Category Archives: co-dependence

The case of the tragic M&Ms

A handful of M&Ms sat side by side in a cut glass bowl.  They are tempting, and offered to me repeatedly – even urged on me.  I decline. But, everybody loves chocolate, you will say. And you are right.  Even I love chocolate, but I am allergic. Ah, you murmur, “that is tragic.” Not so. A simple, specific food allergy is something you can remedy immediately.  A tragedy leaves you helpless, wounded, hopeless. 

The M&Ms treasured in my antique heirloom bowl stand for misunderstanding and misinformation; miscommunication and misguided. I once knew an older woman who would attempt to mend broken relationships with the platitude, “It doesn’t matter. That was just a misunderstanding.”  To which I say, “It does matter!” It was far more than misunderstanding.  No amount of re-phrasing will clear up misguided misinformation!

A few weeks ago, Novel Matters linked up a video presentation on cultural misunderstandings of poverty vs middle class vs affluence. You might think of it as the tragic case of M&Ms and Money. It was hugely informative to understanding the differences in background we bring to relationships.  Listening to Dr Ruby Payne speak cast an illuminating spotlight back over the decades of my upbringing and subsequent relationships.   I found myself thinking, “if I had only known.”

Money, as researchers have told us over and over, is one of the major conflict triggers in  relationships. We could probably recite the list together:  Money, Children, In-laws, Sex, Expectations, Religion….  For this post the other one that makes the list of tragic M&Ms is Marital intimacy.

Rarely do I agree 100% with a speaker, book or movie. I wonder how many relationships could be salvaged, healed or immunized if the video that follows went viral?  True to the 2,000 year legacy of the name, Mars Hill, the video that follows clears up misinformed, misguided, misunderstood, miscommunicated belief.

If you are a woman who has been shamed for desire, suffered the contempt of those who were misinformed, or deprived by pornography; let the healing begin.

Let Him Kiss Me

When networking with friends is wonderful

I reconnected with a high school classmate, someone I had not seen for forty years. We were never close in high school, but I knew her well enough for several years to feel that she was a solid person and probably was unchanged in essential ways like integrity and sense.

We now get together two or three times a year. We have an uncanny list of things in common. It would be fun to get together often. But, the years have run their course and no matter where we move, we continue to be separated by a few hundred miles.

As our friendship was re-forming, she offered me a side job representing her in a minor way. I was honored that she thought of me.  The duties required a good deal of trust. Though I am sure this was one of her reasons for re-initiating the acquaintance, she did not drop me like a hot potato when I declined.

Unlike the various relationships I criticized in my “Why I loathe friendship evangelism and network marketing,” posts; our friendship has continued – without either of us trying to manipulate the other with shame for not meeting expectations; without using and discarding; and certainly without added isolation. Friendships are wonderful. Networking can have great result. Do it right! It is not necessary to use friendships only for personal gain and discard them when no longer needed. 

I loathe friendship evangelism and network marketing: Part III, used and discarded

The place was Nashville. The reason?  Dove awards. Already that year I had been to Christian Artist’s Seminar in the Rockies and CBA Convention. I was a songwriter. My goal was to make and maintain friendships in the music publishing industry.  I had no money to do this on my own, but some mentors who had succeeded in publishing wanted the best for me and arranged for me to be there.

I bolstered my confidence and utter aloneness by dressing for success and headed toward the convention hotel lobby and breakfast. She must have been watching for the likes of me. Her reason for being in Nashville was a business trip with her husband. They had the wealth associated with Texas oil.  Awhile back she had written a few stanzas of lyrics that ought to be made into a song. When she arrived in Nashville and found a songwriter’s convention was afoot, she secured a premium, at the door, ticket and waltzed right in; sat right down.

Her friendliness was disarming.  She wanted to know everything about the music industry. “You’ve done this before?” she asked.  “Tell me everything you know.  Come on, I’ll buy you breakfast.”  Always ready to help and always ready to share knowledge, I followed her into the breakfast lounge. Also, always considerate of budget – mine or others-I ordered a modest muesli. She had an entrée with sides.

As the time allocated for breakfast drew to a close, a music executive whom I knew from previous conventions stopped by and greeted me.  I made introductions. My erstwhile breakfast companion rose and attached herself to him as he exited the breakfast room.  Guess who picked up the tab?

I felt used and discarded. I do not like friendship solely for network marketing.

A Friday Fiction Mashup wherein two speakers try on well known roles to make truth into fiction.

“She left me!”  the heart rending and spine-tingling wail echoed from the darkness of the cavern like Rachel weeping for her children.

“She’s gone!” No, make that like Gollum weeping for his Precious.

