Knock on wood

Posted by Elizabeth in Daily April 23, 2010

What is it about bragging? It’s why we knock on wood, isn’t it? It’s why we say to others, “I don’t want to jinx it, but…” and it’s why we like to occasionally put on a smug smile and talk a big game.

I’ve been bragging lately, and it hasn’t turned out well.

Over the last month or so I have talked here about how well I’m doing. I have touted my medications, my therapy, my wonderful doctor and I’ve shouted from the blogging-tops that “I’m CURED!” I bragged, y’all, and I jinxed myself.

Last weekend we had our spring Cotillion – a weekend full of parties and crowds and drinks and fun – and overall I did pretty well on the anxiety front. The only time I really felt panicked was during Saturday’s night formal dinner, when the building staff forgot to turn on the air conditioning, I was sweating like a pig, and the other seven people at my table were very obviously staring at my dripping hair and running makeup. I’m hot. I can’t help it. That’s beside the point though; I got too hot, I got too self-conscious, I took every sideways glance personally and I let my crossed brain wires get the better of me. I was disappointed in myself, I took it hard and I almost let it ruin my night. The horrible woman sitting next to me asked inappropriate questions, made disparaging remarks to me about me, and before you could say Xanax I was in the bathroom hiding, frantically drying my hair and face with a paper towel. It was a sight to behold.

I haven’t been sleeping as well as I was for a while there and I wonder if it’s because subconsciously I’m worried about becoming dependent on my sleep aid. And I think, too, that I honestly feel a little naked without my cloak of anxiety – it has exposed me to some degree and now I feel like I’m on display, except this time I’m supposed to be displaying perfection, anxiety-cured cheerful perfection. I’m not that good an actress.

Don’t get me wrong; I really do feel so much better in the majority of panic-inducing situations. I can drive in heavy traffic, I can be in a crowd without feeling terrified and it’s been a while since I was completely convinced that I was dying of a heart attack. For the most part, I’m coasting along pretty well.

But it’s those moments when I don’t feel so good that I think I didn’t knock on wood quite hard enough. Did I say too much too soon? Is that really even real? My friends know mostly all there is to know about me – I mean, I think we’ve established here that my life is an open, boring book. At the first meeting of my book club a couple of months ago, I told a then-stranger that I had a blog and that it was about panic and anxiety. I said this with a straight face almost daring her to raise an eyebrow. She didn’t, and I sat back and felt high on the hog because anxiety’s my THING, man. It’s mine, I own it, I feel it, you don’t, watch me tackle it and conquer it and make you jealous because I’m a strong girl with the big girl panties who dealt with it.

I think we all know that’s a front. I talked a big game and now I’m paying for it.

I don’t really blame myself for this current state of mind so much as I blame my disorder as a whole. If I were normal, if I were sane, if I were this perfect or that put-together I wouldn’t be right here in the first place. But I am. My anxiety is my addiction and right now I have relapsed. The pull is too strong, the drug is too good. Excuses come too easily.

I started bragging, and it bit me in the ass.

Today is a really, REALLY good day.

Posted by Elizabeth in Family, Good Stuff, Rejoicing, Totally normal April 21, 2010

Today is my father’s birthday. He is 70 years old today, and I can’t stop telling everyone I see. All the people I’ve talked to in the last week or so know that today is his birthday, they know that we’re eating a super fancy schmancy I-don’t-have-clothes-for-this dinner tonight, and that I’ve been struggling over what to give him for months.

Without doing a ton of fact checking, I can say with a fair amount of certainty that he is the first in his family to reach the age of 70 in at least three generations. It’s quite a feat.

He lost his father when he was 9. He lost his brother to cancer when his brother was in his 50s, he lost his sister in her early 60s and his mother – who had a heart attack on a park carousel on my birthday in 5^th grade – was in her late sixties. This is a big deal.

