Reflections II

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My mind is not reeling, but it is divided? Is that the right word? Divided?

I stood naked in front of the mirror. I have gained much too much weight in the past two or so years. I'm no longer toned, especially since the onset of the serum sickness. Spraining my ankle has complicated my getting back in shape.

I've told myself to be gentle with my psyche regarding my weight gain and unfitness. I've been through a lot the past few decades. I want the weight to fall off and my tone to come back instantly. But it will take time. Since I had the hip replacement in August, 2008, I've had one thing after another. I feel I've not even fully recuperated from the hip replacement.

It's o.k. to rest.

I got dressed deciding not to put on make-up, though I brought some with me for the workshop. But I really hate wearing make-up. I prefer going bare and just not looking in the mirror often.

It's a good thing that mirrors are not in nature, except for reflections in water. Even then, the reflection isn't exact. It moves. It doesn't show fine lines and details.

I washed the apple I'd bought last night at a convenience store. I'd also purchased some trail mix. I sat on the hotel bed to eat my lunch, the apple and trail mix. I turned on the TV and clicked stations to find the History Channel.

A fascinating program was on, at least fascinating to me, about coin-operated machines...like slot machines and vending machines. I immediately thought of my job.

And then I felt disconnected.

And as I type this I feel confused.

Lisa is trying to discover her identity. She was born in; she has a reason to not know her identity.

I don't have a reason to not know my 'identity'...or at least that is how I feel. It's not actually true, that I don't know my identity. It's not true in the sense that I had lots of so-called freedom as a child. Lisa didn't have that; her every move was to be an act of obedience.

What of my parents? My parents, my parents, my parents. I know they had to influence my life and teach me things. Yet, I feel such a huge void when relating to my parents. Now I only relate in thought and heart. My parents are both deceased.

When I read others' stories and hear what others say about their upbringing what they write about memories, good and bad, regarding their parents and their parents influence; I have a difficult time relating. I draw such blanks...other than....I recall my dad's passion.

He had a passion for nature, in the sense that he enjoyed the outdoors. He golfed and skied and hunted. He introduced me to skiing and somehow to the woods, though I don't recall ever hiking with Dad. We did go on family camping trips when I was 5 years old. Perhaps we went on a few prior to when I was 5 and perhaps some more after I was 5.

Dad loved to dance; he would listen to music and dance in our living room. He used to watch the gospel quartets on TV on Sunday mornings; we didn't go to church often.

Dad used to cry when he and I would watch "Little House on the Prairie." He would quietly allow a tear to trickle down his cheek. I could tell he tried to control it; but I saw his eyes. Something about the goodness in that show touched him.

Dad would get fiery angry too, his face turning red with rage, his veins popping out of his neck, his deep voice boisterously hollering, "God damn it to hell." I remember that phrase. I don't know what he would get angry about.

When I was in my 40s, I learned that he used to beat on of my siblings. The last beating was when my sibling was in high school; they had used Dad's razor. I don't think Dad ever hit me; at least I have no recollection of such.

And then ... it was Dad that came to visit me at Parent's Weekend at The Way College of Emporia. Why just Dad? Why didn't Mom come?

During Parent's Weekend Dad and I went dancing together at some Kansas bar. That weekend Dad decided he'd take The Way's Power For Abundant Living Foundational Class. A month later, he was in a car wreck and became a quadriplegic. At the time, I thought the wreck was the adversary working to keep Dad out of the PFAL Class.

I saw Dad cry again after he could no longer walk or use his hands, like normal people. I sometimes think he felt he had brought the quadriplegia on himself, that his karma had gotten him back.

Dad had a conscience. I think he was an honest man.

Mom memories. I recall her playing with me in a pool when were on one of our vacations in Florida. It seems I was around 6 years old. My brother would have been around 10 and my sister around 12; I think they were somewhere playing what older children would play. I don't recall playing much with brother and sister as a child.

Mom used to rub my back at night; I often wanted a back rub when I laid down to go to sleep with my stuffed animals and my empty baby bottle. I just held the bottle; I didn't suck it. I was embarrassed I still went to sleep with a bottle at 7 years old. I liked it because it was cold.

Mom would lie for me sometimes, when I laid out of school. Sometimes I'd pretend to be sick to not go to school. She knew I wasn't sick, but she went along with it. I liked that.

I never saw Mom cry in her 83 years of life. She did laugh though and that quite often. I used to think she had a positive out look on life. Perhaps she did.

My mind feels less divided now.
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