When Maggie asked about happiness, my alter ego submitted a somewhat cryptic comment. Taken out of context it might be perceived as a cry for help, not the teenage angst laden impression I wanted to leave. Maggie requested an explanation, so here we are. Some sentiments are best not expressed in brevity.

When I first dated the Mister, one thing he mentioned about his previous marriage was how unhappy his partner was. In her mind, he was expected to make her happy. He said it took him years to realize he wasn’t exclusively responsible for another person’s happiness. I’ve never had that expectation of him. Others contribute to my happiness (and he contributes much), but they aren’t responsible for it, that is my burden alone.

There is a tendency for society to measure emotion in absolutes, i.e., it you are not happy than you must be unhappy. Unhappiness may be the opposite of happiness, but it is not the only alternative.

I don’t strive for happiness. Happiness is a bonus, like an unexpected kindness. What I work toward is contentedness and calm. It sounds like an argument in semantics, and even Merriam-Webster is inclined to agree. Happiness IS a state of contentedness, but with additional accessories, like joy and delight.

I am contemplative, sarcastic, brooding, compassionate and grouchy, but it doesn’t mean I’m unhappy. I’m introspective. As long as our world is a playground for war, poverty, and selfishness, I will feel troubled. Those flaws of humanity don’t prevent my happiness, but they inhibit its permanence.

I try to be calm when negative things happen and content with my life (not complacent, I WILL work to improve things). The desire to be calm might not seem like much of an aspiration, but it is useful. I try to accept the world is bigger than me, there are needs greater than mine, and when someone does me ill, it isn’t always personal. By not taking things so personally, I can conserve energy for something worthwhile, that expended under the pretense of indignant anger is just a waste.

I commented to Maggie, happiness was more elusive than calm and contentedness, and often depended upon utterly ridiculous things. Brief glimpses of humanity make me happy, watching the two-year old next door pee on his father’s roses, laying on the sofa with my head in my partner’s lap, watching police officers eat ice cream, and hearing a pearl of wisdom escape the mouth of a an eight year-old. Maybe these things are ordinary, but they make me smile and the shift the momentum of my day. Happiness can come from great things, but I treasure the joy that arrives unexpected.

Completing a drawing, painting or collage makes me happy, but happiness seldom drives me to start the project in the first place. Instead the desire to create is usually driven by those other bastards, contemplation, brooding, and voicelessness, but they don’t make me unhappy.

The abbreviated version of Monday’s appointment yielded no additional deterioration of the spine since my mother’s last appointment (2004) with this physician. The doctor didn’t find any evidence of additional nerve damage or compressed discs. He diagnosed the source of her pain as tendonitis in the hip and prescribed six weeks of physical therapy. If the pain level doesn’t return to a tolerable level, she is to make an appointment with a different specialist she saw in July. No news (in regard to her spine) is very good news.

This appointment was a reminder of how much time I have spent in the dark. Actually how much time I have opted to spend in the dark. Because I am a private person, I approach others as if there preferences resemble my own. I don’t dig deeply for information if it is evident someone doesn’t want to share (yet another reason I’m not mother material). If body language indicates a need to talk, I ask, but I don’t push.

My mother is a closed person when it comes to her medical limitations. She is a proud woman and doesn’t want anyone to worry about her, know how much pain she has, or how much medication she takes. I have respected her comfort levels in the past, but I need to reconsider this. She is more easily rattled than she was ten years ago, she has the attention span of a two-year old, and she gets fixated on problems and doesn’t listen to input. Her mental capacity is still in tact, but when there is additional stress, she has trouble keeping her information straight.

By sitting in the exam room and listening to both the doctor and his PA, I learned more about my mother’s condition than I had known. I saw the x-ray of her spine and the scoliosis curve (holy shit!). I learned the appointment was made because she is experiencing pain in her right leg from her hip to the top of her foot, and some pain in her left leg from hip to knee. I also learned that in her July appointment with a different doctor in the the same practice (this Dr implanted a nerve stimulator into her right hip 3-4 years ago to help with pain management), she didn’t bother to mention the pain in her leg, only that she wanted the nerve stimulator taken out. Apparently she didn’t mention why, and he didn’t ask.

