Seasoning

As I write, the boy is snoring away, the wall in between my living room and the spare bedroom is shaking from the sheer force of the buzzing gale he is emitting.  It is a new experience for me to hear him, this holiday break the first I have lived with him in over two years.  A lot has changed in that brief period of time, including the emergence of the snore.  We both have matured a bit, evidenced by the peaceful coexistence all week, a bit of a surprise for me.

Geez, the kid is really sawing away in there.

What I expected to experience this past week was a lot of lost sleep, caused by a hulk of a boy that I remembered from two years ago, with loud late night X-Box marathons capped by a midnight marathon shower, his music blaring selfishly through a Bluetooth speaker in the bathroom.  Trails of stench and scattered debris would be all over my humbly overly cared for abode, left by a being who really didn’t care about the havoc he administered to the order of my peaceful existence.  What seems like an exaggeration was the reality of mere thirty months ago.  I flinched with anxious thoughts as I anticipated his upcoming visit this past week.

Those anxious thoughts diluted while they swirled amongst the stronger feelings of gratitude.  To me, the notion that my son even wants to stay with me was a miracle.  When his mother and I sold our house, separated to be together no more, there was not a single doubt that he would live with her.  In my mind, she had helped to create the monster, fed his enormous appetite, protected him from my discipline, and the two belonged together.  He would never want to or be able to exist in the same hemisphere with me again.  I am not sure if I have said it, and if I have please forgive me, but they deserved each other and the separation was an immediate relief from unbelievable stress.  That didn’t mean that I did not or do not want a relationship with my son.  One of the biggest let downs for me was that it did not seem that all of the effort I had put into him would ever be returned.  I never thought we would have a decent relationship, that my son would ever value his relationship with me as his father, would ever want to spend time with me again.

I think pretty much every father goes through that.  Thankfully, most do not experience that through divorce.  There are few days I do not wonder if my marriage would not have been different, maybe even survived, had it not been for the conflict created by my relationship with my son and the escalation of that conflict by the choice his mother made in that conflict.  I will never know.

What I do know is that my son and I were both anxious about our first cohabitation since the separation and divorce.  I was providing sanctuary to him, sanctuary from living in the small space provided to him at his aunt’s town home, a freedom of sorts.  He would have to live in my very orderly space, a space that has been mine alone for over two years, but he would have his own space in my home.  I know he preferred that, know that he has been reaching out to me and lifting me up.  I was anxious, but I really hoped that this time it would be different than it was two years ago.

I think we both were surprised.

He came home to my home, tentative, not knowing what I would expect from him.  I gave him a lot of freedom.  I think he liked that.  It was obvious that I am meticulous, not liking my space to be invaded, but he did a good job of adjusting to my expectations.  He wasn’t perfect, but he was respectful, careful, conscious of the world I have created and he did his best to fit his twenty year old male self into that world.  I did my best to accommodate him, not press him into a perfect little mold, let him live his own life while he was with me.  It wasn’t perfect, but I resisted telling him anything, cleaned up after him and noticed that he adapted to my expectations.  I didn’t lose sleep, although I worried more about him getting home safely than I have in the past.  He communicated with me very well, let me know what was going on, so I could sleep soundly.  Our last night, I didn’t even notice when he came home.

What meant the most to me during his visit?  Perhaps it is the realization that he values me, looks at some of my interests as positive things.  It is very obvious that he thinks my mountain biking is a cool thing.  I can tell that the time invested in him over the years was not a waste.  I feel valued.  I needed that.  One thing that cemented that he is thinking of me was Saturday night, when his car needed windshield wipers, and he wanted to borrow a car.  He acknowledged that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ready to loan out my ‘new’ car to him.  It was a good thing to me, a confirmation that he is starting to get it.  I needed that.

I am tentatively proud.  He is making strides, working on gaining my confidence.  This whole divorce thing is a tough journey and he is working through it.  Like the title of today’s blog, I know that we both are working into a new relationship, a seasoning of sorts.

 

 

 

 

The Path

I did not choose divorce because I wanted to be happy.  I chose divorce because I didn’t want to continue to be not happy.  There is a difference.  Unless you have been there, you won’t understand the difference.  When my wife and I sold our home a little over two years ago, separated and went our separate ways, I knew there was a tough road ahead, maybe more difficult than the crooked and uphill one I had been travelling for years.  And that was it.. I was tired.  The pain of climbing that road had become too much, and I knew that it would do nothing but continue the same way if I didn’t make the choice to take a different path, one that wouldn’t guarantee happiness, but maybe just maybe there would be relief.

There wasn’t another woman to turn to, no one pulling me away from my marriage of nearly 25 years.  Changing the path meant making an extremely difficult decision, one that I contemplated for years.  It meant losing a life that I knew and was comfortable with, estranging myself from in laws and nieces and nephews that I truly love, risking friendships and developing new ones.  I was Uncle Steve, a guy those nieces and nephews admired.  Suddenly I was no longer Uncle Steve — my status was former.  I miss them, miss watching them become adults, miss fawning over their children.  That was part of the happiness that was my marriage.  I knew I would lose that.  That is part of the sadness.

Oddly enough, I am glad that I have found out who my true friends are.  There have been people who look at me like an evil person who had left their friend.  That judgement is part of any divorce, for that is what happens — judgement.  There are the mutual friends who treat me the same now as they did before, I suppose they are the ones who made it through the character sifter, and I see that as a blessing.  Truthfully, a lot of time can be wasted on superficial relationships, and difficult times have shown me the good ones.  New friendships have developed, some of them renewed friendships, relationships that now feel like a true gift, as if I needed something to help me realize the value of true friends.

I have a lot of them.

I am a Christian, the #2 reason why the decision to divorce took so long in coming.  I had to figure out that God hates divorce because of what it does to me, not because it’s a sin.  He reached out to me during the heart wrenching times of the last few years of my marriage, through the loneliness and frustration.  I found it really hard to take God’s hand during that time, often enough I couldn’t.  Oh, I thought I was reaching out to him and I cried (and screamed) plenty to God.  During that time, I felt a gap, a vastness of separation from God.  Really, it was that pain that I honestly wanted to carry myself that wasn’t creating that gap.  Only when I made the decision that I needed to make… yes, I needed to make… was I able to approach God.  He is always there, always calling, always wanting me to come to him and it took laying down that burden at his feet before I begin to be not happy.  I had to learn to recognize God’s presence again, his constant blessings.  I am not one to say the things happen for a reason.  I honestly don’t think that is what God is about.  I think God is about showing me the way when I look to him, before and after and during the good times as well as the hard times.  Divorce changed the way I approach God, affected the way I trust him, renewed my ability to tell him thanks every day, helped me to see him in a different light.  He made me in his image, after all, and there is no way he hates his own creation.