“She left me, my Precious.”

“There, there.  Calm down,” said the traveler.  Maybe it’s not so bad as all that.  Perhaps your precious is just lost and you need to go and find her.”

“No. No.  She left me!  My precious left me.”

“Why did she leave you?  Did you hit her?”

“No. No.  Hitting is wrong.  I would never hit my precious.”

There was silence in the darkness.  Then the wail began again.

“Make her come back.  Make my precious come back.  She left me.”

Patiently, the voice from the darkness asked again, “Why did she leave you?  Did you take another lover in her place?”

“She left me.  Didn’t you hear me?  She left me.”

The wail melted into heaving sobs like a scoop of ice cream slowly spreading into a puddle. The wail continued in a murmur,

“Happy we were, in our little cave, away from the noise and crush of the crowds.”

“Well then, was she isolated, lonely?” prodded the voice.

“No. No.  Not lonely.  We had each other.”

“In the darkness?”

“No, not always darkness.  She had a lamp. Only darkness now because I spend my days exploring the dark part of the cave. Around the corner and up about 50 paces there is a fissure in the rock where the sunshine streams in. Precious loved that place.  There is a back exit to the cave through a lemon squeezer. Precious used to climb through the lemon squeezer and go hike along the tiny stream.  She said the running water sang to her and showed her wonderful things.”

“So, Precious really loved this place?”

Oh yes, loved this place, did Precious. And I.”

“So, if your precious loved this place so much, why did she leave?”

“I don’t know.  She left me, my precious!”

“I know, I know, your precious left you,” said the voice with quiet annoyance.  “I am trying to figure out why.  If we can figure out why, perhaps we can take some steps to get your precious back.”

“She belongs here.  She should come back.”

There was a pause in the blackness.  After some thought, the traveler asked, “Did your precious ever get away from the cave?  You know, go down to Metropolis for concerts or shopping?”

“Every day!”  he wailed.

“What?  Precious went shopping every day?  This is an unexpected development.”

“No, no.  Precious left me and went to work every day. She didn’t love the cave as much as I did or she would not have been able to leave,” he stated petulantly.

“Precious left you everyday to go to work?”  inquired the voice.

“Yes, yes,”  he wailed, “Precious, stubborn Precious.  She wanted me to go to work everyday too.  She said the only way we could keep living in our wonderful cave was for both of us to work.  That’s not true. This cave belongs to me!

“So, you didn’t want to go to work?”

“No. No.  It is more important to hold tightly to the things you have than to work for something better.”  He paused for emphasis, then continued,

“It wasn’t possible for me to go to work.  I was busy working here in the cave.  There were so many tunnels I hadn’t yet explored. I found some fascinating stones and minerals in the lower tunnel and I needed to catalog them.”

“Are you a mineralogist then?”

“Me?  No. I’m a  horticulturalist….I just know a lot about minerals because, my precious, she came with a degree in mineralogy when I married her.”

“So, she went to the city every day to work as a mineralogist?”

“No, she was just typing orders for a bakery.”

“Do you think it bothered her that you got to stay at the cave doing research in mineralogy while she was away typing bakery orders?”

“Why would she leave the cave every day if it bothered her? What it all comes down to is, you do the thing you are interested in.  I had more heart for the cave than she did. You only do what you want to do.”

There was a moment of silence as the traveler shrugged along with the man.

“Besides, while my precious was doing her little bakery job, I was conducting an experiment and was deep in research.”

“Oh?” said the voice.

“Yes.  I noticed I had to stoop to bring the rocks from the lower tunnel to daylight to look at them.  I was collecting data to find which way of carrying rocks made me stoop least.”

“I see,” nodded the voice. “What did Precious think about your experiment?”

“See?” wailed the man, “I just realized she was never supportive of my work! She was a woman, so she was shorter. How could she know how difficult it was for me to bring up rocks?  She didn’t have to stoop.”

Again, there was silence.

“One other question,” began the voice. “Just out of curiosity, how did that work when your, uh, precious came home from the city each evening; did you have a fresh garden salad on the table for her?”

“What?” asked the man with a good deal of incredulity as though he had never heard the word salad before.

“A salad,” repeated the voice. “You are a stay-at-home horticulturalist.  Did you greet her with a fresh green meal at the end of the day?”

“I didn’t have time,” said the man indignantly.

“I worked hard at my research, right on into the evening. But, she never appreciated that.  Most of the time I wasn’t aware of her arrival.  At first when she came home from the bakery, she used to call down the tunnel, ‘Hi!  I’m home!’ But after a while she quit doing that. Once after she had finally fixed us dinner and we had eaten, she asked me to do the dishes.”

