Twenty five years ago, I started an annual tradition of taking a picture of our family on Christmas Eve, usually in front of the tree, to include in a family holiday book. When I started the book, I had 25 years to fill, and it seemed like an eternity as I leafed through the pages, figuring out where that book would end, and how old we would be. Christmas of 1984 was the first one. I was 24 years old, newly married, and had just found out I was pregnant with my first child. It was a happy and exciting time for us, filled with anticipation about the wonderful future that was ahead.
Over the years, the family grew and changed, adding first one child, then another. I always assumed that it would continue to grow as we added in-laws and grandchildren to the pages, a chronicle of the happy events in the life of a family. I envisioned that it would be an heirloom for them in the years to come, when they wanted to know how it all started, way back when.
However, life doesn't always follow the road map you drew in your mind when you were young, and things don't always work out the way you expect. For me, the expectation of growing old with someone I loved and who loved me back was replaced five years ago with a new reality, as divorce rent asunder the vows we had made so long ago.
As I have said before, divorce is a painful and difficult journey. It is filled with pitfalls as you try to sort through what to hang on to and what to throw aside for the new reality you now live. What fits a family of four can suddenly feel uncomfortable, the wrong shape or size for a family of three. You are forced to make changes in order to make the new you feel right again, but it's not always so obvious what they will be.
In the process of sorting out my life, I gave away a lot of things that were painful reminders of a past that no longer felt real to me, and which did not fit my new life as a single mom with teenagers. But I realized, even in the moment, that I had to save some of it, because my children would someday want to see a world in which their parents were happy together and loved one another, in order to validate their own lives.
I have not looked at my holiday book since 2004. That winter, I put it on a high shelf, where it has languished in anonymous forgetfulness. I didn't throw it away, which was my first angry inclination. It is, in fact, still there, accessible but unmoved, and not readily available. I don't know if I was afraid or angry or confused or just sad, but it was a painful reminder of all that I have lost, and I didn't want to step on that particular land mine if I didn't need to.
I considered tossing it and starting over, but that felt false to me. You cannot pretend the past away, and the 20 years we were married were a part of who I am, and who we are as a family. But neither have I added to the story - it remains stranded in time, like a capsule of someone else's life. The thread of the unfinished story is obviously broken, and it seemed wrong to document a family gone so far astray. So it continues to sit on a shelf unopened, a testament to how difficult it is to live happily ever after.
I suddenly realized a day or two ago that we have reached that far off final year in my holiday book. It is hard to imagine that 25 years are already history, but my 24 year old son makes clear that it is. I am curious now to peek at the past that will be revealed there. The child with whom I was then pregnant is now older than I was in that first picture, and what seemed impossibly far away in 1984 is now upon us, too soon.
And just as suddenly, I realized that I not only want to look at my book, but to finish it. The young person looking back at me has aged, but also grown up in unexpected ways. By ignoring that history, I am ignoring the very life experience that has made me who I am today.
In this holiday season of joy and rebirth, the renewal of my own family traditions is something more to celebrate. If you haven't kept your own records of your family's holiday traditions, start now! It's a fun way to preserve the present for those who will come in the future, and maybe even for yourself.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Ghosts of Christmas Past....
This week I had the fun and unexpected experience of reliving the past with friends who grew up in the same small rural town in Minnesota where I did, a town where time has not stood still, but the memories have. The recollections were prompted by a Facebook entry and a whiff of scent that is unforgettably tied to happy childhood memories that I thought belonged only to me. It seems they are more universal, and cherished, than I dreamed.
But first, you need some background. (Straight out of Norman Rockwell, I swear.)
The church in which I grew up was one of the hundreds of small, rural Lutheran churches that dot the landscape of outstate Minnesota. Not only was I baptised, confirmed and married there, my mother and many of my aunts and my uncles were, as well. The cemetery which surrounds the church on three sides is filled with family members which have gone before us, including all four grandparents, and most of my great-grandparents. I had my first child baptised there, too. So for me, as for most people who grew up there, it is a comfortable place filled with my own history.
Back in the 60's, the church looked a little different. Instead of the part of the building sort of growing off the front like it does now, it was a majestic stone church in the classical style, with the double front doors opening more or less straight into the sanctuary, and just a tiny [and in the winter very COLD] entryway between you and the great outdoors. (I tried to find a picture of it as it was, but don't have one available.)
On a side note, for the architectural purists in the reading audience - when the addition was built, the original stone front was preserved, and they built the addition onto it. So we can still see the beautiful entryway as it was, but now it is from inside the toasty warm building. Personally, I think that was inspired.
Anyway, contrary to popular perception, living in Minnesota means you are hearty and stubborn, it does not mean you don't feel the cold. Every time those doors opened, you would feel a blast from the biting wind licking at your bare legs. (Unless you kept on the pants under the dress that your mother made you wear back then.)