That brings me to the #1 reason divorce was such a difficult decision — my wife and my children.  Yes, my wife.  A lot of people leave that out.  It’s not that I stopped loving her.  It’s that it hurt so much to love someone who could not, would not respect me.  Yes, I didn’t want to hurt my children, as well.  I wanted to and still want to be the best father I can be.  I tried very, very, very hard to be that father.  My wife would not let me be the father I wanted to be, would not support me as the father I wanted to be, got in the way and resented me in many ways.  I knew that divorcing would damage the relationship I have with my children for a while, but that it would also give me a chance for them to have a relationship with me without her influence.  I have seen my relationship change with my children over the last two years — most of it is good.  There is still healing that needs to take place, but that toxicity that existed two years ago barely exists now.

What is life like now?  It took over a year on my own before I could feel myself beginning to heal.  Separation felt like jumping into an ice cold pool of water.  There was no wading in.  That was what it took, because I had spent the last few years of my marriage dipping my big toe into the water, afraid of the cold reality.  I jumped in and it indeed it was a shock that took some getting used to.  However, I was in up to my neck, so I had to deal with it.  I had to get used to being by myself, find ways to reach out to people, learn to make new friends.  I have.  Slowly, I am learning to accept my status as a divorced man.  I am not sure it will ever feel completely right.  But, well, not happy has become at peace.. and I needed that so much.

Dating as a newly single 58 year old man is different.  I didn’t waste too much time trying that out.  Most men are that way, I think.  The only thing is that I really didn’t know what I wanted, just that it had been so long since I had someone close to me.  Shortly after my divorce, I met someone online and dated her for a little over a year.  I learned my lessons from her, good lessons, got to experience the life of dating as an “adult”.  I also learned a little about what I want in a relationship, and that I am not really ready for a new wife.  After that year of dating, I got to be the scum bucket who did the breaking up.  That wasn’t easy!  I swore that I was done with online dating — the pressure of a serious relationship is just too great with online dating (at least it is for me).  I have a profile, but don’t use it.  A few months after the break up, I started casually dating a neighbor of mine, someone who I have been getting to know since I moved into my condo two years ago.  It’s been a good thing, although it was a bit scary at first.  She lives in the building next door.  I like her, enjoy that she gives me my space (which seems ironic since she lives so close), am not feeling the pressure to jump into a serious relationship.  Oh, I get my hugs and kisses from her, but I don’t see a ring on my finger in the near future.  It’s nice to have a friend who enjoys getting to know me, fits me very well,… and respects me.

It’s my hope that my children will learn to let me be with someone.  They are not ready yet.  I know it’s different for everyone.  Some children want to see their parent enjoy dating again, others need a lot of time before they can accept that.  It’s OK.  I just hope that some day they will.  I am not going back to their mother.  It’s so obvious now that we, the both of us, needed that change.

Lots to learn.  The path is leveling off, becoming more and more straight as I journey on.

No longer a phone call away

Today is mother’s day.  I am staying away from Facebook today, avoiding any restaurant that serves breakfast or brunch.  It’s not that I don’t like seeing people honor their mother or celebrating.  On the contrary, I think it’s important that we do.  We all need to take the time to focus on the person who brought us into this world, nurtures us, loves us unconditionally.  Mother’s day gives us the opportunity to feel like we have done that.  Mother’s day is just as much, maybe more, for the children as it is for the mother.

Think about it.  It’s true.  Some give back to their mother well, do things for her and show her how much they love her.  Even that person needs that one day to validate their love, to help them to feel like they have really shown her how special she is.  Others, and I was probably one of them, MUST have a day to do just that.  We need to feel we have shown her.

My mom used to drool over the prospect of one of her sons saying something about her on Facebook.  That medium was her livelihood the last few years of her life, when knee replacement, foot and ankle surgeries made it difficult for her to get around for very long.  Mom was not one to let a walker or cane keep her from being mobile, her stubborn refusal to let anything keep her down one of her endearing qualities.  Those maladies forced her to spend more time in her easy chair, something that was more painful to her than her physical pain.  However, the Christmas my brothers and I chipped in together to give her an iPad changed her world, expanded it, gave her a way to move beyond that cushioned prison.  Mom was a lover, not so much a physical hugger, but nonetheless one who made her friends and family and anyone who came in contact with her feel deeply loved.  Mom had very few superficial relationships.  When that tablet brought into the world of Facebook, every post by one of her boys or her grandchildren or her friends or nephews/nieces received a comment from Mom.  Every picture shared, every little meme or joke or announcement of another Cardinals win received a like and appreciation from her.

She liked it when I reached out to her there every Mother’s day.  For her, it was better than a card.  I could get to her at the beginning of the day, essential for me since Mom and Dad lived three hours south of Chicagoland.  If I remembered to send her a present or a card, which happened most but not every Mother’s day, that would be the best I could do.  I tried to call her early in the morning, knowing that she and Dad would be up early to go to church and then out for a meal.  I can still remember that soft southern drawl, warm and tender, when she answered the phone.  Oh, hello Steve was always the first thing she would say, as if it was a surprise that I called.

This is the first year that I can’t call her.  I have my memories of her, I guess the best way I can communicate with her today.  Mother’s day is now in my heart, a day when I remember the woman who….

Tucked me in every night, until this little boy decided he was too big of a boy for that.

Waited for me to come home during those crazy high school years.

Showed me what it means to not just believe in Jesus, but to know Jesus.  There’s a difference.

Set the bar of honoring my father to a height that no woman will ever be able to reach.

Supported me even when I was wrong.. probably is the reason for my enormous ego.

Demonstrated a strength that every one of her children possesses because of her.