For reasons I won’t go into, I don’t know a lot about my father’s childhood. There are a few stories here and there, occasionally a reference to how young he was when he had to become “the man of the farmhouse,” but for all intents and purposes, his life is a mystery up until he married my mother. Or it was until I found pictures of him this week.

In some, he is a teenager, posing sullenly with his mother and sisters, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than in front of the camera. In others, he has a mischievous smile and is obviously fidgety. My favorite is the one where he looks like Jack Nicholson, grinning as if he just told a dirty joke. (He probably had.)

Because he doesn’t read this, I can tell you that we are giving him an engraved watch tonight at dinner. To him it will probably be just another gift to file away in his “man box” on the dresser (what are those called, anyway? they aren’t jewelry boxes, are they?). To my brother it will be a thank-goodness-you-took-care-of-that-for-me gift. For me, it will be a reminder that he has been given – divinely or not – more time to spend here on Earth, cranky as ever, suffering from allergies, frustrated at his computer, and loving his children more than he will ever allow himself to express.

I love you, Daddy. Happy birthday.

A love like ours

Posted by Elizabeth in Good Stuff, Lucille & Charles, Muse, Rejoicing, Totally normal April 15, 2010

We’ve had a troubled relationship, you and I. I laid eyes on you for the first time and knew that I was in love with you, but I also knew that you’d break my heart. I looked at your face, I looked into your eyes and when you cocked your head at me, I smiled and that was it.

The first sign of trouble was the first month I knew you. The timing wasn’t always right, we thought we’d have more space than we did, and we weren’t as devoted to each other as we hoped. But you and I gradually found a routine and it worked. The time we spent together was precious, and I woke up every day loving you a little bit more. I didn’t think it was possible to open my heart as big as I did, but I just couldn’t help it.

On our first anniversary there were people with us to celebrate, and you looked like you always do: assured and confident and – though not on purpose – a little aloof. You felt comfortable in your skin and you loved being the center of attention, even if you wouldn’t admit it. I’ve never been more proud of you.

There are times you exasperate me, there are times you betray me, and there are times you behave poorly. We both know this, but our love transcends the hard moments and we still look into each other’s eyes and love resides there. I’m not the only one to feel this way about you; you worked your way into two hearts and you’ve stayed there.

Today, on your birthday, I count the years and want three times as many. I want you to feel free, but I want you to always come home to me. I want to bury my face in your fur, scratch your sweet little head and feel your cold nose on mine.

We’ve had a troubled relationship, you and I. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Happy 6^th birthday, Lucy and Charlie. I love you both immeasurably, and yes, I know that makes me crazy.

Art Interrupted

Posted by Elizabeth in Good Stuff, Muse, WTF? April 14, 2010

Suffice it to say, I am not an artist. I’ve never tried to be one, it’s never been on my list of things-to-do-before-I-keel-over-from-sarcasm, and when faced with a pencil and a blank piece of paper, I stare at them and think what a pretty piece of clean paper and a nice little pencil.

When I decided that I wanted to do an art project with some students, I leaned heavily on a very generous painting instructor who told me what supplies to buy, where to get them, and bargained with me for half of the presentation. (It wasn’t a hard sell.) I spoke a little bit about leadership qualities and he spoke a lot about how being a leader is an art.

Some of us partnered up, some of us painted alone and all of us were surprised at the results. Judge for yourself:

It’s Not a Good Idea to Make Fun of Rednecks If…

Posted by Elizabeth in Family, Farm, Good Stuff, Listing, Totally normal April 12, 2010

If you read Anna over at abdpbt, you might have read this post about the Masters this past weekend, and Augusta National Golf Course. She made some comments about the South that I took issue with – and then I uploaded my pictures from this weekend. When I commented on Anna’s blog I was all Hey, don’t hate on Southerners man!

But after checking out the pictures from the oyster roast at our family farm Saturday night, well… I might better keep my mouth shut.

So in an attempt to be the kind of person that laughs at herself, I am hereby making a list in pictures: “It’s Not a Good Idea to Make Fun of Rednecks If…”