I Hate Mums

Posted on by stilllearning2b

We walked into Home Depot the other day to buy a section of fence to replace the one that was splintered by the felled tree the other day (totally off topic, but you never realize how large those fence sections are until you try to carry one and you never realize how sail-like they are until they are trying to lift your CRV into the air from their position on the roof.) While walking in, a large display of mums (the fall flower, not the British mother) caught my eye. The flowers were a welcome sight of fresh color at a time when all the hue seems to drain from the other perennials as they succumb to the heat and decide to Rip Van Winkle for several months. I was admiring the diverse colors and full, healthy plants, when out of nowhere a voice in my head declared,

“I hate mums.”

It was a familiar sentiment; I remembered feeling that way and uttering those words. But I was confused. If I hated mums, why was I drawn to them? If I disliked their blooms, why did I have to resist the urge to gather some pots up along with the section of fence?

Perhaps my tastes have changed. After all, I now gravitate towards spicy foods when I used to prefer bland. I am more apt to don color now than the all dark tones that used to dominate my closet. Maybe I somehow developed a fondness for mums with my advancing age.

But I don’t think that’s it.

In fact, I have a very specific memory about mums.

My ex and I were walking into a house about twenty years ago. The front stoop was framed by two large pots of mums, their orange, yellow and copper blooms echoing the colors of autumn. They provided a welcoming, homey image and seemed to freshen the air with their presence.

Upon spying the flowers, my ex announced,

“I hate mums.”

“Me too,” I replied. But did I really have a distaste for the flowers? Or was I trying to show my allegiance to my mum-hating boyfriend? It’s scary to contemplate the latter. That I may have suppressed the urge to disagree with him on something so trivial. It makes me wonder what else I let him decide for me?

Maybe I never really hated mums.

I just let myself believe I did.

 

And now I’ve added them to list of plants to buy for the front of the house next spring. Because I’ve decided that I like mums after all. And, if I’m lucky, maybe they’ll have special ex-repellent properties:)

 

 

Not Fade Away

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’m feeling sentimental tonight. I’m listening to some of the music from my teen years. Not the metal, but the folk. The stuff I was raised with and the notes that soothe. I used to listen to these CDs all the time. With my ex. Now, I rarely remember to unearth them from the closet. But I should. Because some memories fade but the music never does.

Here’s one of my favorites from Trout Fishing in America, appropriately called Not Fade Away. Hope you enjoy:)

Home Movies

Posted on by stilllearning2b

My aunt and uncle recently took on the formidable project of transferring hours of home movies onto two DVDs in some “best of” snippets from almost twenty years of footage. My aunt sent me the discs recently with a card that had the following warning:

Advisory: Proceed With Caution.

What you are about to see may be hazardous to your mental state of well-being.

That’s what can happen in divorce (especially ugly divorce)-  a “family” member goes from beloved to hazardous cargo. And my ex was family and is included in many of the latter video clips. This would be the first video I would see of him since before he left, as all of my video and most of my pictures are safely boxed up in my mom’s garage (safely unless they’ve become a rat nest, which would somehow be fitting…).

Surprisingly, I was neither anxious to watch them or anxious about watching them. I finally had a few moments today and put in the second disk, which starts shortly before I began high school. It was funny watching them and seeing how I changed over the years, my I-was-afraid-they-were-permanent chubby cheeks finally slimming out when I entered my 20s. My ease with my baby cousin even as I knew I never wanted a kid of my own. And my introverted attempt to meet “cute boys” at the lake by swimming out to a raft in my aqua bikini.

It was cool to see my mom at an age I now relate to. And to watch my grandmother when she could still enjoy the freedom of swimming in the lake. I saw my now-married cousin with missing baby teeth. And watched her now-adult sister grow from newborn to preschooler.

And it was even neat to watch my ex. From the awkward gangliness he carried until almost 22 to the young man tired from his 10 hour shift at an amusement park. I watched him with our pug and smiled at the memories of bringing our first dog home. In one scene I saw him look at me with love. I remember those looks.

I realized something today, watching those home movies. In a very real way, all of us on those digital recordings are gone. The kids have grown, even the youngest through college and many have kids of their own. The adult generation is trending towards retirement. And grandma can’t swim in the lake anymore.

We have all changed with time and with experiences. The camera caught who we were in the moment but it does not always reflect who we are now.

The husband I see on those videos would be lost to me now no matter what. That boy really, not even a man yet in many of the clips, was lost in time. And that would be true even if he was sitting on the sofa downstairs.