“Really?” inquired the voice.

“I told her it made me feel less of a man to be doing dishes.”

“Did she apologize?”

“Are you kidding?  She didn’t say a thing. The next night when I came up to the kitchen, there was no food on the table.  She should have been home for two hours already. The dishes were clean and neatly stacked in the cupboard.  She was gone.”

The silence was pregnant with profound thought. At least it seemed that way, until the man burst out,

“Maybe she wanted to be a Goblin Princess.”

“A Goblin Princess?  That is highly illogical.  Logic says Precious was more inclined to be Superwoman than a goblin princess.”

“It was those goblins who stole her!”

“What?  She was kidnapped?  Why didn’t you report it?  Set your ship at warp speed and go after her?”

“I did go after her.”

“Did you find her?”

“Not exactly, but I found out about her – more than I wanted to know. I waited a few months to see if she would find her way back on her own. Then, I told my friends and asked them what I should do. I wrote her a letter begging her to come back, but I couldn’t find a stamp. Can you believe it? She didn’t leave me any stamps in the drawer. Finally, somebody offered me a ride back to University Town where I heard she was living.”

“Did you go?”

“I went to University Town, but, I didn’t get to see her.  I ran into an old friend instead. We had been enemies for many years; but, when he saw me back in town, he slapped me on the back and was glad to see me. He said he knew things about what my precious had been before she found me.  He said she used to be a Goblin Princess,” the man fairly spat the words.  Then he added self-righteously, “Once a goblin princess, always a goblin princess, you know.”

“You were satisfied with that story?  You lived with her for over a decade and you think she actually left you to be a goblin princess?”

“I guess so. Why else would she leave me? It makes sense.  She always did have goblin tendencies.  They love rocks, you know. I remember now how she always loved rocks.”

The man sighed heavily. Once again the wail began to build.  The traveler with the questions covered his ears and retreated to the mouth of the cave and the sunlight.  When the echo subsided, he stepped back into the cavern.

“Say,”  he said. “I came through University Town yesterday. I was there for the gem and mineral symposium at the college.  I think I saw your precious. You might like to know that she is not a goblin princess.  She was the guest lecturer on the hidden value of gold and rubies and how to tell the difference between the real thing and the fake.”

Copyright © Cherry Odelberg, 2013

If you enjoyed this story, you might also enjoy Hell or Love and Let me tell you a parable, from Before I Went Crazy

Bear bells, being who you are and owning your power

IMG_2845-2The purpose of wearing bear bells, is to let the bear know who you are.  You are a human. In some ways, you have more power than the bear.

The purpose of being yourself is to let people know who you are. You own certain power. If you cloak your abilities and bury your desires, when they do come out, it startles those around you.

When your power or intelligence bursts forth – and it will – it surprises the ones you are next to.  They explode.  They either shatter in a million pieces or attack you.

Other people, less powerful, less charismatic, more nonchalant, may be able to  confront and stand up to the same people with impunity; for all along, they have been gently jingling bear bells. If you, who have kept hidden and unnoticed, do the same thing; they explode and attack you.

Surprise and defensive attack happens if you don’t wear bear bells. If you are wearing bear bells and you come in range of a bear; the bear might be quietly picking berries and it hears this unwelcome sound of a human approaching.  Instinctively, subconsciously, the bear moves down the berry bushes in the other direction because the bear does not want to be near the powerful human.

Is that what you are afraid of?  Other people going away? Sneaking up on people only fools them for a little while.  Be honest about who you are. Shed the furtive, covert, secretive and live openly.  If the bear does not hear the human, if the human sneaks up on the bear, the bear is startled and attacks.

Perhaps in the past, someone told you that you need to take a backseat and let them lead.  If you are a woman, others may have indicated that it is wrong, unfeminine for you to lead.  And so, you cloak your charismatic leadership.  But it does not go away.  It is hidden, stuffed down.

Andrea in Peru
Andrea in Peru

Exercise your leadership

Own your power

Step up to the plate with your gifts

The bears will move away from you

This post was inspired by a Spring Break 2012 conversation with my daughter, Andrea. Andrea is a Christian anthropologist, fascinated (as am I) with philosophical discussions and what makes people tick. She also knows how to love and encourage more than anyone I know. 

The story from my tombstone

Must have lived nine lives
Must have lived nine lives

Cat extracted herself from the pavement, like a frugal parent peeling fruit leather from the paper; anxious to get every morsel. “Geeeeeaawd!”  she yowled, “Again?  Five lives I have lived and you still want more?  Why can’t I just lie down here on the asphalt and call it quits?”