Cried with me when I needed someone to cry with… sometimes there was no one else.. and she never turned me down, never showed me the burden that sometimes carried.

Played the piano with her heart, something it’s nearly impossible to understand until you hear it, but anyone who heard her play knows what I mean.  I went to sleep many a night hearing her heart beat through her fingers on the keys.

This is my first heavenly mother’s day.  I didn’t to call her this morning, but I did get to reach out to her through my words, maybe one of the gifts she passed on to me.

Thanks, Mom.  I love you.  Somehow, it’s OK that you are no longer a phone call away.. because a memory is so much more closer because you are already here.

I gave in and posted this pic on FB, with this message — No phone call to my mom today, but somehow she feels closer.. because she is in my heart. Always cherish this picture of her with us, even though it doesn’t show her face, because it was taken before church — Mark and I and Paul (and Dad) grew up knowing God in a very personal way because of her. She was a passionate and strong woman whose passion for our Lord she couldn’t help but show. Missing her even more today.

1977

Outside the large storefront windows of the Panera I am sitting in right now, the snow is swirling steadily, a mid-April storm that is bringing a wetted white to the landscape.  Not one to groan too much about the weather, unless it is weather that interrupts my mountain biking for too long, I am enjoying the contrasting beauty of the winter whiteness mingling with the early Spring greens.  Here in northern Illinois, the buds are just beginning to appear, the grass pushing up and promising the warmer weather to come.  Today will be a day to relax in the way God intends, his creation observed from the warmth indoors as well as venturing outside to experience it firsthand.

A friend just texted me to lament the snow, her anxiety rising as she observed the large flakes surging past her window, all from the comforting warmth of her covers.  Stay in bed for a while, I encouraged her.  I couldn’t help but share with her how much I love these Spring snow storms.

My mind can’t help but go back to this time in 1977, the year of the huge Easter snow and ice storm that brought central Illinois to a two week halt.  I don’t remember exactly when the storm hit, just that it was shortly before Easter Sunday.  Thick layers of ice coated trees, yards, roads, power lines… everything, so much that we didn’t have power for nearly two weeks.  Travel was treacherous, not impossible, but only attempted when necessary.  No power also meant no heat in the house, the little bi level house my family lived in quite cold with the unusual weather.  We didn’t have a fireplace, so my parents cautiously heated our home with the gas kitchen stove in the evenings, and a Coleman camp heater in our living room when it got really cold.  My family huddled around the heater by candlelight, telling stories and singing while Mom played the piano.  We didn’t miss the TV too much, rather enjoyed the time without it.

Easter Sunday was special that year.  I remember going to church that morning, the church full despite the challenge to travel there (my family walked to church — or rather we half walked, half skated/slid).  Families huddled together in the wooden pews to keep warm, the church auditorium candle lit, the atmosphere warm with the quiet that comes when there is no amplification or organ music.  Mom played the piano enthusiastically as the congregation sang, the mood worshipful in a way that was special to the moment, people coming together and the stress melting away even as the ice was freezing outside.  I remember watching the fog in the air as everyone sang.  The scent of bacon and pancakes and eggs drifted up from the church basement as the church elders and deacons cooked the annual Easter sunrise breakfast.  Even an ice storm with a power outage could not prevent the annual breakfast from happening.  By the time the Easter sunrise service was over, my stomach was growling from hunger, the tempting smells drawing my thoughts away.

Somehow mom managed to get a nice ham with the fixings for our Easter meal.  We gathered around the table, snug in our coats, as we ate our meal.  The sun came out that day, the storm over, illuminating the bright landscape made even brighter by the ice.

1977 was my sophomore year of high school.  Our school Spring break was extended a week by the power outage and ice.  Even though my friends and I reveled outside during the break, I was anxious about going back to school.  The unplanned school closing meant that the first two track meets of the season would be cancelled, something I was looking forward to.  My freshman year had been a successful running season, a confidence booster as I established myself running the middle distances.  I was hoping my success from my freshman year would carry into my sophomore year.  I was itching to run the entire week.  Instead, my friends and I found ways to have fun on the ice.  We skated in our backyards and on the street, played broom hockey.  One afternoon, we tied a long rope to a metal disc sled and took turns whipping each other around in circles on the street in front of my house.  There was one problem — we swung one guy too close to a car and the rope broke just before the car, shooting him underneath the car.  His mother wasn’t too happy with us, especially when she had to take him to the hospital for x-rays on his (broken) arm!

Once the weather broke, the temperatures rewarded us with beautiful days.  Power was restored.  The ice was replaced by wonderful green.

The view from my living room yesterday.  Lovely!

The storm of 2019 was mild compared to that 1977 ice storm.  It was wet, with lots of pretty snow.  Of course, I wouldn’t have minded missing a day or two of work….

Bike Beginnings

I have talked plenty about how cycling has provided a therapeutic balance to my life and soul and body, rescued me in a sense, a type of salvation.  When life seems tough or I am not feeling physically well, riding brings me back to focus, calms me in a way that brings healthy clarity.  In a sense, riding also allows me to reach inside myself, find that place where I can approach my maker.  I believe that my existence is truly my soul.  Riding brings me there like nothing else can.  Cycling is God’s gift to me, one of the ways he is able to communicate with me.

The past few days have required calm and clarity.  Stress was affecting me physically, enough that I was concerned.  I need to think through the new challenges with a wisdom that I really don’t possess.  Thankfully, I have a strong relationship with my father as well as solid friendships that provide support.  When it comes down to it, though, the decisions are mine to make — although the decisions also involve my son and his mother, my ex.  There is temptation to simply appease them, bandage the new wound caused by the loss of my son’s car.  If the decision is a quick fix, it’s not likely going to be the most sound decision.  My ex wants to buy him another car.  That’s the quick fix.  But I have a large federal tax bill to pay, property taxes due by the end of May.  Adding another payment to an already tight budget will not be a wise decision.

It took some slowing down to bring me to the point of knowing that waiting is the best approach.  My body and mind had to slow down together to come to that point.  Cycling and prayer has done that for me, I think, as well as spending some time with a good friend.