Far from being hazardous, the videos were sweet. A glimpse of a more innocent past and a remembrance of a good beginning.

And yet another reminder of the constant presence of change.

We may as well get used to it:)

 

 

Memory Slammed

Posted on by stilllearning2b

This morning, I traveled across town to meet a friend. I ended up with a few minutes to spare, so I stopped in to a Home Depot near her house to peek at the stock in the nursery (starting to get excited about planting again!).

I was over in the area where I used to live and now only visit infrequently. For years, I dreaded traveling back there as every landmark was full of memories like an overripe fruit, sweet bordering on putrid.

But the last couple years, it’s been okay. I can drive the road by my old house and not tense up. I can enter stores and restaurants and not be pulled back to the past.

So today, I walked into Home Depot with no thoughts of the past and no fear or anticipation of memories.

Which perhaps is why it hit me so hard.

I was memory slammed when my back was turned.

I entered in through the nursery, greeted the few shrubs on display, and then crossed the store to visit the restroom. It was as though the bathroom stall was a time machine. As I exited the room and rounded the corner of the hall, I was immediately pulled back to a time about 6 years ago when I left that same bathroom to join my then-husband in line at the register. For a few dozen steps, I was in the past. I was fully expecting to walk up on my then-husband, perhaps slip an arm around his hips, and talk through our plans for the afternoon. It was only when an employee asked if I needed assistance, that I snapped back into the present moment.

It wasn’t painful. It wasn’t like a trigger, initiating an avalanche of memories. It was just odd, jarring, like that transition from one temperature extreme to another that takes your breath away as you adjust.  The memory faded as quickly as it came, leaving me more bemused than upset. After all, it’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just a memory.

And now I’m off to a different Home Depot with my now-husband to pick up supplies to put the finishing touches on the theater. And I’ll be happy to slip my arm around him while we wait in line. No time machine needed.

 

Memories Do Not Have to Equal Suffering

Posted on by stilllearning2b
suffering

I met a recent divorcee the other night. I could feel her suffering behind the memories as she recounted the story of her marriage and its demise. The memories were weighted down with the pain relived in the moments or the anguish at the eventual outcome. The memories themselves were like a minefield, one deviation and you’re faced with an explosion of pain.

I remember being that same way. Every memory was laced with suffering. Every image brought with it the piercing pain as though the blow was freshly delivered. Every recalled fact opened the door to other memories, like dominoes made of lead, quickly burying me under their weight.

For a time, I thought that I would have to forcefully remove all memory of my former life. I wished for some type of amnesia pill to grant me a spotless mind. I saw memories and suffering as eternal bedfellows, forever linked together. After all, they are two things that others can never take from us – our memories and our suffering.

I can’t pinpoint an exact moment when my suffering divorced from my memories. There was no lightbulb moment, no flash of epiphany. Rather, I would sometimes startle with surprise when I realized that a memory came to me without its cruel partner.

I could remember without the pain.

I could see the past without feeling it.

I could allow a thought without it leading to another.

If your memories are entangled with suffering, try the following:

-Retell your story (writing is awesome for this!) until you feel some distance from it. Practice this. Make it matter-of-fact even when it doesn’t feel that way. Rewrite it as dryly as possible, removing the emotion. You’re training your brain how to perceive the pain.

-Pay attention to your physical symptoms when you remember certain facts. Does your stomach drop? Do your hands shake? Does your voice tighten? Focus on relaxing those physical symptoms. It’s often easier than directly addressing the mental pain and it sends the mind the message that it doesn’t need to suffer. (PTSD After Divorce)

-If you find that one thought leads to another and another, institute a distraction policy. You can choose to interrupt the pattern before it goes too far. Change the subject, move your body or switch gears. The more you allow a pattern to occur, the more easily your brain will follow the route in the future. Instead of letting your pain dictate the journey, try building your own road.

-Be selective in your memories. You have thousands to choose from; pick the ones that make you happy. Or select the ones that make you grateful for where you are now. Assign a purpose to a memory. Let it do its job and then file it or release it.

-See yourself as the one operating the slideshow of your life. You are the one that controls the images that appear. You can choose which slide to edit or remove.

-Reframe your memories. Edit out the painful parts. Pan out to see them as part of the larger picture. Zoom in on the smiles.

-And, as much as I hate the sentiment, time really does help heal wounds. In time, the memories will lose their sharp edges and the pain will soften. I promise. (Dulling the Knife’s Edge)

Memories are ghosts from the past. They may frighten, but they cannot really harm you. The suffering comes from within.