“God isn’t finished with you yet!”  barked Pluto from the door of Hades, “Out, out damned spot!  Go get a life.”

“So when do I get the dog’s life?”  mumbled Cat.

“I never even got to have a normal cat’s life.  What happened to basking in the sun, purring languidly, stretching and strolling?  Oh, I have done my share of arching my back and whipping my tail – and my share of mousing.  There was that year of four and twenty deer mice I threatened to bake in a pie. Oh, yes, I used my keen ears for the cause of music and my instinctive sense of direction to get other people where they needed to go.

“There were masters who required me to play the part of Puss in Boots. There were times I  wore the pants for tom. I have been aloof and unreachable, and have played the role of pretty much every molly in the world. I have foraged for my meals like an ally cat; licked and groomed and preened – and, been neat about my business, with or without the luxury of litter.

“Meouch, I even played the demeaning part of a dog; the come when I whistle, sit, jump, follow me like a puppy, role.  What’s feline about that?

“Aaaah,” Cat purred, “there were two distinct and wonderful lives when I nursed my kittens and carried them by the scruff of the neck. I was good at that.  I enjoyed it so much, I even carried around others’ offspring for a few seasons, including a new generation. It takes a village, you know.”

Often, I walk the narrow ridge atop the fence. In truth, I usually land on my feet when I fall.  But, it’s those times when I get hit by a ton of bricks, or a two ton truck of slander and misunderstanding, that slay me.

Five lives I have lived – maybe six-I’ll have to get the count straight while I still have a life left to live to write about it.  It has been an incredible journey.

My headstone:  Always starting over – must have lived nine lives.

What does your headstone say?

Hell or Love ?

_MG_0201There are many times I have been in need of a confessor.  Someone to whom I can spill out my guilt. One who will not be shocked; who will not tell me that if I just leave off sinning and do it the right way everything will right itself. Ah, you will protest, “We no longer need a high priest.  You can go straight to Jesus.”

But that is precisely who I cannot touch.

So, instead, I will step inside the confessional, the inner closet of my heart; draw the curtain and in the quiet I will weep and rage.  Finally, blubbering, I will whisper,

“Father, I am troubled.”

“Speak what is on your mind, my child.”

“What would you do if your boyfriend said to you,

‘You will marry me or I will make your life miserable’?”

“My daughter, nowadays we know to run fast from this type of man.  He is the type of man who will also make your life miserable if you do marry him.”

“Well, what if your family says,

‘Don’t you love your mother?  Don’t you love your grandma?  Your Mom and Grandma are going to be in agony for the rest of their lives unless you marry him’?”

“Child, you cannot be held responsible for the feelings of your mother and grandmother.”

“But, my mind and heart are such a morass of guilt, shame and confusion.”

“Why are you so troubled, daughter.  Have you already given yourself to this man?”

“Yes, yes I did once.  It was a long time ago. They told me he would send me to hell if I did not accept a relationship with him.”

“Gasp, but did they say nothing of love?”

“Yes, they told me I had to love him with my whole heart or be lost.”

“But did they say nothing of his love for you?”

“Oh, yes, they said I was not worthy of that kind of love.”

“But child, God is love.”

“They told me I couldn’t get to God unless I loved the man first.”

“But you believe in God anyway?”

“Yes, but I still struggle with the son.”

“Did they not tell you that the father and the son are one? You have been told that to get to the father you come through the son. Does not it follow that when you come to the father, you are coming to the son?”

“But that’s not what they said!”

“It doesn’t matter what they said, daughter, it matters what you know. Do you know God?”

“Oh yes, as creator, the essence of which everything is made. The spirit by which everything is held together.”

“And how have you found God to be?”

“God is love.”

“Have you ever considered that really love is all you need?”

“I would like to believe that, but sometimes I can’t feel love at all.”

“It’s not something you have to do at all, child.  It is something I do.  My love is big enough. My love is all you need.”

 

The bunny at my house lives free and uncaged

Cottontail on Monument Trail, September 2012
Cottontail on Monument Trail, September 2012

The bunny at my house lives free and uncaged, hippity hopping at will over an acre or more of desert terrain.  He is a common cottontail – born in the wild in one of the warrens underneath the juniper cedars in my front yard. I see him every morning in the half-light before dawn and every evening at dusk as he scavenges in the flat sandy areas of my small adobe house front, or sniffing his way around the carried stones of the meditation maze in back. He nibbles with delight at the occasional tossed apple core, yet never turns up his nose at the winter starved rabbit brush, scanty saltbrush, or shadscale.

Today, in the fresh scouring of snow, he ventured completely up on the flagstone porch, whiffling in the cold powder.  What did he find there? Some unknown nutrient blown in with the snow?

