Mountains

So I'm back in the town I left a year ago.

Actually, I was two weeks short of it being a year away. Absence has not made my heart grow fonder.

Last year, I flew away from this area, leaving years of memories trailing behind me in the plane's slipstream.  I thought last year that I would not come back, that I could leave the heartache and struggle behind me, a tangible mountain that I had somehow managed to clamber off alive after a mammoth avalanche.

This past year, I have been known and uplifted by people who have never known George, who did not know me before last year, who knew nothing of the events except what I may have told them. Now, I have returned to the town, to the congregation that were witnesses and even accomplices to the end of my marriage.

It has been hard.

Even before I moved, mountains crushed my shoulders.  The weight of knowing how deeply I didn't want to come back here pulled me earthwards. I have had a year of change, of rest, where I didn't have to guard offensively against memories flaring before my eyes, burning my throat and gut with acid why, when, and thens. Now I am 3 corners from where I used to live.  I am working in the same buildings that George and I worked in, before. I drive past places I cried at, and the sodden, murky memories threaten to wake.

I am choosing my mountains.

I have chosen to come back.  I have chosen to return because I am doing something I WANT to do - I am enrolled in uni, to study nursing, to be able to support myself, my sons, to do something I am sure I will enjoy, to help others in some way. Uni could have been possible somewhere else, but this is where I choose to be, where the Lord wants me to be, and so I'm considering what lies ahead.

I am choosing to look at this experience as a mountain. Tasha said to me yesterday "We know this is going to be difficult." I don't deny that with mountains come demands that are avoided by staying on level ground. But I climb mountains for a reason. I have chosen to follow the answer to prayer that brought me back here. I could have ignored it, or not followed it, or done something else - but I chose this mountain.

I am choosing to see this mountain as a highlight of my life. Already there have been ups and downs, and I'm pretty sure I'm still at sea-level, but it's MY mountain.  I'm choosing to make each memory new for me, and not remembering instantly something that happened years ago.  Instead of thinking "I came to this icecream shop with George and her", I'm enjoying being there with my boys, for that time, making that visit the new memory benchmark.

Already the year ahead fills me with happiness and anticipation.  I am hugely excited about uni, and everything that will involve.  I have a temple trip weekend to BrisVegas with Tasha at the end of January which makes me smile every time I think of it.  I am even going to America in June/July which still startles and delights me, giving me internal goosebumps of excitement. It is going to be a phenomonal year in 2010, and that's only one third of the way through my uni course.

Last year, I asked Heavenly Father for a year. A year to find my feet, to catch my breath, to start to heal and work out what I was to do. This year has been a blessing. It has been some of the toughest terrains I have ever had to traverse, yet I know that I didn't walk, stagger or crawl alone. At times it felt there were more valleys of shadow than meadows of light, but there was more up than down, and the vista from this viewing platform is astounding.

I can't see the shape of this mountain before me.  I have no idea of the perils, monsters or dangers that lurk therein. I don't know the sweetness that also lies along the path, waiting for me to notice and savour it. It is all before me, waiting.

In the Old Testament, one of my favourite people is Caleb.  He waited for FORTY YEARS to be given what he had been promised. He had been promised a mountain. A mountain in the promised land, no doubt dripping with milk and honey.  His mountain also happened to be overflowing with giants, though this didn't seem to worry him. After forty years of waiting for the time to come (years spent wandering around the wilderness, dealing with squabbling family, friends, acquaintences and enemies) Caleb stood ready and said flat out "Give me this mountain" (Joshua 14:12).

The Lord had promised Caleb, and Caleb waited for the promise to be fulfilled. Then Caleb went to work to make it his own.  Through priesthood blessings I have been promised that all this will work out for my good and the good of my family.  I have no idea how climbing this mountain will make that happen, but this is the mountain the Lord has for me. Admittedly, I hope that it won't take 40 years to reach fruition, but I accept that it may take that long for me to learn patience, so scaling the mountain will fill in the time nicely.


