finance to dating again. While I think they are certainly onto something, and I would have certainly attended something similar when I was going through my divorce, some of it may have just been a little too much. The advice from the Mary Kay expert might have come in handy but the plastic surgeon in attendance is just over the top. I certainly didn’t need anyone making me feel any worse about myself than I already did. Telling me they could fix all my problems with a little surgery may have elicited a tirade of unpleasant language on my part. The idea, however, was to offer things for a wide variety of people and I truly hope their event was successful and will catch on in other places around the country.

What would be even better though is to have an event held by those who know and love you. My own friends and family would have known I wouldn’t want to hear from a plastic surgeon. However, a new outfit, a fancy meal and bottle of champagne really would have hit the spot. A ceremony of some sort would have also provided some type of closure. I can verify that dropping a ring from a very high bridge into a very deep river on its way to the ocean feels much better than just keeping this old reminder in the bottom of your jewelry box. Maybe the newly divorced could also get “god parents!” You know, just some close friends who promise to help take care of you when you can’t take care of yourself, someone who promises to answer the phone at 2 a.m. when you can’t sleep and are up alone trying to answer unanswerable questions.

I think there should also be gifts! Let’s face it, when you get divorced you lose not only half of all your possessions but sometimes half of your income as well. Next time one of my friends gets divorced I’m going to try to remember all this. It’s time we started helping each other through this life transition and stopped treating it like some contagious social disease. Maybe I’ll get a gift certificate to a fancy restaurant so he/she doesn’t have to wait for someone else to invite them, or maybe a membership to AAA for those mornings their car won’t start and they are home alone. Maybe I’ll pick up some new towels for his/her new place. Even better, maybe I’ll make one of those little coupon books that says things like “one free rant and rave session” or “one weekend of designated driving so you can have all the wine you need.” Either way there’s going to be cake!

This piece originally appeared in the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, April 1, 2012. 

Of all the men I’ve lost, I miss the dog the most!

Like many of you, I've had a lot of loss in my life. There are times, when the loss seems overwhelming. If I get caught up in the “what ifs” and the “if only-s” I can find myself spiraling down into a place that sometimes takes days to get out of.

Now my losses are not nearly as bad as some that other people have survived. I know this. I try to keep that in mind. But sometimes, when you are in the middle of a really good pity-party you just don’t want to be reminded to count your blessings. You just need to wallow for a little while. Not too long, but sometimes the best way to get over pain, once and for all, is to feel it, acknowledge it and then let it go.

As Spring comes and plants start to bud and kids and dogs appear outside, I sometimes start thinking about the things I really, really miss. When you get divorced people ask all kinds of questions that are supposed to help. Do you miss him? Do you miss your old life? Do you miss the house your kids grew up in? Do you wish you’d stayed longer, waited to sell the house, gotten custody of the dog?

The truth is the only thing I’d go back and do over is who got the dog. I thought there’d be shared custody and lots of visits. There haven’t been, not nearly enough. I made the mistake of moving to an apartment that won’t let me have pets and he made it clear that, once the check cleared and the deed was filed, I was no longer welcome in the house we raised our family in.

But a house is only a home when it's filled with the people you love.

I really miss him . . .  the dog that is. I miss coming home to his tail wagging, always happy to see me no matter what type of day we both had. I miss him sleeping on the end of the bed. I miss his warm, fuzzy little head. I miss his devotion and his unconditional love. I miss watching him throw himself against the windows in a frenzy every time another dog dared to walk down his street. I miss his optimism, believing that just maybe this will be the time he catches that squirrel even if every other attempt has failed. I miss sitting in the sun on the back porch with him on a lazy summer afternoon.

I also really miss my gardens. I miss the hope that comes with planting a Tulip or a Daffodil bulb in the fall and believing that it will survive, way deep down under the dirt and the snow, and bloom again the next Spring. I miss the perennials I planted; the Iris, Lilies, Clematis and Peony, a few more each year, with the faith that they would survive a long Maine winter and bloom again. I miss the old Lilac bush that came with the house and the Forsythia that I planted and watched grow from tiny saplings to a giant hedge that bloomed bright yellow every spring.