Monday night, as I felt the affect of the previous day’s elevated stress and blood pressure, I skipped the opportunity to ride.  Instead, I opted to ask a neighbor to share the fajitas I had slow cooked all.  It wasn’t an evening of woe is me soul baring, it was an evening of enjoying the company of a friend, my body telling me quickly by the way I felt as I relaxed.  It was the right thing to do.  Funny, as I arrived home from work on Monday, I prayed and knew what to do that evening.  It didn’t take a bike ride for me to be able to listen.

I needed more, though.  My body needed to recover from the stress, even as I had began to relax.  Tuesday evening temperature was in the upper 40s to low 50s, so I set out on my fat bike for a ride through the area forest preserves.  Most of the crushed limestone trails were dry enough for an easy ride.  As I warmed up, I felt the ease of pedaling and my pace picked up.  Halfway into my ride, I crossed paths with two experienced riders, exchanged pleasantries as they admired my 9;Zero;7 fat bike (it’s a conversation piece as it’s a little unique).  The pace was brisk and I was up to the task, my attitude coming up the more we rode.  After a few miles, they headed in another direction as I broke off in the direction of Mount Hoy, a former landfill that provides a progressively steep and moderately long climb.  I chose the path up the side of the landfill rather than the grassy slope for my climb, the satisfaction of pushing through the last 20 or so yards giving me energy as I crested the top of the landfill and was treated to the awesome clear view from the top.  I circled the top a few times as I caught my breath, then streaked down the grassy slope on the other side, exhiliarated by the speed while I rushed towards the bottom.  I cruised home through the woods and over the river bridge that had once served as the entrance to a franciscan sisters prayer retreat.  The energy of the ride buoyed me the entire rest of the evening.  I could already feel myself beginning to process more clearly the thoughts I need to address right now.

Last night was awesome, shirtsleeve and shorts weather, a welcomed day after the winter temperatures.  Trail reports for the mountain bike trails I ride were that they were in prime condition.  After making some adjustments to my bike, I loaded my bike up on the bike of my car, went to the trails.  I was greeted there by Deni, an enthusiastic 19 year old who loves to ride with my friends and I.  He and I rode for an hour and a half, once again at a strong pace, the rush of the singletrack adding even more energy.  Once again, I came home feeling even better.

Cycling.  Friends.  All gifts from God.  All ways he speaks to me.  I feel it, understand more, thankful that I am able to listen.

BOOM!!!!!

Life has been a literal whirlwind lately, with a lot of challenges thrown at me almost simultaneously.  I like to think that somehow I am more equipped to deal with those challenges now, whether that is true or not.  The past few days tested me more than a little bit, pushed me literally to emotional limits that also affected me physically.  That wasn’t unusual during the course of my marriage, but my response to the current challenges has me proud.

Last week started with a work trip to Florida, responsibilities a bit out of my comfort zone as those responsibilities required me to lead training seminars for a customer with enormous potential.  While I found that I am more than capable and performed very well, my normally adequate ego was feeling the shrink caused by the cold reality that I am self trained.  I felt inadequate going in to the trip, made me overcompensate a bit to the point of being over prepared.  The salesman I accompanied gave me high marks to my boss, something that was shared with my tired soul when I returned to the office last Thursday.

Yes, the innuendo is intentional.  🙂

Tired was the word, but not too much.  I had tried to save my company money by taking the red eye flight home to Chicago from Tampa, a $97 flight, arrived home after midnight.  I still arrived to work at my normal 8:30 AM start time, beat both of my coworkers in.

Yes, the adequate ego is still adequate.

The challenges started last Friday, when I received a call from the internet and cable TV provider that shall remain unnamed.  I think they are getting too big for their britches.  The caller informed me that my promotional rate was about to expire.  What promotional rate?, I inquired, I didn’t sign a promotional contract.  I was informed that 24 months, I did get a promotional rate that is going to expire in a month.  If I didn’t sign up for another plan, my monthly rate would be roughly $280.  SAY WHAT?!!!!?  All I can say is, that’s a crappy sales pitch.  I asked the salesman to send me the options via email and I would consider each one, then make a decision.  He had called me while I am at work, after all, and right in the middle of preparing a rush quote.  That wasn’t possible, he told me, it had to be done over the phone and at that moment.  If not, they would call me back at a more convenient time, but nothing could be done by email.  I wasn’t kind to the guy (no acid, just firm), didn’t cut him any slack, told him that I don’t do anything over the phone.  Why not just give me the same plan, at the same rate, and be done with it.  Was that possible?  No.  The guy wouldn’t budge, but he was also getting frustrated with me… and hung up.

Yes, that’s how my weekend started.

Friday therapy night was great, as usual.  My friend John was back from his vacation travels, raring to go after signing up for an online dating site.  Jim and I spent a good deal of the evening helping him with his profile message and picture choices, even enlisted the aid of Jim’s girlfriend (via text) for the profile.  There was a joke that one woman on the site rejected and didn’t respond at all to Jim when he was using the site, and Jim would pay for their first date if John got her to respond.  “We” sent her a message — and SHE RESPONDED.  They are planning to meet this weekend, are hitting it off.  John is off and running.  Jim is annoyed — he’s not used to rejection.

Saturday was nice weather, low 50 degree temperatures, which means I rode the trails in shorts.  Woooohoooooo!  I finished my ride, loaded the bike up on the car, got in and checked my phone.  Uh oh.  A message from my ex that simply said call me as soon as you can.  Another message from my accountant, who is doing my taxes, an ominous message about not having enough withholding that looked scary.  I called my ex and found out that our son had a car accident, was OK, but his car was likely totaled.

Yes, GULP.

I hustled home, as I needed to not only prepare for a 5 o’clock meeting with friends and I also had to walk the cute little 3 month old female chow puppy that my brother had dropped off earlier in the day.  I was going to be dog sitting in my second floor condo for five days.  I made it home, walked the puppy, played with her a bit, cleaned up and left to meet my friends.  We went to a bonfire later on, had a grand time.  It was a great evening.  I came home fairly early, around 10:30 PM, to find…. uh oh.

Yes, uh oh.

Chows are very strong dogs, even as three month old puppies.  While I was gone, she decided that maybe I or someone else was on the other side of the heavy sliding wooden door that I had closed to keep her in my little galley kitchen.  She slammed into the closed door, likely multiple times, and knocked it out of track.  When I walked through my front door at 10:30, she greeted me at the front door.  The bottom of the door was extended out at least two feet.  Oh no.