I bet the view from the top is spectacular. I hope there are dragons and trolls and camels and gargoyles, cherry Koolaid, creme caramel and jazz. I hope there is the odd meadow of sunlight to enter unexpected, fireflies and excellent books. I hope my laughter tears outweigh my heartache tears, and that I share both with phenomonal friends.
 
Give me this mountain. It's mine.

The World of Wong...

.... is an amazing place.

Well, apart from yesterday, when he had some sort of gastro that had him scurrying to the 'loo every 5 minutes.  After 4 pairs of undies tragically lost their lives in the line of duty, I actually put a panty liner in his jocks. For some reason he thought they were usually for feet... I didn't tell him otherwise.

Then this morning I woke up at 5 a.m. as usual, only to find out that there was NO WATER.  Wong was on the 'loo again, and there was NO WATER.  Thankfully I had a 5ltr container of water in my garage to wash our hands with, followed by sanitising hand gel.

Then Wong threw up. Back into his tea cup (because he prefers to keep it tidy when he does chuck) but the force was great enough to hurl the spew back OUT of the cup and all over the floor.

So I cleaned it up. AND STILL NO WATER TO WASH PROPERLY!

Thankfully whenever Wong is sick, once he spews he's fine. And ravenous. So I fed the beast, waited two hours to make sure he was fine and and 9 o'clock took him to school.

Where the following conversation took place:

Wong: I know that like the back of my palm.

Me: The back of your palm?

Wong: No, not like the back of my palm, like the back of my butt.

Me: The back of your BUTT? What do you know about the back of your butt?

Wong: Heaps. I call it Christopher.

Me: … You’ve named the back of your butt?

Wong: Yep. It’s Christopher. Has been for ages.

I didn’t have anything to say after that……..

On Being A Troll

At the moment I identify with being a troll. The folklore and Discworld style of troll, not the goat eating, warty Grimm brothers style troll.

I feel heavy. My knee is still providing a grinding accompaniment to my days, as I haul around moving boxes and furniture.  The sheer number of items left undone, still to do weigh at my shoulders, hang from my fingers and clang around my head.

Yet I'm still moving.  I am focused on one task at a time, because if I was to open my thoughts to everything before me I would melt into slag. And I don't think slag is easy to get out of carpets.

One box, one appointment, one item from my to do list at a time.

Trolls still get cranky, or frustrated - it just takes a while for the pressure to build up.  Annoyances and/or frustrations lately include:

• The copy of "Pride & Prejudice" I borrowed from the library was scratched beyond repair before I got it.  So I have seen up to where Lizzy has visited the Darcy estate (I did finally see "THAT" scene where Mr. Darcy goes for a splash!), and up to Lizzy's return home after her daft sister has gone AWOL with twithead. I HAVEN'T SEEN PAST THAT POINT. So frustrating. I have no idea when I'll see the rest. GRR!
• The whipper snipper and I have developed an intense disliking to each other.  Probably because I seem incapable of actually TRIMMING weeds, and instead whack the cord against rocks/concrete until it can no longer cut ANYTHING. I will be practising this skill again this week, comforting myself that if the bloody thing won't cooperate I will be able to take great satisfaction in breaking it in half.
• The entire move date has been moved forward AGAIN - furniture pickup is this coming Friday. Tie into that Hatro going away for camp, finishing packing, two car services, cleaning ovens/houses, speech therapy for Wong, piano lesson, cancelling appointments I won't be here for, a potluck dinner, travelling to Canberra to pick up Mum from the airport AND hopefully squeezing some sleep in amongst it all...before driving 1200kms from Sunday.
• Coming across bits and pieces from the past as I pack. Photos of George and I, happy. Junk that he gave the boys because he didn't want to throw it out OR take it himself. (Though now I'm throwing it out - the boys won't miss it and I won't miss the emotional shrapnel.) Cherished baby clothes and blankets of the boyos', that bring up a flickering slideshow of memories.
• George being a selfish jerk regarding the boys.  I'm going to have to post in full about it later to get all my thoughts out, but suffice to say the guy is beyond my understanding and I'm glad I put zero weight to his professed intention to be a significant part of the boy's lives. Coprocephalic.
• Being so heavy with things that must be done I have less lightness and patience for the boys. I try to be better, but I'm not seeing any improvement.  I am going to have a day - a full day - to myself in December, without family or the boys, and I feel awful because I am looking forward to it.
• I am out of turtles. USAFoods is out, no ETA.