As soon as Thanksgiving was over, the moms would get excited, and it would be time to put on the annual Christmas Sunday School program. They would devote countless hours to finding the right program, making the costumes, and whipping the reluctant participants into shape so we would be ready to perform for our proud parents and grandparents, and the rest of the congregation.
These days, I think it's a lot harder for churches to put on the annual event, because they never know how many children will actually show up for it. Families are more mobile, church seems to be less the center of the community, and the annual Christmas program at church is one more thing to check off for a lot of families, I think.
Where I grew up, though, the yearly Christmas program was an Event to Attend, whether you had children or not. Families would arrive en masse, everyone dressed in their Christmas best for one of the most exciting evenings of the year. For the parents and grandparents, I imagine the fun of the evening was in seeing your offspring perform the Christmas story once again, nothing new or different, but moving none-the-less.
For the children, however, the program was something to be gotten through so you could get to the main event - The Presents. Several weeks before the program, the children in each Sunday School class (we had one or two grades per class) would put their names in a hat and each child would get a name for the gift exchange.
The cost was minimal, but that gift was something I looked forward to all year, because it was a gift from a classmate who would always find something frivolous and fun. [Think "champagne" bubble bath, paint by number sets, yoyo's, hula hoops. In the practical world of a Minnesota Lutheran, this was a thrilling departure from the norm.] I still have several of the gifts I received, including a couple of handmade items that a classmate decoupaged for me.
There would be some additional gifts under the tree, as well, perhaps something from your teacher, or another adult at church to whom you were a special child. When the fun was over, and it was time to go home, every child was handed a brown paper bag filled with peanuts in the shell and ribbon candy, and everyone, adults and children, received a shiny Red Delicious apple.
Every time I walk past a display of Red Delicious apples, especially if they are near the door and it's cold outside, I am blasted back to my childhood Sunday School Christmas program. The crisp, cold scent of those apples permeated the entryway of the church, wafting into the back of the sanctuary. When you opened the door to walk into the church, you would be enveloped by the aroma of those apples, a silent signal that something wonderful was about to happen.
The other night, my daughter and I were at the store, and I walked past a display of shiny red apples that were near the door. The combination of that apple scent and the unseasonal cold which resulted in a draft that I felt on my face triggered that memory once again. It was, as it always is, almost euphoric, and I had to share the memories with my daughter, who listened with polite interest, but who didn't really understand the power of it all.
A few days later, I read a Facebook entry written by a friend from that same little rural church, one of wistful recollection for the simpler lives we all led back then. It prompted me to recall the apples and the bag of nuts, which were, in an odd way, truly the highlight of the evening of that Christmas program.
Not only did he recall those bags (turns out his mother ordered the apples for the program every year, of all things, who knew? So I tell MY mother, and she says, oh ya, his mother was the Sunday School treasurer. Huh, you learn something every day, I had no idea, I thought they just magically appeared because it was Christmas or something.... Wait, where was I?) Oh ya, not only did he recall the bags, but he recalled the very scent I was talking about.
I was even more delighted when, a couple days after that conversation, another friend, who attended a different church, chimed in with her own memories of the same thing. Apparently this was a town of Kenyon thing, not a Gol Lutheran Church thing, and there are more people than I realized out there enjoying the same Red Delicious high that I experience at random and unexpected moments.
It struck me, once again, that the most pleasant memories for us were not of the gifts or the trappings of a holiday gone wild, whatever the advertisements of that time (or this time) may have led us to believe. [I remember the Norelco electric shaver commercial, where the shaver was a sled that flew over the snow, bringing Christmas cheer to some lucky guy who would now know the thrill of a closer electric shave, making his Christmas a success.] The most memorable moments of those long ago evenings were the simple gift of an apple and a bag of nuts and candies, handed out by someone's dad at the back of the church as we headed home.
In all the hustle and bustle of a modern Christmas, the meaning in the season is often overlooked in the effort to create the perfect holiday experience. I think my own children, and perhaps someday my grandchildren, will be surprised to find it is the simple experiences, what seem like throwaway moments at the time, that will stay with them, and which they will recall most fondly.
This Christmas, I wish each of my faithful readers, wherever you are, and whomever you may be, a bag of nuts and ribbon candy, and a shiny Red Delicious apple. Spread the Christmas cheer in this hectic week of last minute everything. Remember that whatever is left undone will not be remembered in the years to come. Instead, it is the quiet moments of time together that really matter, and which will be remembered in all their beautiful simplicity. The true joy of Christmas is found not in the trappings of the commercial holiday, but in the humble manger. From my stable to your heart and home, Merry Christmas!
But first, you need some background. (Straight out of Norman Rockwell, I swear.)