Yes, OH NO!

My crazy downstairs neighbor must have been freaking out all evening from the noise of the dog.  Sure enough, the sound of my footsteps must have cued my neighbor of my arrival, because her patio light went on immediately and I could see her pacing out in front of her patio.  Moments later, I was treated to the sound of a Polish woman screeching loudly up at me.  I guarantee she was waiting for the drama, as she had observed me walking the puppy earlier that day.  I had also seen her husband in the hallway, where he asked me if I had a new dog and I told him that I was just dog sitting.

Yes, just dog sitting.  It was completely obvious very soon that did not matter.

Chows are darling, especially three month old puppies.  Chows are endearing.  Chows bond quickly and are very loving.  I was immediately Chloe’s best buddy.. and she would not leave me alone.  Chows are also very aggressive, which combined with their strength and intelligence makes them excellent guard dogs.  Note that in the picture I was sitting on the floor.  That worked better with her, because otherwise she would have demanded my attention.

Yes, that’s a black tongue.  Isn’t she adorable?  The short snout also causes her to snort.

I tried to leave for church, abandoned the closed kitchen door strategy, gave her a long leash and tied her to the kitchen table.  Chloe was barking before I even came close to the front door, and loudly.  Arrrrrggggghhhhh.  Teresa the Terrible, my neighbor, was already freaking out.  I left any way, hoped that the barking would cease shortly after I left.  Alas, I could hear barking as I walked outside through the courtyard and from my car.  I drove a few miles, the stress starting to rise and my better judgement telling me that I had better go back home.  I did.  She was still barking.

Yes, so was my downstairs neighbor, although her bark is a frantically anxious shriek.

I could hear her through her door as I walked up the stairs to my unit.  With each shriek, I could feel my blood pressure rising, something I have not felt in years.  Barking greeted me as I walked through my front door.  Nearly defeated, I released Chloe from her leash and hugged her as I sat on the floor with her.  She ate that up, little licks and nibbles demonstrating her enthusiastic affection for me.  What could I do about the situation?  I was beginning to feel trapped.  Not wanting to be held captive by my furry guest, craving the calm of a church worship service, I decided to risk letting her have the run of my small house.  Maybe she wouldn’t be so anxious, maybe she wouldn’t destroy anything from anxiety?  Cautiously, I walked out the front door.  She wanted to run out with me, but I stopped her, frowned as she whimpered at me.  I closed the door, walked slowly down the stairs as I listened for barking, hearing a loud whining whimper but no barking.  Maybe this was going to work?  I stopped at the landing, listened some more, hopeful I would be able to leave.

Yes, I was too hopeful.

As I stood on the landing, listening to the quiet whimper of the puppy from my condo unit above, a sudden loud commotion emerged as my neighbor loudly barged through her front door.  Complaints of he and that dog were making loud noise all last night, as well as I am getting sick of him nearly bowled me over as my neighbor angrily emerged while shrieking back at her husband, only to see me and zip back inside her condo as she slammed her door behind her.  The commotion continued on the other side of the door.

Yes, it was obvious she was destined for my front door.

It was also painfully obvious that I couldn’t keep this puppy, even for the few days I was supposed to dog sit.  Defeated, I trudged back upstairs to my home, greeted by a happy furball.  I looked down at her, apologized with the tears beginning to form.  What could I do?  My brother in his family were hours away, enjoying the sites in Washington, DC.  No way was I going to be able to leave this dog alone.  The next day and the days to follow until my brother would get home, I knew there was no way I could go to work — and I had to go to work as my boss was going to be travelling.  With dread, I texted my brother, asked him if it was possible to put Chloe in a kennel.  I knew the answer to that.  This puppy is only three months old, so she hasn’t had the shots required to board her.

My brother tried to find a kennel, but confirmed what I already knew, that she could not be boarded.  He called and apologized, assured me that he understands my situation.  Go ahead and load her up, drive south towards central Illinois, where our brother and our father live.  He would contact them and ask them to meet me halfway, take the dog from me.  This was something he knew might happen, that the dog would make too much noise and possibly become destructive.  It just looked like it wouldn’t happen.  The kitchen door should have been adequate to contain her and keep her calm.

I loaded her stuff in my car, put her in the back seat and began the drive south, not knowing if either my other brother or my father would be able to meet me.  The stress was really beginning to affect my blood pressure, the dizziness of elevated blood pressure starting to show up.  It didn’t help that the puppy wouldn’t stay in the back seat.  I tried letting her have the passenger seat next to me, but she wanted to be in my lap.  She also was getting anxious, her snorts increasing, my own anxiety increasing as I tried to deal with driving and her persistence.  Eventually, my dad called and just in time.  My blood pressure had elevated so much that I could barely breathe, much less drive.  He was worried, told me to turn around, go home and he would pick her up at my place.  I bought a bottle of water, sipped it as I drove carefully home, downed an extra dose of my blood pressure meds when I got home — which worked but really threw me into a loop.

Yes, I survived the day.

Monday was a new day — and an extremely busy day.  After lunch, I had to deal simultaneously with the insurance company calling about my son’s accident claim, my accountant wanting to talk about my tax return, my son calling about my accident,.. and another friend who wanted me to dog sit for him!  I survived, but had to deal with several items of bad news at once.  Over $4000 owed to federal taxes due to a withholding error, my son’s car totaled and too expensive to fix (liability insurance only).  I could only shrug my shoulders.  I can make it through this as I have many times before, said a prayer (which calmed me), then sat down to catch my breath and focus on the many blessings.  That helped me to see that it’s not so bad.

A friend came over that evening to share dinner with me, brought relaxation and calm back to me.  Calm and slightly warm weather has allowed me to ride, and ride quite well I must add, the last two evenings.  All is well.

Yes, all is well.

Need a fix? No problem.

There are times when I feel the need to throw my Dad a bone and give him credit for all the stuff he has done for me over the years.  More and more, as I help my own children out with various emergencies, I understand what it has been like for him to help me.  Not once did he balk when my car acted up or broke down.  When I needed his experience to replace the flooring in my house, he was there.  If my water heater sprung a leak or an appliance acted up, Dad had faced the same challenge at some time.  He was and has always been there, always found a way to fix or replace whatever ailment or home improvement challenge I have had.

