Ok, first the good stuff: Lydia had her babies, December 1. Anastasia Marie was born first, and was 4 lbs 1 oz. Ilyana Rose was 4 lbs 3 oz. They're beautiful, no problems except that they were small. And they are beautiful. Well, as beautiful as one might be when one looks like Winston Churchill. :-)
The not-so-good stuff is VERY not-so-good. I can't go into the whole mess here, but the thumbnail sketch that through a variety of things (including what appears to be some inappropriate collusion between two parties), David and Lydia lost custody of the girls. They were made wards of the court, and are now in foster care- specifically in the care of David's mom. We had to turn the girls over one Christmas day, from the hospital. They have not yet even been to their home.
I cannot express how heartsick the kids and I are about this. But after the initial shock and numbness, I've found myself dealing with some serious anger. Angry at the situation and the things that contributed to it. Angry at several people who I felt were very unfair. Angry at the two who I feel are playing dirty.
I don't like feeling angry- it makes me very uncomfortable. And I certainly don't think of myself as a violent person, yet I find myself wanting to strike out. I'm very protective of my friends and family, and here's something so devastating, that strikes at the very heart of my immediate family. I've joked about 'opening up a can of Molly Weasley Whup-Ass', and 'reaching for my can opener'... but it is only partly a joke.
I don't know how to deal with anger. I've spent most of my life suppressing it, feeling like I can't express it, until I explode- sometimes on the person who deserves it, but frequently not. At 46, I still don't know how to deal with anger in a healthy way. And I don't have the faintest idea how to change that.
It's the sort of thing that one would think can't be settled through one's faith. That presents me with some problems. I've been attending an Episcopal parish near home since May. I started going because James is so active in the ECUSA- I figure I'd better get used to it and feel more comfortable in church, or it will cause problems between us. I am feeling more comfortable- for years I could not stand being in church, the memories were so negative. But the services are different enough that I only occasionally have to grip the pew because the urge to bolt for the door is welling up.
The problem is, I'm still feeling... wobbly on issues of faith. I'm teetering on the edge of a militant agnosticism ('I don't know, and you don't either'), and as I sit during the prayers of the people and confession, I don't know if anyone hears me, or cares, or if saying 'I'm angry, and I feel it's wrong, and I want to stop, but I need help' is what I should say. I mean, I've always thought that true repentance requires an intention to stop doing whatever it is that you're repenting of. And I'm not sure that's what I'm doing. Especially when I'm angry at someone who is not likely to stop what they're doing, and probably intends to continue pissing me off. How do I forgive someone who knowingly hurts me and my loved ones?
So that is what I'm grappling with- me and my stomach lining against my anger. Here's to hoping I can resolve this soon. In the meantime, if anyone has any ideas for me, drop a line in the comments, or email me (address is in left column). I'd appreciate the input.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
An Tir's Twelfth Night Coronation was last weekend, conveniently enough here in Eugene. I went, though I only made it for the Laurel meeting and the butt-numbing court. (Honestly, I think an hour or two break between last court and coronation is a good idea- especially for those of us who really can't go for six hours without food.) After court, James and I took off. Changed our clothes, got dinner at McMenamin's High Street Cafe, and saw a movie. ('The King's Speech'- and it was GOOD. Colin Firth richly deserves the Oscar that he's going to get.) And then we went back to our room, feeling rather Garbo-like ("I vant to be left alone.")
There's a lot of people I would have liked to have seen and visited with, and I was a dork and didn't make it down to the A&S room as I'd planned. I was tired and considering the past few weeks' stress, crashing really was not unexpected.
The strange thing was though, is one of my friends told me this week that she'd tried to find me in the evening after court, and after asking around, was told by several people that they 'didn't know where she was partying at'.
This really has me thinking about events and what we expect is enjoyable. I didn't think that I had any sort of reputation for partying, and it occurs to me that that was why no one had any idea where I was at- precisely because I don't have a reputation for partying.
My idea of a nice evening at an event (mostly camping) is throwing a big dinner party (period food, natch), with plenty of food, some carefully chosen wine, and ypocras and maybe some sherry with the dessert course. Besides the usual group of friends, I like to invite new people, some simply grabbed earlier in the day, to mix things up a bit and expand my circle of friends. I've been told that invitations to my dinner parties are prized.
There's no 'partying' at my parties. no tequila shots, no boozewhacker and iced drinks, no 'tiki viking' or 'toga' themes, and no throwing up in the bushes. There is, however, stories, discussions on research and theories and ideals, and sometimes conversations about what we do as a Society, why we play, what we think about peerage, and what it means to us to play this game.
To me, this is a Good Time. What alcohol is consumed enhances the food and our enjoyment of it. It may be something of a 'lubricant' to the conversations, but the booze is not the point of the party.
Is this why people didn't know where I was? Because they couldn't imagine where I would be and who with, because I don't 'party' per se?
Made me think. And I thought the rest of you would be interested in what I think. (I may be overestimating myself in this, but hey...)