I miss these things that I could always count on; my spring gardens and my warm beagle. No matter what happened, no matter who else had let me down, no matter how hard life got, the garden kept blooming and the dog met me at the door when I got home.

What I have come to realize, as I pull myself up and out of this difficult time, is that my roots have nothing to do with the house I lived in or the gardens I tended.  As beautiful as they all were, the real roots I planted are still mine. They are the children I raised there, and the adults they have become. They have each drifted off like seeds on a light wind, to settle in gardens of their own, to make lives of their own, and they are healthy and safe and growing just fine.

The parts of my own life, the things that I love to nurture, aren’t gone. They are just below the surface, waiting safely until the time is right, to bloom again.

and maybe I can find a way to spend more time with the Beagle.

This piece originally appeared in the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, March 25, 2012. 

I no longer recognize myself in photos!

At work last week, our in-house photographer came around to take a new picture of me for our website. I warned him ahead of time that I am a notorious blinker and then I went on to prove this. He was very patient and kept firing away. When he finally came up with the finished product he leaned his digital camera screen in my direction so I could take a look at the picture he had decided was “the good one.” I glanced at the screen and was once again shocked to see a middle-aged woman looking back at me.

You may have had this experience at a certain point in your life. You start looking at pictures of yourself, or you see yourself in the mirror as you are passing, and are completely shocked to see someone you don’t recognize, an “old” person. Oh, I know 46 isn’t old, but it’s older than I feel on the inside most days.  I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn't expecting to still feel young on the inside but to have my body start doing things that I never consented to. I never expected for people to look at me and see someone who looks more like my mother.

And here’s some other things I never expected from middle-age:

1.  My chin. I always took my chin for granted. I never planned on it going anywhere. Suddenly, when I look at pictures of myself taken from the side, I realize my chin is slowly migrating towards my chest.

2.  Children who don’t call me every day. Why wouldn’t they? I assumed they would still need my motherly wisdom daily, apparently not!

3.  To have a “boyfriend” . . . seriously!

4.  To be the oldest person in a college class. (It has both its blessings and its drawbacks).

5.  To have co-workers younger than my children.

6.  To have friends with grandchildren!

7.  To have my back refuse to cooperate with things the rest of my body thinks it would be great fun to do!

8.  Disposable income - I really thought I'd have some by now! (The X got all the disposable income in the divorce).

9.  Not getting carded anymore when buying wine. You think it’s annoying until they stop doing it. I watched the screen on the cashier’s computer last week as she rang out my wine. It asked “is customer over forty” and the little witch hit “yes!”

While there are so many things happening to us in middle age that we don't have control over, I will admit there are also lots of great things going on that we can control. I do enjoy the luxury of not having to answer to anyone else. I enjoy having adult children who can take care of themselves (most of the time anyway). I like the idea that my future is now my own!

One thing I have managed to still get away with in my “old” age is the weight on my driver’s license. It still says what I weighed when I was 16 years old. Oh it’s not that far off . . . or maybe it is by 20 or 30 lbs, I'm not confirming nor denying. My daughters keep telling me I need to correct it. Let me just warn you. Don't be the person at the DMV who looks at my license and looks at me and tells me I need to correct that weight. Don’t even try it! I’m hanging onto to that one as long as I can! I mean, isn't it bad enough you gave me this license with some old lady's picture on it!

This piece originally appeared in the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, March 18, 2012. 

The future is often much worse, and much better than we could have ever imagined.

One thing I really love about writing a blog are the possibilities it gives me to interact with people I’ve never met and the chance to form new connections and new friendships. I have had so many great emails from folks in the last few months about things I’ve written. This week was no exception. Lots of people, online and in person, wanted to talk to me this week about the piece I did on our city and its future. The responses were, for the most part, positive. People love Bangor. They love living here but, like me, they are concerned about recent trends. The good news, however, is people aren’t giving up. They not only want to talk about it, they want to be involved. They understand that a city is a living, breathing, growing, changing entity and they are willing to be patient while we work through our growing pains.

I don’t know about you but like our city, my life has been a series of well-intentioned plans and readjustments to plans that didn’t work out, a constant work in progress. Remember when we were young and envisioned our adult lives? We had it all mapped out like a Disney fairy tale. We would follow plans A, B, and C and the end result would be living happily ever after. In these fantasies, handsome princesses never let you down and you are forever as beautiful as the day you were first drawn!