There was the time I called him one winter morning from a rest stop outside of Springfield, Missouri.  I was on my way home from college.  The timing chain on my 1972 Plymouth D(R)uster had failed.  Dad tossed a tow chain in the back of his truck, drove five hours to find me, then towed the car home.  He found a way to fix the car on his own, including replace the distributor and set the timing.  What he couldn’t fix, he helped me to figure out on my own or he found a friend who could help.  There were several similar incidents with my vehicles, including a blown engine that we replaced after finding a replacement engine at a junkyard.

I would like to think that I learned to deal with the same kind of challenges in a practical way from watching my father.  Dad never showed frustration with me or anyone else when a problem occurred, at least not to my face.  Whenever I asked him for help, he always responded with a calm “let’s see what we can do”.  He still does.  He is not a mechanic, not a tech, has learned from experience what he can’t or can not do, has found a good balance between an attempt to fix and knowing when to ask for help.

I like to show him when I am fixing something on my own.  For instance, last night I had to replace the igniter on my gas clothes dryer.  Replacing the part is fairly simple, something I have done a few times over the years.  I had to pause, send Dad a picture of the failed part after I took it out.  He had to chuckle, reminded me of the first time that I had to diagnose the issue when the gas clothes dryer failed to heat, shortly after my wife and I had moved into our first home.  It was the first time I had to replace an igniter (and solenoid, as well).  My wife was so afraid that I was going to blow the house up that she took the kids to her mother’s while I fixed the dryer.  She had not grown up with a father who fixed things.

I didn’t have to check the igniter for continuity, by the way.  It operates the same way the filament in a light bulb works.  When the filament burns out, there is no path for the current.  This igniter had completely burned out, with part of the igniter broken off.  If it was intact and the igniter was not clearly burned, then a volt meter would be used to check resistance.  No resistance means failed igniter.

I could tell it made Dad happy to see that I have learned to fix things on my own.  He even commented on that with a smiley face emoji.  Yes, Dad likes to text… almost too much.  Mom was dangerous with messaging when we bought her an iPad for Christmas.  Dad is just as treacherous with a smart phone.

The other night my son, Nate, called from the parking lot at a local shopping center.  He was stranded and ready to give up.  Somehow, he had pulled the shift lever out of the console on his Ford Focus.  The boy is embarrassed to ask for help — just like his mother is.  I told him I would be right there.  When I got to his car, I had to chuckle.  There he was, looking down at his phone while he sat in the driver’s seat, his mother doing the same thing next to him in the passenger seat.  The fix was easy, simply finding the shaft that had dropped out of the shifter when he had pulled it out.  I replaced the shaft, put the shifter back in, tested to make sure it worked.  Two minutes and it was fixed, much to my son’s relief.  His mother looked shocked that it was so easy.  I wish they all were that easy.

I asked my son to never be afraid to ask for help.  Since his mother and I divorced, he has needed help a few times.  Each time it has been like pulling teeth to get him to come over and get my help.  Maybe that will change.

I made sure Dad knew about the rescue I got to perform for my son.  He needs to know that he raised me the right way.

As I have said before, I can only hope that I am my father’s son, that I am just like him.  It sure looks like I have learned some things…..

 

First Love

Tags

lessons learned, life, personal

What did I ride before this bike came into my life?  I don’t remember, really, but I do know that I knew how to ride.  The Royce Union three speed banana bike was my first real bike.  That I know.  I was a proud seven year old boy.  I rode that bike to an early death, beat the snot out of it.. all without a helmet.

I likely have a little brain damage due to that fact.  No helmet meant that I saw stars, as well as lost a lot of skin and blood, many times while riding that bike.  It wasn’t the most safe bike in the world to ride, something I was destined to prove over and over again.  My parents bought that bike for my birthday, June 1, ready to attack the summer months of Sacramento, California.  We lived on the outskirts of town, in a new housing development with plenty of open fields, places to ride like miniature Evil Knievels.  The neighborhood game was a modified version of chicken, played in the middle of the street with boys lined up across from each other to form a gauntlet.  Each player had to try to ride their bike successfully through that gauntlet.  My banana bike had that cool little sissy bar in the back, a perfect handle to stop me.  The speed it took to try to make it through the gauntlet was my worst enemy — I was stopped suddenly, my forward motion launched me over the handlebars, my elbows and chin out in front of me as I hit the pavement.  I still have scars on my elbows from that crash, the skin hung from my elbows as I stumbled through the front door to show my horrified mother.  She knew the emergency room techs by their first names that summer.

I am also lucky that I was able to father children.  That shifter wasn’t exactly in the best position.  Ever heard of the term ‘racked’?  Any boy who rode a bike like mine knows the term well.  Just thinking about it makes me lose my breath.  Mom kept an ice bag close at hand and an ample supply of ice in the freezer.

Thus the love began, a love that hurt me, that kept me healthy even as the injuries healed, that taught me a few things.  I will always remember my first love.

Now… where is my ice bag?

Health Insurance Roulette

Tags

life, personal, relationships

One of the more frustrating challenges in the past few years, especially since I changed employers March 2014, has been affordable health insurance.  When I was fired, I lost the BCBS family silver PPO that my employer subsidized.  It had been close to 25 years since I had to worry about health insurance for myself or for my family, the cost of my insurance and insurance for my family subsidized by my employer.  The pay I received from that job was bad to marginal but the health insurance benefit was above average and good, the $28 deduct from my weekly paycheck worth every penny.  Suddenly, I was faced with paying for COBRA insurance, then working through the then new federal Healthcare Marketplace.  I was offered a job two days after I was fired, but my new employer was small — a three person office with me being the only official full time domestic employee of a company based in eastern Europe.  There would be no company health insurance benefit, although the job offer included a monthly allowance for my family’s health insurance.  Even then, I would be required to pay roughly 75% of the insurance cost.

