Truth be Told: End of the Year

Turrello on the Table

It is the last day of 2012, and time for wrapping things up, telling truths, old stories and cleaning house.  I haven't been writing much this fall because truth be told, I've been walking with the black dog and sometimes it has been hard to keep going through a day.  Why?  Because- I don't know why.  Is it not getting the job and losing confidence?  Is it from being so very sleep logged with no concrete explanation?  Is it because for the first time ever I not only took an incomplete and did not finish my classes, but didn't really care that I didn't?  I don't know why, but I've been in a mood of apathy, not caring, not connecting with anything- or much of anyone- going through work in a daze, on automatic- not teaching, enduring.  Which is bad.  Not writing, and for a long time- the old sketchbook- not creating anything but violent messy drawings that went all over the place.  Forming plans that never came to fruition, letting chaos pile up, forgetting time and place and money and working it into a tangled mess that I now have to pick my way out of.  Not learning, not cleaning, not even wanting to so much as shower- and my weight is up, my hair has inches and inches of gray showing, the brows haven't been plucked in months.  And I try to care- but it feels futile and is kinda hard to.  I *know* that is dysfunctional, and it *is* getting better- the holiday has done me good for the most part- and I *don't* mean to whine.  I hate whining and going on about something.  But at the same time I want to write out how it has been, how it is and hope to shed light on how it will be- hope.  Hope is always a friend.

I'm not sure now what I want to do.  I have been cleaning- deep cleaning, so far the bedroom and the studio- and we had our little Christmas here and at the farm.  Family, food, gifts- modest but good.  The boy was home for a day and a night- today I am going to the city to go to the movies with him.  (To see the Hobbit- which Aunt Gladys gave me the book- and the LOTR set- long ago.  It changed me then- it was my pivotal story growing up, the way Harry Potter was for Grendel's generation and other stories yet unwritten will be for the children of today).  The Manz has been on an 'Emergency' marathon- beginning with Adam 12 when we both had the flu (before Christmas, and it was super nasty)- for me, it is like being able to visit California.  I can smell the ice plant outside Station 51,  I know what the air feels like and the ground.  How very cold the Pacific is, even in summer.  How there aren't ever as many trees as you expect, and the leaves never turn in Southern California- I did so miss autumn there.  Here I miss the sea.

I have a new sketchbook- bought right before the holiday- and I have been working in it constantly.  It wakes me up and helps- I am actually exploring ideas (the Toynbee Idea), rediscovering mysteries (Gef the talking mongoose) and drawing, drawing, drawing.  My drawings are shifting back to normal, and the writing is there so I am feeling hopeful about that.  I haven't painted though- which I wanted to over break- but instead the cleaning and drawing and Emergency and web surfing have been good.  And I've found some time to read.  I am trying hard to work back into writing, communicating, school- being social and enthusiastic- though truthfully, I would rather be encaved at the moment.  (I know, I need to see Dr. Mike again soon- but the money is tight at the moment so it will have to wait).  And the money thing- while we are telling truths- is no ones fault but my own, and shifting addresses, bills to online, mortgage companies, lack of math skills and my general inattention.  It is a lean month, but the virtual check comes in the first of February  and I can get caught up then- at least so much as to keep our head above water.  Caught up is the best I can hope for, never ahead.  Films will be starting back up soon, and Mr. Owens will be back on set- he does so well at it and hopefully next year will be a busy one.  In the meantime, he is back doing the lockouts and training for the tow truck company, though it is not nearly as dramatic as Lizard Lick.

Right now I need to move on, need to create a change and the New Year is the time to do that.  According to one of my fortunes, my new year (which began yesterday) will be more energetic and I will cycle back into my normal cheerful, chaotic, creative self- which is great as I have had enough of this darkness.  Know though all of you that I love you, and value you, and dream of you often~ and that everything will be ok.

Snowqueen

Snow Queen (in progress)

     Children, children there are monsters in the woods.  And I can't tell you that enough, or how much we all fear that we can't keep them away with all our weapons, prayers, locks or magics.  They have been here since we have, and will remain until we are gone.  It's our story and our sorrow.