In the real world, plans change and time marches on. My oldest child recently told me that he and his friends, Bangor High Class of 2002, are planning their ten year reunion. The conversation sent me on whirlwind of adding and subtracting years in my head. How old is he now? It’s been ten years since he graduated high school? How many years has it been since I graduated from high school? I can’t possibly be that old can I? We talked about all the ways he and his peers have changed in the last ten years and all the ways the world around us has changed.

Class reunions are one of the mile markers of our lives, a time to re-assess. They cause us to look back at who we were then, at the person we thought we’d become some day, and at the person we actually turned out to be. Very rarely do those predictions and the actual results match up exactly and that’s okay. Too often, however, we look back regretfully at the things we set out to do that are still left unaccomplished instead of focusing on and appreciating all the great things we have actually done!

My high school yearbook had a section called “In Five Years.” I had a vague memory of my prediction but so as not to misquote myself, I grabbed the book and reread it after my conversation with my son about reunions. This is exactly what my 18 year old self said back in 1983. “I will have graduated from Ocean State Business Institute and be working as a secretary. I will probably be married and have at least one kid. I will also probably be dying of boredom.”

Clearly I hadn’t set the bar very high, had I? I just wasn’t capable of seeing that far ahead yet or of realizing that my possibilities were endless. One thing I’ve learned as an adult is there will never be a time when we can say “there, everything is good right now, exactly how I planned it.” So often we waste time thinking that once we find that perfect job, or that perfect relationship, or get through this or that trial, we will finally, live “happily ever after.”  It just doesn’t happen and while we are waiting for that moment, we are missing out on all the wonderful unplanned things that are happening all around us.

While some of my predictions did come true, thankfully, there is so much more to the story and so much more that I’ve accomplished. One thing I can tell you about my life, with all its ups and downs and misadventures, is that it has never for one minute, been boring. Even when I went off course, there were important lessons to be learned. I look back now, all these years later in middle age, with tremendous gratitude for wrong predictions and unexpected life events.

The same is true for our community. We work hard. We make plans and predictions but things happen we didn’t anticipate. The end result is often not anything like what we thought it would be. Some of our plans will be successful and some we’ll have to reconsider and change. We can only see so far ahead. As a community, we’ve accomplished some really great things but there will never be a time when we can say we are done, that we have found the right formula for living happily ever after. We will always be growing and learning and changing because a vibrant, alive city is always a work in progress. There is still lots to do, lessons to learn and new friendships to make. What will our community look like when the class of 2012 has their ten year reunion? The possibilities are endless and one of the possibilities is that things may actually turn out better than we could have even imagined.

This piece first appeared in the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, March 4, 2012. 

Relaxing is accomplishing something - or overcoming perfectionism

Why can’t most of the women I know ever really relax. I mean really, what is it? Is it some outdated Puritan value that our New England ancestors, for whom idleness was one of the greatest sins, passed down to us? Is it our need, as women, to feel that we must constantly prove we can do it all, have it all? Many of the men I know are happy to spend a Saturday afternoon watching movies or football. I am incapable of doing that. The only way I can sit on the couch an entire day is if I am burning up with fever.

I think I came by my busyness as a result of raising so many children. There was a time when rest was not an option; there was always another meal to be made, another load of laundry to be done, a nose to wipe, a knee to mend. It simply never ended and that was okay! Once the kids got older and I found myself with some time on my hands, I filled it with all the activities I wasn’t able to do when they were little. I volunteered for all sorts of things. I went back to school. I don’t regret any of that. I have accomplished some great stuff, learned lots of new things and made some wonderful friends. I would have never done all that if I’d been home on the couch. Yet, I have to admit. Sometimes I go overboard. So, I try to remind myself that relaxing is accomplishing something, that it is vital to my health and my success in all the other areas of my life.

I had a master plan on Saturday. I decided I was going to have a no pressure day. I was not going to work from home. I was not going to do homework. I was going to stay in my pajamas all day. I was going to chill out for once. I was going to relax, and enjoy the peace and quiet.