Being a troll has it's good points:

• Anything bad/frustrating/annoying doesn't tend to stick on first application - it more bounces off, or splatters, but doesn't impale. That's an advantage.
• I'm strong. More than I thought I could be, more than at times I want to be, not as strong as I may yet have to become.  But I can plow through more garbage and to do lists than some frilly fairy. (Though I have to admit I would rather have Tinkerbell on my team - that chick is one tough bird!)
• Trolls stay on target. No matter what I'm wading through, I'm heading in the right direction.  I can see my goal, or - more precisely - the road I need to travel to get there. And it's MY goal. No one else's. Yet again my plans have been upset, tossed, decimated - but it's more the method that's changed than the direction.
• Trolls get the job done. I am the little troll that could.  When I do something difficult, I tell myself "I can do difficult things." And "I can do all things, through Christ who strengthens me." And "Eat cement, and harden the hell up." I tell myself whatever sentence gets me through a few more seconds/minutes/hours - I just don't stop.
• No one likes annoying a troll. Trolls are scary if you don't know who they are underneath. Being a troll saves alot of time dealing with fools. And goats.

Troll. Is good.

Filling My Senses At Segullah

At Blog Segullah this month, the Up Close columns are on sexuality, and I'm posting today on the very important topic of sensuality.

I love Segullah! The community and diversity is amazing - I never know what may come up, and how it will help me and/or make me sit back to think more deeply about something I had taken for granted, or not come across before, or recognise what I believe and hope and strive for.

I have to record how it became part of my life before I forget!

It's Not A Dream

I actually rang QTAC (Queensland Tertiary Admissions Centre) yesterday to check that I had been accepted into university.

I have been.

Me! Myself! Moi!

The lovely lady on the QTAC line congratulated me too, which was kinda nice =).

I'm still shocked, and absolutely delighted.

And she said I don't have to send in all the supporting documentation, including my (still unfinished) PCA, which is such a relief.

The only down note was going to my cupboard for my last pack of Turtles to celebrate, only to find their customary hidey hole empty. Bugger.

But I just shrugged, and did another happy dance in my kitchen.

Just remembered I gave the last pack to Mum on the way to Sydney Airport to get her blood sugar levels up. So that's okay.

Going to uni's even better!

BLOODY BRILLIANT!

That's from the first offer round - I wasn't expecting any response until the MAJOR offer round in January!

I'm absolutely gobsmacked. Grinning like a loon, and totally shocked.

I haven't even finished my PCA! Let alone sent in the supporting documents!

YOU LITTLE RIPPER!

I'M GOING TO UNI!

It's a Snowglobe

My life. At least currently it is.

But it's a great snowglobe.  I feel like I'm the little redhead figure at the bottom, cruising along doing all the necessary things, pretty much ignoring whatever is happening outside my arena. Suddenly everything is whirling, changing, choices and issues and actions flying around my head blocking my view ahead, cluttering the air with movement, chaos and unmade decisions.

So I wait.  I don't charge senselessly into the storm anymore, blindly struggling through the chaos.  I wait. I do those things that I don't need to think about (dishes daily, washing every other day, floors once unavoidable) while I wait for the mess to clear, the chaos to settle, until I can see which direction I am facing, and what changes I need to make to continue to my goal.