Monday’s doctor chided her a little for not keeping her medical team informed of changes in her condition. I admit I was a little bumfucked at her lack of disclosure. Rather than berating her like a petulant child with a milk mustache, it seems I will need to be more proactive and knowledgeable about her care.

I’m not going to lie (I promised myself I would always be honest with myself on this blog, even if I chose to be coward in real life), I’m not looking forward to being involved. I’ve seen the writing on the wall watching my in-laws advance in age, and isn’t pretty. I would like to protect my mother from the inevitable clusterfuck of communication that will occur, if my siblings and I choose not to chaperone. I don’t want that for her or anyone else.

September 22, 2007 3:15AM

Mister Hombre is sleeping quietly in bed. Which is exactly where I should be, but I’m not because I’ve already spent wasted three hours trying to fall asleep. There are a host of reasons why I can’t. Stars are improperly aligned, too hot then cold, cannot beat my pillow into submission, the Mister is gently snoring, SOMEONE is passing SBDs, and apprehension about Monday. None of the reasons are acceptable.

I’m struggling to identify myself as an adult. Yeah, I can usurp the title based on technicality. I can vote, drink, rent a car, have kids(okay, maybe not a good example since this ability has little to do with emotional maturity), and pay taxes. But these things don’t make me feel like a grown up. They are age defined rites of passage, which are optimistic of maturity, not guarantees. You could probably argue that marriage is a forum for grown ups, but it’s difficult to concede since my husband still chases me around the coffee table.

Continued: September 23, 2007 2:12PM

Monday, it’s my responsibility to be an adult, and I’m worried I won’t live up to everyone’s expectations. I’ll be accompanying my mother on a long awaited doctor’s appointment. In the past my sister has done this. Now, it’s my turn. I’m not complaining about responsibility. I don’t abandon obligations. I’m concerned about whether I will ask enough questions or the right ones. Deep down, I know that’s all I can do for her.

She attempted to make this appointment in May, they gave her a date in July, then the office postponed it until September. Knowing what a stubborn woman my mother is, knowing because I have half her genes, she probably NEEDED this appointment in January.

I can’t account for the different types of surgeries my mother has had. Maybe that makes me a thoughtless person. But I know she would rather me remember her strength and integrity than her medical history. She is in constant pain, whether sitting, standing, walking, or lying down. Watching her move makes me wince, but I know she does exactly what she feels she can, even at the risk of overdoing.

Part of me believes my sister is better suited to the task that awaits. Not that I don’t want to spend nine hours in the car with a nervous chain smoker listening to Yanni. My sister is very compassionate, if over-dramatic. She’s a better source of comfort than I am. I can’t see how my muttering “fuck” under my breath will be particularly consoling. Completely characteristic, but not the best demonstration of compassion.

I’m not presuming I know what the doctor will say, but I doubt that he will say anything my mother wants to hear. She is ready for better, more tolerable, and she deserves it. We all deserve to live free from physical pain, but life doesn’t always bend to your will, regardless of how stubborn you are.

Five years ago, I woke up in a strange bed with my intended laying beside me. We had driven past midnight the previous evening until we reached our beach cottage. It was our last journey as illicit lovers lost in the ignorance that characterizes bliss. We awoke, had coffee, wrote vows together and met with our officiant.

We had a relaxed day, with lunch and rented scooter. An unmemorable prelude for many, but one I recall vividly. At sunset, we met the officiant and walked onto the beach barefoot at sunset to exchange vows to the cheers of observers in a neighboring cottage. In the blazing orange and pinks of the setting sun, we began our committed life together.

It’s difficult to believe how much time has passed. Trapped in the fog of second guessing (which most do, and are seldom secure enough to admit), I’ve often wondered, what if I had not pledged my loyalty to him? Would I have been someone other than who I am now or in a location other than this? All the visions are remarkably empty, there is no one else, only me. I can’t conceive of a life with any other. As a wise woman once told me,”I don’t think there is a better deal waiting for me, just more work.”