So how did I do? Well you be the judge. I did end up spending the day in a pair of yoga pants and an old t-shirt. That was a start. I spent some time actually doing yoga, and that was great as I haven’t made a lot of time lately to actually take care of myself. However, the fact that the first half of my day of “doing nothing” also resulted in three loads of clean laundry and two freshly washed floors told me I was somehow on the wrong track. So I made some tea, grabbed a book and hit the couch. I ended up spending the entire rest of the day and good portion of the night with that book. Now you would think this was success wouldn’t you. After all, I really loved the book. What I haven’t told you is that this is a book I specifically picked to do a book review on for an English class. So, while I enjoyed this time, and did actually sit still for awhile, in the end I still accomplished something I needed to do.  I call this a success. Some of you may disagree.

Maybe some of us are just wired differently. Maybe I know that life is short and I am trying to squeeze every bit of adventure out of it while I can!  There is nothing wrong with being motivated! The problem is when we take it to its extreme, when we are unable to strike a balance. A day full of accomplishments and hard work is a wonderful thing but I have to make sure that it is meaningful work and not just busy work. Am I cleaning, yet again, because I am trying to avoid the thoughts and feelings I don’t want to deal with? (This would explain why the more unhappy my marriage became, the more beautiful the house was). Am I still taking time to take care of myself? If I am so busy that I don’t find time to enjoy a quiet walk, to exercise, or to eat right, than I am way off target, aren’t I?

Sometimes we just have to be willing to let go of the picture we have in our head of what we thought our lives were supposed to be. If I can give up the fantasy of the perfect house and the perfect relationships, I can ease up on myself a little. I can ease up on those around me. I can learn to enjoy the life that is right in front of me. I don’t have to live up to anyone else’s standards. I don’t have to try to “have it all” because what I do have is more than enough!  I don’t have to go dust that shelf across the room where the sun is coming in right now and I can see the . . . oh who am I kidding. I’m going to go dust that shelf but it’s okay. After all, I’m still a work in progress!

This piece first appeared in the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, February 13, 2012. 

Choosing to live creatively in the middle of Maine

I know, I’m probably preaching to the choir here but I’m often asked by friends and family from away, why I choose to live in Maine. Keep in mind Rhode Islanders (where I originally migrated from 23 years ago) rarely travel farther than 30 miles in any direction. Traveling farther than that in R.I. requires a GPS, a detailed plan and a lot of patience for traffic! My moving 300 miles north to a place they assumed didn’t have any modern conveniences was a lot for most of them to handle. The answer, for me, is simple and complicated at the same time.

To live in Maine is to live creatively, with both intention and purpose. There are two kinds of Mainers. Some Mainers live here because they were born here and have chosen to stay. The rest of us, born in other places both near and far, looked around, and of all the possible choices, decided to make Maine our homes. Whether you were born here or migrated here most of us live here because we have chosen to live our lives outside the box. We have chosen to live our lives creatively and this is the place to do it. We have chosen to build lives that often look nothing like the lives lived in other places.

To build a life in this beautiful area of Maine we have come to accept the difficulties. To live here is not a destiny it is a bold decision! We know that winters will be very long and very cold. We know that the economy will be challenging at best. We know we might have to carve a living out of several part-time jobs rather than one steady one. We know that our budgets will always have to be creative. We know that all these things take a certain type of personality to overcome and we are willing to do what it takes because to make a life here is worth all that.

We live in a place where we enjoy both the mountains and the valleys. We have cities full of art and culture just a stone’s throw from all the natural beauty we could ever want to experience.  We have warm sunshine and gentle ocean breezes. We have fall seasons of bounty and harvest and explosions of Nature’s color. We have sparkling winter snow. We have crystal clear lakes and the comforting scent of pine. We have a place where whatever we create, or whatever we grow, we can leave it on a table at the end of our driveway with a box with a slit in the top and know that the people who come by will not only be appreciative of our offerings but honest enough to leave the money for them, even if we aren’t there.

I chose to make a life here in Maine because I don’t want to have to choose between a city life and a country life. I want them both! I want to grow herbs on my window sill and visit the Farmer’s Market and then decide at the last minute that I don’t feel like cooking and walk downtown instead and eat something amazing with a glass of wine and good friends. I want to buy and eat local not because I am making a political statement but because we simply have the best damn stuff around, right here! I want to be able to leave my apartment and run all my errands for the week and never get in my car if I don’t feel like it. I want to be able to wear either my high heels or my Bean boots to any event I go to, depending on my mood, and know either would be fine!