One note — I am very proud to be able to say that was only unemployed for two days.  The word of my demise spread quickly, as nasty stories have a tendency to do, and someone with my reputation and experience is rare in the industry I serve.  There was a lot of interest to hire me and the company who hired me was very happy to get someone with my experience.  Unfortunately, I needed a month to recover from the stress I had been through in the months/years leading up to the incident that led to my firing.  So much had been heaped on me for a long time, combined with financial and family/marital stress that added to the stress at work, that I had reached a breaking point.  While my employer had been extremely cruel to me, I hadn’t helped myself with my final reaction, which had been to tell my boss to fire truck off — he had been looking for a reason to fire me and was intentionally trying to push me over the edge.  After a long Wednesday that had been preceded by several long days and months of constant ruthless badgering by my boss, I handed the reason to him on a silver platter.  I can only say that I have had to learn some hard lessons about dealing with anger properly.  It’s not that I was an angry, raging lunatic, but I tried to avoid losing my temper so much that it wasn’t healthy in a lot of ways.  It hurt me physically and there were times where the frustration became too much for me to handle.  That time of my life taught me a lot of lessons, the stress actually pushing my body past its limits.  It was a good thing that I had good health insurance at the time!

For the record, no matter what my ex says, curse words are not a normal part of my daily vocabulary.  I know how many times she heard me curse in the 25 years we were married — so few that I can count the number of times on one hand.  Saying fire truck to my boss means that I was stressed out of my mind.  The day before the firing, the stress had been so bad that I had to go out to my car so that coworkers would not have to watch me lose it.  I sat in my car weeping uncontrollably for a good half hour.

I negotiated the dark waters of that first open enrollment fairly well, barely making the deadline for the 2014 open enrollment.  My son was diagnosed with borderline ADHD when he was 10 years old, prescribed the expensive medicines that go along with it.  I didn’t agree with the diagnosis then, don’t agree now, definitely question the necessity of the medications.  My boy has been exposed to an amphetamine that he will never be able to quit taking.  Those medications and the psychiatric care that goes with them make it a challenge to get affordable health insurance for him.  Most plans do not include those medications or psychiatric care.  If they do, they are very expensive.  That meant that the federal subsidy was necessary to keep the monthly insurance payment below $1000 per month.

The PPO for 2014 was discontinued at the end of 2014.  The plan that replaced it cost three times as much, making it impossible to afford even with the federal subsidy.  Through the Marketplace, I found another lower tier PPO that covered the medications required and was roughly the same cost.  It was supposed to also include the pediatrician and doctors we used.  The monthly federal subsidy was a little higher.  After signing up, we found out that our doctors had dropped out of the PPO’s network.  We were screwed for 2015.  So, when that PPO was also discontinued at the end of 2015 and replaced once again by a far more expensive PPO, I changed to an HMO for 2016 that was affordable.

2016 was the year the divorce started, although we didn’t separate until April 2017.  Late 2016, I took an advance from my retirement fund to pay off outstanding credit card debt (another stress for years, as well as a symptom of a terrible marriage).  When 2016 taxes were filed and my wife and I had separated, I received a letter from the IRS that advised that our 2016 income had exceeded the maximum combined income to receive the federal health insurance subsidy — which meant that I had less than two weeks to come up with the nearly $7000 to pay back the total 2016 insurance subsidy.  Since each of us had changed addresses, the letter got to me after the due date to pay the $7000, resulting in a hefty penalty for late payment.

This story is getting long.  Let’s just say that I was fortunate to have the money from my portion of the sale of our house.  Otherwise, it would have been much more difficult to deal with.  As it was, it depleted my savings to near nothing, making the first year of divorce a quite bit more uphill financially.  I am thankful that I planned my post divorce budget well, something I think my ex hates.  She suspects I have unlimited finances, I think, judging from the way she asks for money.  Truthfully, if I don’t stick to the budget I have set, I would be hurting.  God help me if there is an emergency (like my car is strongly hinting at now).

Things like unexpected changes to health insurance premiums can really mess with that budget.  This month, I start paying on the Parent Plus loan that I had to take out during my daughter’s junior and senior years of college.  I planned on that, but it means my budget is even more tight.  To avoid the excessive health insurance premiums and possible federal health insurance subsidy issue, this year I avoided the federal Marketplace altogether.  Instead of health insurance, I enrolled in a federally recognized health share for myself.  I found an inexpensive health insurance plan for my son — and found out that I either misunderstood what the salespeople told me or I was lied to.  His plan is a supplementary plan, not intended to be the health insurance plan.  It also doesn’t cover his prescriptions or psychiatric care, something I was careful about when shopping for his insurance, so I know I was lied to in that case.  His insurance is definitely not the plan I was told it would be.  It sounded too good to be true and it was too good to be true, as is usually the case.

So, my son needs to find insurance that meets his needs.  I have been asking him to come over to my place so we can look into a new plan for him, cancel the plan he has now.  I can’t cancel his insurance because legally I am not allowed.  I also want to see if he qualifies for a federal subsidy on his own, probably the way we can afford the insurance he needs.  I have to pay for his insurance, 100% of it, per the divorce agreement.

He is avoiding me.  Until yesterday, he ignored my phone calls and text messages.  He has done that for weeks.  I would have tried to get his mother involved, but wanted to give Nate a shot first, let him learn how to do it on his own.  I have communicated the reason why it needs to be done this way.  The open enrollment period ends this Saturday.  It has to be started a few days before or else there will be trouble.

They both answered me, partially, yesterday.  When I say partially, both said they received my messages.  So I encouraged her (and said it has to be done) to work with him to get enrollment started in the next two days.  I said I have to approve any plan enrollment before they enroll, as I have to get it approved for my employer to pay their portion.

Crickets.

The challenge isn’t just dealing with the health insurance itself.  This would be difficult if the divorce had never happened.  Dealing with it with all the angst of the divorce is making it a real challenge.  Trying to get both my son and my wife to work on getting the health insurance questions resolved requires patience… and prayer.

A Touch of Sun on a Cloudy Day

Tags

divorce

He called Wednesday before I could call him.  I kicked myself when I had seen his message earlier that afternoon, the chance to get off work early and ride some single track took precedence over anything else.  My intention had been to check in with him in the evening just to see if his plans for Thanksgiving had changed.  When I asked my son a week or two ago, he told me he had to work his job at the sporting goods store.  Of course, his phone call to me could have been an emergency or to get help from me, as it usually is.  Nate does not usually offer to spend time with family, although that has changed since the divorce, family something he seems to value a little more now that part of family is no more.  Prior to the divorce, he was indifferent to family time at holidays, as if he loathed every second, detached and somewhat hostile, a teenage attitude.  He seems to have grown up a bit in the last year, a necessity I suppose, enough that I have felt cautiously encouraged by what he has demonstrated to me in the past few months.

