Cyclothymic Cister

Before the Internet, I used to lie in bed at night composing thoughts as if I were talking to a wise entity. (An actual face never came to mind). I would re-word and re-phrase the thoughts till they were crystal clear. Now I can blog. And hopefully, there are a lot of wise people with real faces out there who might just comment back.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Why God Made Little Girls

My father had four girls. To hear him tell it, he wouldn't have had it any other way. In honor of my father on Father's Day, here is a poem he was fond of:

Why God Made Little Girls

God made the world with its towering trees,
majestic mountains and restless seas.

Then paused and said,
"It needs one more thing,someone to laugh and dance and sing.

To walk in the woods and gather flowers,
to commune with nature in quiet hours."

So God made little girls,with laughing eyes and bouncing curls.
With joyful hearts and infectious smiles,

enchanting ways and feminine wiles.

And when He completed the task He'd begun,
he was pleased and proud of the job He'd done.

For the world, when seen through a little girl's eyes,
greatly resembles Paradise.


(author unknown)

Happy Father's Day from us Girls!

The Four Cisters




Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Children’s Pajamas—not Victoria’s Secret

At Wal-Mart I was looking to buy some new pajamas for my four-year old granddaughter. I came across a pair that had a picture of fruit on the front and the words “Fresh, Sweet and Juicy”. Is my mind in the gutter, or does that sound pornographic? I won’t have my precious innocent granddaughter wearing anything that suggestive.

Monday, June 12, 2006

Man Purses and Annoying Noises


My husband and I have a rental house that we are getting ready to sell. It is about 20 miles away. We loaded up his one-ton truck and trailer with necessary tools, paint, lawn equipment, etc. on Sataurday to do work on the property. When we got there, my husband said, “You’re gonna kill me. I left the keys at home.”

That proves my sister’s point that MEN SHOULD CARRY PURSES.

Read her comment to me via email when I asked for comments on purses:

My biggest peeve about purses is why the hell don't men carry them? My husband is always misplacing his stuff. Today he went to work and forgot his (security) pass. This is not good. When he comes home at the end of the day his car keys end up one place, wallet in another, cell phone who knows where, and his badge usually still attached to his work shirt. Damn men are stupid too!
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Dear Husband drove all the way back home to get the keys.

While he was gone, I did some exterior painting. All the while a bulldozer was in operation next door. Every few seconds it would back up making that annoying beep, beep, beep sound. That noise invaded my every thought. I was cursing with every other brush stroke. Finally I started singing, “I’ve got peace like a river,” thinking that would help. It didn’t.

Just as I was finished painting, the bulldozer stopped. By then husband arrived back with the keys so I went inside to paint the bathroom.

The toilet leaks. So every few seconds the toilet made a swish sound. Why can’t I get away from annoying freaking noises?!?!

Then dear husband comes in and says, “You know the dozer next door? The man operating it said he would make a pass down our driveway to widen it and to refresh the gravel. Isn’t that great? I was gonna have to rent a dozer that would cost me a fortune.”

“How much is he going to charge?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but it will be worth it. But I don’t have a check book or anything with me,” he said.

“I do. I carry a purse.”

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Free Spirit

Today is Dad’s birthday. He passed away six years ago. It may be odd that I speak of his death on the day we celebrate his birth, but you’ll understand after you read this.

Dad had a love of truth that goes unmatched. He deserved to be honored and revered as we grieved his passing, but instead he was upstaged, even in death, by a scandal.

The funeral director got arrested on the day of Dad’s funeral. He had swindled people out of their pre-paid funeral investments. My mother was one of those whom he swindled. Still the funeral director paid for Dad’s funeral, though my mother lost lots more money than would have covered the funeral.

Even though his arrest was forthcoming, the funeral director still prepared my father for viewing. (He did a very good job, I might add. Dad had on his trademark half-smile which looked as though he were privy to a secret delight).

Still, things were not up to par. There was no one to do the “in memory of” pamphlet to hand out to the visitors. So I did it. I think it turned out better that way. After all, who knows a father better than his children?

I chose to include a portion of a poem that Dad composed in 1966.

A Prayer

I do not ask for forgiveness for unbelief,
But enlightenment.
Rather, forgive me for all grief
I have caused, for each wrong intent.

If, while I sleep,
When the last starry furnace
In the last great wheeling arc
On the rim of space
Has grown cold and dark
And dead;

If I have found grace
And of me it is said,
“He abhorred the lie but embraced truth
And all loveliness;
Now, therefore, he has found immortal youth
And blessedness,”

I shall be forever grateful.

C.L. Jordan

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My sister and I spoke at the funeral. In addition to the fond memories of his humor, his intellect, his generosity, I spoke of watching Dad die. I wondered why dying seemed so laborious? Dad’s breathing got more and more shallow as he struggled harder and harder with each breath. We knew it would be a matter of minutes before he quit breathing altogether. And dad was ready to go. So why did it seem to be such a hard task to leave this life? Why did it seem so hard for the soul to be freed from the body? Then it occurred to me: it is like giving birth. When a baby is passing through the birth canal, the woman’s body labors in pain to help the process along. So it seemed with Dad. His spirit was passing through the “birth canal” from this life to the next and the womb of his body was painfully laboring to help it along. When Dad’s spirit finally was freed from his body and the cord of this life was cut, it wasn't a death, it was a birth. The birth of the spirit. Dad was finally free as the wind.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Don't Shift the Focus

Just because I’m moody does not mean that you don’t make me crazy, Dear Husband. You are a kind man, and you are very good to me (and our six cats) in many ways. But your clutter and inability to throw away trash still gets to me. You think it is me, because when I am in a certain mood, I bring it up. When I am in another mood, I tolerate it and don’t mention it. But that does not mean that the messes don’t still bother me! Read the title of my blog: Cyclothymic. Let me elaborate. When in the “up” phase of the cycle, it is as if a veil is removed and I suddenly see all that is lovely and beautiful. I become optimistic and energetic and creative. The energy makes me think I can conquer all problems. However, I am still aware of the problems, including your lack or organizational skills when it comes to your clutter.

When in the “down” phase of the cycle, darkness sweeps over my vision and a different veil is removed. Now I can see all that is disappointing, sad, and melancholic. In fact, I seem to recall everything I ever did that caused pain or regret. I seem to recall all that is bitter-sweet, happy memories that can never be again. Grief and Anger prevail. Immediate problems seem insurmountable. And maybe many of the problems are. That becomes my main focus.

Now just because these moods are on different ends of the spectrum does not mean the truth is not there. Both ways of seeing life are reality and truth. Too bad the insights don’t overlay one another so that I’m not pulled from one end to the other.

Having said all of that, Dear Husband, just because I am like that, doesn’t mean that your passive-aggressive personality isn’t a problem. You’ve got your own demons to fight. You don’t want to cause conflict or sound like the bad guy, so you say all the right things but your actions don’t match your words (sometimes). You make promises that you don’t keep. You promise to clean up messes and get organized in order to prevent new messes but you don’t. So when I mention other things that are bothering me (not related to you), don’t think that the other stressors in my life are making me overly sensitive to the problems you cause. When I’m depressed over something else, do not use that for an excuse to think that is why I am picking on you. Your behavior really is part of the problem.

One more thing: words mean something. I listen carefully to your words. I base my assumptions, my hopes, even our relationship on what you say. I take it to be the truth. Then when the reality of the situation tells me something different than your words told me, I feel confused. That is why I am in counseling--that and all the clutter.

Thank you fellow bloggers out there, if you read this. I feel much better having gotten this off my chest.

PS. By the way, my husband is a very good husband. We just have issues from time to time.