Some evenings, the bunny arrives while I am playing the piano and he pauses, twitches his ears and looks straight at me through the window glass.  I fancy he likes the vibrations stroking his ears. Frequently, the rabbit is a complete distraction to students sitting at my dining room table for tutoring. While a rabbit might lend to research and discussion of mammals, rodents, or the differences between cottontails and jackrabbits; one rabbit does not facilitate a math lesson for nine-year-olds.

There are actually three that I know of. Occasionally, I see two of them sparring over food or territory in the small clearing. One time a third, and smaller, bunny huddled demurely in a clump of ricegrass, intently observing the contenders.

As dusk fell last week, a nine-year-old piano student looked up sharply from the keyboard, “There’s a rabbit!” she exclaimed.

I ponder relationships
I ponder relationships

“Yes, that’s my bunny.”

“Can you hold him and pet him?”

“No but I see him every morning and night and sometimes he stops to listen to me play the piano.”

“Can you put him in a cage and bring him inside?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“To keep him warm.  It is cold out there.”

“He has a fur coat and long underground tunnels were he keeps warm.  He wants to be out right now.”

When I ponder the bunny in my front yard, some questions cross my mind:

Why would I want to take natural responsibility from the rabbit and smother it with artificial care and provision?

Why do I feel like something or someone belongs to me only if I can control them?

When I cannot control significant people, why do I feel they are no longer mine?

Why is it we want to catch and tame?

Can we not all live free and independent?

In truth, I see this bunny more often than I ever saw bunnies kept in a hutch.  This bunny chooses to hop into my field of vision, forage on my doorstep.  Bunnies in a cage are often forgotten but for chore time.

Part 3: 365 or 366 or 370 days to live revisited: A recap of 2012

It’s all about relationships

Cherry with Andrea, Gunnison May 2012
Cherry with Andrea, Gunnison May 2012

In December of 2011, I glibly typed, “People who have only a year to live spend lots more time with family. They renew old friendships and polish up their relationships… I want to invest in life-long friendships and loving and tending of family.” So far, so good. I spent time with grandkids, my son, my DIL, my parents. It would have been nice to see my two younger children as often as I saw my two old friends.

All four generations
All four generations

Then I wrote,  “There is no time to waste on pursuing or flirting with new relationships.

And it wasn't even on my bucket list
And it wasn’t even on my bucket list

Someone should have asked me: Please explain how you can play gigs at retirement centers, present singing valentines with a quartet, provide private piano lessons and elementary tutoring, be employed as a cashier; without embarking on new relationships?

What I meant was; I will not go chasing men or searching for new best friends.

Actually, a couple friends did question me. They were aghast that I did not feel I needed a man in my life.  I knew better. I know that my singleness is the outcome of two failed marriages.  Ultimately, the culprit in both cases was probably my dependence on the affirmation of a man.

Colorado National Monument Visitor's Center
Colorado National Monument Visitor’s Center

But, what happened was; I found the perfect seasonal job where – gasp – I made new friends.  Now this should not have taken me by surprise. I have a degree in Organizational Management. Over and over in classes such as Praxis of Organizational Health and Growth, I heard: no matter what your field, nor how difficult the labor; it is the people you work with who make it a good job or a bad job.

My summer and autumn months were full of sunshine, enjoyable work, professional relationships, endearing students. And yes, each I had to hold loosely, to stay until it was time for me to go.  Mid-winter approaches. Enough of looking back.  Time to move courageously into the next 365 days. 

I’ll stay until it’s time for me to go. Part 1 of 365 days to live revisited

Andy Williams, Elvis Presley and Neil Diamond crooned, “Then I’ll stay, until it’s time for you to go (Buffy Sainte-Marie).”  Though I am a tenaciously loyal soul, this has been my chosen motto and mission this year.

It is one thing to commit, in marriage, for life.  Quite another to commit wholeheartedly when you don’t know how long the life of a project, activity or job may be.  I am learning, ever so slowly, to hold things loosely, not to base my dreams, goals, or life on any one particular outcome, event or circumstance; not to control the response of another.

I am learning that you cannot force the outcome with relationships; job, social, spiritual, even love.

The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image (Thomas Merton)”

One of the ways I let those I love – including me (because how can you love your neighbor as yourself if you don’t love yourself well enough?) – be perfectly themselves; one of the ways I remember to hold jobs and opportunities loosely; is to go about humming quietly:

tongue in cheekDon’t ask why,

Don’t ask how

Don’t ask forever…

I’ll stay until it’s time for me to go.

Elvis, Neil Diamond, Andy Williams; they sang so convincingly.  Now, the task is to convince myself.