Parenting has always involved guesswork of sorts.  I have never been one to read books on parenting, although I did read James Dobson’s book well before I actually became a parent.  With me, effort far exceeds skill when it comes to being a father, my hope that the time invested in my children will be the value added.  Well aware of my own imperfections and quirks, I want to be the best father I am capable of being.  I have my own father as an example, himself flawed like anyone else, his heart and intentions so strong that even his faults are a valuable strength to me.  I am a version of my father.  I wish I had married a woman as fiercely supportive as my mother was to my father.  My own strengths as a father might be what my children see.  Divorce clouds their perception, I think.. on occasions I hope so.

Divorce also further clouds the confusion of parenting.  I am even more afraid of making a mistake now, the opportunities to make an impact rare.  My children are older, one away in another country, the other lives with his mother.  What exists with them is what came before, as well as their perception of what they know about me now.  That often is not positive, hurtful when I hear it from them.  Nate tends to spew accusations when he is angry, accusations that come from what his mother has said to him, pre and post divorce.  I need to be careful what I say, always have needed to be careful, especially with my son.  When he is angry or wants something, he attacks and will try to use everything he can to “win”.  Over the years, I learned to expect that from him, arguments that were next to impossible to escape when we lived in the same house, often fueled by a wife who encouraged him to keep coming at me.  It came to a point where divorce became the only conceivable option to escape that pain.  I hated the frustration, the struggle with the anger the situations brought on.

Divorce can be a selfish act.  It is a selfish act, but divorce can also be the only way to save self.  Believe me, I did and still do feel selfish at times, but I know that I need to be.  Finding the healthy line between self and selfishness is not so easy.

Early Wednesday evening, I called and left a message, then texted him to see what was up.  I was getting a little worried.  Nate wasn’t returning my calls.  I was concerned that he had an emergency.  He called back around 8:30 PM.. looking for a fight.  Why hadn’t I called to check on him?  He wanted to come to the Thanksgiving dinner at my brother’s, the dinner I had invited him to.  He had to work at 5:30 on Thanksgiving day, so he couldn’t stay long, but he wanted to come.  I told him that would be great — but would he be OK with my lady friend being there?  There was a pause, then he told me he wouldn’t go, then hung up.

I expected that.  He called back, furious.  How could I expect him to be OK with me dating after only a year?  I understand a little.  I don’t expect him to like it.  Even though I have told him I am dating, I have not discussed that with him.  It’s tough and discussing the tough topics is where I am far from perfect.  I don’t know what is the best timing, if there is any, and I am afraid of saying the wrong thing.

I have several friends who have post divorce relationships destroyed by letting children dictate their relationship with their fiancé and second wife.  It’s tough.  One had the wedding called off because he said the wrong thing about his fiancé’s daughter, the other is facing divorce with his second wife for asking his wife to do something about the attitude her daughter was giving him.  Both women were offended, both ended the relationship.  Children don’t see your girlfriend or new wife as family.  They can see them as an intrusion.

My lady friend (thank you, downstairs neighbor, for giving me that term) has been a blessing to me.  After years of neglect, of no support, I have someone who understands the importance of supporting me.  I need to show her the same — and I did just that.

Nate called Thanksgiving morning with an ultimatum — tell my girlfriend that she had to stay home and he would go to Thanksgiving with me.  He was angry with me, said that it was too soon for me to be dating.  I wondered why he brought it up, since he knows I have a girlfriend.  I stayed calm with him because it’s all that works with him, even though he was cursing at me, accusing me of cheating on his mom, all the angst and pent up frustration coming out.  I know my son.  I know how he is going to act when he is angry.  All I can do is listen, not offer up too much as he will jump on everything.  Respect is not something he has been encouraged to have for me, nor has it been expected of him.  He would try to brow beat me, try to turn it into an argument.

I excused myself, told him that I had to take a shower and get ready.  He called back twice.  I finally told him that I was sorry, but he had a choice.  I was not doing something bad to him like he was accusing me of doing.  I was not going to leave my girlfriend at home.  I told him that I was sorry that it was difficult for him.  He was still angry, told me that there was no way he was going to eat Thanksgiving dinner with his mother, aunt, and 96 year old grandparents.  It was my fault that he would be spending Thanksgiving alone.  It was his choice, I told him.   It was, difficult as it was.

I felt bad, but the times of his mother taking his side and forcing me into agreeing are gone.  Neither of them has that power any more.  He called me selfish.  Maybe I am.  As I said, divorce is selfish.  The decision to divorce was tough for that reason, but it was also a time when I knew I needed to do it for myself.  During the course of one of his phone calls to me yesterday, my son asked me how I would have reacted if the shoe was on the other foot, if my father had done what I am doing.  I know the answer to that.  I didn’t answer my son, but I know the answer to his question.  I was not only taught to respect my father, I was expected to respect my father.. not because he had earned my respect (although he did, even in his imperfection.. which I am thankful for both).  My dad deserved my respect because he was my father.  If I were in the same situation as Nate, I would have gone out of respect for my father.  My son doesn’t understand that because he has never been expected or taught to respect me by his mother.  That was so hurtful, so painful during the course of our marriage.  While not perfect, I know I earned respect that was never given.

Despite that drama, it was a good day.  My lady friend looked out of this world good, let me know how much it meant for me to show her that my son was not going to control our relationship.  My father enjoyed the chance to meet her and talk to her.  We had to call them several times to come to dinner, something I was glad to see.  My ten year old niece greeted us at the front door, barely let me out of her sight, saved a chair for me next to her at the table, insisted I play games with her after dinner.  It was cute.  Dad proudly showed me his new truck.  Despite what had happened earlier, I had someone with me who showed me honor, made me feel good about myself.  Will my lady friend be the next chapter for me?  It’s way too early to tell, but she is helping me through this chapter of my life, helping me to feel whole again.  Did I make the right choice when I told my son that I was taking her with me for Thanksgiving no matter what he said?

I wish I knew.  I really do.  Maybe some day I will know.