I knew it wouldn’t be easy when I said, I do, but I had no idea what the difficulty would entail or that it would be larger than our tiny union. It would be his baggage and my baggage. Neither of us propagates drama, but both of us are dragged onstage by family.

I haven’t been involved long enough to offer any sage advice of my own. I know there are phases in relationships that you can’t adequately prepare for. Even if offered a courtesy heads up, intoxicated by new love, you wouldn’t conceive that you would say or hear such callous words in the presence of your mate. Sooner or later, we all surprise ourselves.

I would be deceiving myself if I didn’t acknowledge love was easier in the beginning when it only included the two of us. His family was unaware, my family was suspicious but uninformed, and our personal friends were neatly compartmentalized.

Easier is not always better, just shallower. Now I know more of him. I better understand his longing for camaraderie, and his uncertainty about seeking it out. I appreciate and benefit from his compassion. I respect his loyalty to family, though it doesn’t change my approach to relationships. I feel honored he wants to be with me, bordering the edge of smothering.

Happy Anniversary, Hon. May we continue to rise to the occasion. Relishing the good, without giving in to the bad. I know it hasn’t been easy, and it won’t be. Anything worth having, is seldom given, and always requires work to maintain.

Thanks everyone for your good wishes. Your kind sentiments were effective in influencing the weather, and we enjoyed seven wonderful days of pleasant temperatures and mostly clear skies with only a few stray drops of rain. Not wanting to be overwhelmed by a quintessential tourist vacation, I asked for suggestions about the best places to explore that are often overlooked by travelers. Not only did you have awesome suggestions, but you even took me on a guided hike.

Our trip was a mixture of touristy things like, Pikes Place Market, the Museum of Flight, a ferry ride, and more subdued activities, such as the waterfront trail at the Washington Park Arboretum, and driving through the mountains to Oregon.

The Mister and I have different taste in rental cars. But he agreed to do all the driving so what could I say, other than, “Sure I’ll be happy to read the map as long as you don’t drive in the wrong direction down one way streets.” Only once…almost…thank goodness for speedy u-turns.

Meno was kind enough to take us on a guided hike elevated walking path to Rattlesnake Ridge. Okay, so she didn’t call it a hike, but since the average elevation climb where I live is less than fifty feet, I’m going to embellish and call it a hike because the view was spectacular. It was nice chatting with Meno again. It sucks living so far away, but at least blogging makes the world more accessible.

Yes, Meno is as tall as she claims, and me…I am not.

We took the ferry to Bainbridge Island. I noticed this homemade bow on the shore near the boat marina. It wasn’t very long, maybe two-feet, but it reminded me of the ones I used to make as a kid. I like finding signs of humanity and imagination. Many of the places we visited had wild blackberries growing along paths (Cannon Beach, Bainbridge Island, the Arboretum, and the trail to Rattlesnake Ridge.) They were the snack of choice.

We went Chittenden Locks in Ballard to watch the boats, but the Mister was utterly captivated watching the salmon jump. If we had more time, he would have probably chosen to spend the day there. Afterward, we walked along a waterfront trail at the Washington Park Arboretum. It wove around the water and over small islands. There were plenty of blackberries to fight off hunger pangs. On the way back to the car, we walked up on three women trying to kidnap a duck. They were armed with a fishing net and an empty diaper box. It reminded me of home.

When we drove to Oregon it was overcast and hazy so the pictures were blah. We ate at Camp 18, where I was able to photograph Sasquatch, just for Liv. We stopped at Ecola State Park, overlooking Cannon Beach, Mister Hombre almost stepped on a bunny. Nope that isn’t a euphemism. This little guy was familiar with humans.

On the last full day of our trip, Egan mentioned the Museum of Flight. I knew if I told the Mister, we would spend the entire afternoon there (and did). The Mister is a flyboy at heart, and it would have been wrong not take him.

The trip was everything I hoped. Actually it was better…

All thumbnails can be enlarged by clicking on them.