Sometimes the shake up is from people who are remote from the situation.  George emailed me last week, stating that he wanted to change the night he rang the boys from Sunday to a weeknight. I stated the night that worked best for us, and he agreed. I responded again, asking for clarification - would he still ring on Sunday, or leave it until the following week?  His response? He would leave it. Leaving me to tell the boys.

Admittedly, this was more a flurry of snow, not a full skyload. But the way to tell the boys whirled through my head, trying to find the best way to tell them casually, lightly, knowing that his phone call was their one known contact each week with their Dad, and that they would want more details.

Which they did. On Saturday. "Dad isn't going to ring on Sunday," I said, hearing the boyos chat to each other about who was going to tell George what (these things never arise when we're face to face, or at home - yet again we were in the car). "He's going to ring on Wednesdays instead."

Silence.

"-Why?" came the hurting voice from the backseat. Hatro's voice was thick, confused.

Oh, God, help, please?

"I don't know why, sweetie - he emailed me, it just doesn't suit him to ring on Sundays anymore."

More silence.

"You can ask him about it when you talk to him on Wednesday, okay?"

More quiet.

"'kay."

They didn't say anything else until we were home, minutes later.

Sometimes the snow is set to tumbling by someone who cares about me, who knows about the "crappitude" of my life, and can deliver advice from somewhere just outside the danger zone. Tasha provided this service again this week.

Faced with Hatro being bullied at school, no family within 400kms, work hours increasing and everything to do with my move, I was focussed on enduring until January, when I would relocate north. I had already revised my departure date by 10 days, but I wasn't happy with the situation with the boys being looked after over Christmas and New Year. Then, tapping on the glass of my globe, Tasha rang on Friday.

"Why don't you just pack up and go?"

"WHAT?"

"Why don't you just give your three weeks notice, pack up, and leave this month? Your bosses will understand, you will be happier, your boys will be happier, just pack up and go north, early."

"................"

"Are you there? You've gone very quiet..."

"...Yeah, I'm here..."

Tasha repeated her advice, bringing in all relevant details from the past few weeks.  "I've been thinking about you alot" she said "and that's what I think you should do."

"............................."

"Are you still there? Oh crap, I've upset you, haven't I? Just what you needed on top of everything else! I am such a crap friend-"

"No, it's all cool Tasha - I just hadn't considered that as a possibility.... At all."

Tasha was talking, but I couldn't pay attention (sorry Tasha!).  I was sitting in the middle of my snowglobe, on a really comfy lounge, gazing up at the sky. Snowflakes were softly, calmly floating down, catching the sun above them, sparkling colours. I could see the sky clearly, could feel the relief, the peace, the answer to prayer.

I told Tasha I would think about it, and would definately let her know.

I didn't realise Tasha was worried. Until this message was waiting on my answering machine after work on Saturday:

"Hey Sel, it's just me, just ringing to see if you're still talking to me. I'll give you a call later on. Bye bye."

I rang her on Sunday, after I finished my fast. And after reassuring her that of course I was still speaking to her ("Ha! Sorry, Tasha, you can't get rid of me that easily! You're stuck with me for a while yet!") I told her that I was following her advice yet again, and would be leaving early - in December, not November.

So everything is going a wee bit chaotically, but mostly in an organised fashion. I haven't told my work yet, but will this week. Everything with moving is more urgent, but not as important as my uni application essay, which I'm finishing today. Then I will be packing in earnest. Six weeks, and I'm away.

So yesterday, with all that in mind, I was doing quite well.

Then Hatro said "Mum, personal matter."  He squeezed in next to me on my chair, and proceeded to relay the difficulty he was experiencing in deciding on which girl (of two) to invite to the upcoming dance.  Turns out that his mates have told him it's a boys inviting girls dance, not the teacher, so it's possible (likely) that the whole situation has been inflated by miscommunication. Hatro decided he would ask his teacher for more details today, in order to make a more informed decision. "Or I'll just stay home and play DS" Hatro suggested.

He doesn't like waltzing.  I don't like plans being scattered in the air.

But somethings you just have to learn to accept.