Maine isn’t this way by chance. It’s this way because we work very hard to make it so. We’ve all worked to carve amazing lives out of a harsh and beautiful landscape. Maine is about community and diverse culture. It’s about home cooking and home brew. It is Bean Suppers and Beano. It is Acadian culture, Jewish bagels and amazing Thai food. It is downtown pubs, fish & chips and sweet potato fries. It is Italian bakeries and art shows and local farms! More importantly, Maine is people who still have faith in the world. We volunteer in record numbers. We vote in record numbers. We give above and beyond our budgets. We care, we believe and we do because that’s not just the way life should be, it’s the way life is.

 This post originally appeared in the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, February 6, 2012.

Parenthood: Menial labor, unfathomable love & unspeakable terror!

I have heard it said that being a parent is like walking around with a part of your heart forever on the outside of your body.

Our children just don’t get it do they? I don’t mean small children, I mean those of us who have “full grown, don’t tell me what to do I’m an adult” children. The state says they can drive, they can own their own property. They can vote or get married or have a beer.  None of this means they are actually old enough to get it.

There was a time when I didn’t get it either, way back before I had children. It was so long ago I don’t really remember what life was even like then. In fact, it was almost 28 years ago now. For every parent, there is a day when you just get it. It might be the first time you felt your unborn child move inside you. It could have been when you gave birth, or when you watched your partner give birth. It might have been the first time, as an adoptive parent, that someone handed you this young child and walked way, leaving you, just you, responsible for this small life. Maybe it was the moment you married the birth parent of your children and you realized you were saying “I do” to a whole family and the responsibilities that went with it. However you became a parent, you remember it, that moment when it all became clear.

I was only 19 years old when my son was born. His father and I thought we got it, but we didn’t, not until that moment he was born. We could hardly believe when the hospital actually let us take him home; this tiny, fragile human being. He was ours, ready or not. Every decision whether it involved feeding him, or keeping him warm, or getting him medical care, was now in our hands. Every decision we made for the rest of our lives would affect him, would shape his life and would eventually shape the lives of his sisters as well.We tried our best to make good decisions. Sometimes we fell short but everything we did, from that moment on, involved him, his life, his happiness, and his future.

It doesn’t change. No matter how old he gets. It doesn’t change. Whether he’s 7 or 27, that very same feeling of overwhelming love and responsibility never changes. I know it annoys him sometimes. I know it annoys his sisters as well. He does not understand that we are no more capable of walking away, of not caring, of not being involved in his life than we would be of deciding we no longer needed oxygen.  When you are a parent, your children are your oxygen.

Even when they are adults you still hold your breath the way you did when they took their first steps and the way you did the first time you dropped them off at kindergarten. The difference when they get older is they are no longer under your control. You can’t make their decisions for them. You can’t pick them up and hold them and make everything better. Yet, you still hold your breath with every step they take. You hold your breath when they fall in love. You hold your breath every single time they board a plane or get in a car and take a trip. You hold your breath when they leave for college or join the military. You hold your breath and you pray and pray and pray.

I lost my breath this past weekend in that moment when the phone rang at 2:45 am and I found out my son had been in a very serious car accident. I am still struggling to catch it again. This is, after all, what parenthood is all about isn’t it? The majority of it is hard work and menial labor. There are proud moments and moments of embarrassing laughter. There are moments of unfathomable love and tremendous joy.

Occasionally there are moments of unspeakable terror. There are moments when all you can do it sit there, by their bedside in the hospital. There are moments when there is absolutely nothing you can do, or say to fix it. You can’t even explain it to them. There are simply no words.

All you can do is be there and breathe with them and know that someday, when it is their turn, they will get it. In the meantime, we rely on each other, fellow parents, all of us who are forever living with a part of our hearts on the outside of our bodies. We lean on each other when words are neither necessary nor even possible.

This post originally appeared in the Bangor Daily News, Postcards from a Work in Progress, on January 13, 2012.