     Yesterday a school of small children fell into the woods, and the monster came.  I couch these words in the language of fairy-tales, because the news is all to full of the grim reality: 27 dead, 20 of them children- and the mother, the beloved principal (who was raising five girls, Brady-bunch style), the psychologist that tried to help, others yet unnamed.  The monster, who was someones son.  A teachers son, a special son, a straight-A son who for some reason that will-never-be-good-enough slipped into darkness.   And it is Christmas, almost.  And the president cried, and the sirens screamed, and parents waited the unimaginable wait.

     I am safe at home at my desk, with my husband in our tumbledown cottage, the worst of my worries confined to money, work and the flu.  My son is safe, my family is safe, my students- as far as I know- are safe enough as teenagers will ever be.  The clock ticks, the work waits, life goes on.  Elsewhere voices rise.

       In the aftermath of anything, there is a flurry of pointing and blaming:  the guns, the music, the video games, our culture of violence, mental illness, the fiscal cliff, who did or did-not win the election, bad parenting, over parenting, slack security, fear, over protection, not enough protection, bullies, temper, drugs, money, obesity, holidays, religion, jealousy, fear.....   truth is, it is everything and nothing.  Regardless of the circumstances, regardless of the possible whys- monsters come.  It is their nature, and it is a fearsome thing.

Of course, we can say that we make things easier- if the guns were not in the house, if he was a stranger to the school (truth: school culture equates teachers and their families as safe- it is no surprise that he, a teacher's son, walked right into the school.  They probably thought he was bringing her sub plans.) if we let things continuously slip through the cracks.  And there are suggestions from extreme to extreme- ban all guns, arm all teachers (now *that* is a horrible idea. Not only could most of us be reasonably over powered, but the mental pressure teachers are under....it's a matter of time before a teacher snaps, or over reacts, or just reveals that they were a monster in disguise all along).

           What can we do?  I don't know.  Those children- the locks did not keep them safe, their prayers and magics did not, nothing can bring them back.  There is despair in that, and seeds of fear that would twine around my heart and make me afraid to send my child out the door.  But there were others- prayers and magics answered, locks that did not fail, children that came home- and there is an equal amount of hope remaining.  And friends, as dark as the woods are, we must teach the courage to walk out that door regardless.  And have the courage to let them go.

          As for the monster, it is no mystery.  It is right there inside of everyone, along with the saint and the hero and the martyr- along with the loving parent, kind friend and thoughtful stranger.  Its that deepest darkest part of all of us, the part that is all mixed up with the id and shadow self, the reptilian rage of base impulse. The part of us that we might have to work to contain, or channel, or divert- we dance it down, work it out, exorcise it through watching/confronting our horrors face on.  The part that we sometimes hate- yet it is a necessary evil, for it holds the destructive power that sometimes we need to survive.

           I am not defending the monster of Connecticut here, not by any means.  Like a rabid dog, monsters need dealt with quickly, permanently and without sentiment. But I am cautioning that there is a need to look inside instead of out, to not place the blame on the sole influence of anyone or anything- however they may of contributed.  I am simply warning you, children, that the darkest woods, the woods with the most deadly monsters, are those inside of us, and it is best to tend to ourselves first. Know yourself and your monster, be realistic of what you may be capable of and guard against it.  Build your defense with prayer or magic or psychology or what ever you need to keep you sane, keep you balanced, watch for the cracks in the walls, let it out sometimes in safe places to rage or run or cry or smash jelly jars- then quiet it down, tuck it in, let it go back to sleep.  Whatever you need to do- just know it, do it.

           I have no answers, and truthfully, I don't know why I am writing this, except that I have a compulsion to.  My monster likes words, always has. Lets it breathe. All I know is that I am filled with the dark cloud of yesterday, and the sad/mad/helpless pain that goes with it.  I cannot imagine how those parents will continue, or how the children will survive their dreams- but they will.  Somehow, or not. 

         In the meantime there is life, and another day, and Christmas.  Bare trees against a sky, the turning of the year, the deep silence of winter.  God bless, god bless.