The church in which I grew up was one of the hundreds of small, rural Lutheran churches that dot the landscape of outstate Minnesota. Not only was I baptised, confirmed and married there, my mother and many of my aunts and my uncles were, as well. The cemetery which surrounds the church on three sides is filled with family members which have gone before us, including all four grandparents, and most of my great-grandparents. I had my first child baptised there, too. So for me, as for most people who grew up there, it is a comfortable place filled with my own history.
Gol Lutheran Church in 2009.
Back in the 60's, the church looked a little different. Instead of the part of the building sort of growing off the front like it does now, it was a majestic stone church in the classical style, with the double front doors opening more or less straight into the sanctuary, and just a tiny [and in the winter very COLD] entryway between you and the great outdoors. (I tried to find a picture of it as it was, but don't have one available.)
On a side note, for the architectural purists in the reading audience - when the addition was built, the original stone front was preserved, and they built the addition onto it. So we can still see the beautiful entryway as it was, but now it is from inside the toasty warm building. Personally, I think that was inspired.
Anyway, contrary to popular perception, living in Minnesota means you are hearty and stubborn, it does not mean you don't feel the cold. Every time those doors opened, you would feel a blast from the biting wind licking at your bare legs. (Unless you kept on the pants under the dress that your mother made you wear back then.)
As soon as Thanksgiving was over, the moms would get excited, and it would be time to put on the annual Christmas Sunday School program. They would devote countless hours to finding the right program, making the costumes, and whipping the reluctant participants into shape so we would be ready to perform for our proud parents and grandparents, and the rest of the congregation.
These days, I think it's a lot harder for churches to put on the annual event, because they never know how many children will actually show up for it. Families are more mobile, church seems to be less the center of the community, and the annual Christmas program at church is one more thing to check off for a lot of families, I think.
Where I grew up, though, the yearly Christmas program was an Event to Attend, whether you had children or not. Families would arrive en masse, everyone dressed in their Christmas best for one of the most exciting evenings of the year. For the parents and grandparents, I imagine the fun of the evening was in seeing your offspring perform the Christmas story once again, nothing new or different, but moving none-the-less.
For the children, however, the program was something to be gotten through so you could get to the main event - The Presents. Several weeks before the program, the children in each Sunday School class (we had one or two grades per class) would put their names in a hat and each child would get a name for the gift exchange.
The cost was minimal, but that gift was something I looked forward to all year, because it was a gift from a classmate who would always find something frivolous and fun. [Think "champagne" bubble bath, paint by number sets, yoyo's, hula hoops. In the practical world of a Minnesota Lutheran, this was a thrilling departure from the norm.] I still have several of the gifts I received, including a couple of handmade items that a classmate decoupaged for me.
There would be some additional gifts under the tree, as well, perhaps something from your teacher, or another adult at church to whom you were a special child. When the fun was over, and it was time to go home, every child was handed a brown paper bag filled with peanuts in the shell and ribbon candy, and everyone, adults and children, received a shiny Red Delicious apple.
Every time I walk past a display of Red Delicious apples, especially if they are near the door and it's cold outside, I am blasted back to my childhood Sunday School Christmas program. The crisp, cold scent of those apples permeated the entryway of the church, wafting into the back of the sanctuary. When you opened the door to walk into the church, you would be enveloped by the aroma of those apples, a silent signal that something wonderful was about to happen.
The other night, my daughter and I were at the store, and I walked past a display of shiny red apples that were near the door. The combination of that apple scent and the unseasonal cold which resulted in a draft that I felt on my face triggered that memory once again. It was, as it always is, almost euphoric, and I had to share the memories with my daughter, who listened with polite interest, but who didn't really understand the power of it all.
A few days later, I read a Facebook entry written by a friend from that same little rural church, one of wistful recollection for the simpler lives we all led back then. It prompted me to recall the apples and the bag of nuts, which were, in an odd way, truly the highlight of the evening of that Christmas program.
Not only did he recall those bags (turns out his mother ordered the apples for the program every year, of all things, who knew? So I tell MY mother, and she says, oh ya, his mother was the Sunday School treasurer. Huh, you learn something every day, I had no idea, I thought they just magically appeared because it was Christmas or something.... Wait, where was I?) Oh ya, not only did he recall the bags, but he recalled the very scent I was talking about.
I was even more delighted when, a couple days after that conversation, another friend, who attended a different church, chimed in with her own memories of the same thing. Apparently this was a town of Kenyon thing, not a Gol Lutheran Church thing, and there are more people than I realized out there enjoying the same Red Delicious high that I experience at random and unexpected moments.
It struck me, once again, that the most pleasant memories for us were not of the gifts or the trappings of a holiday gone wild, whatever the advertisements of that time (or this time) may have led us to believe. [I remember the Norelco electric shaver commercial, where the shaver was a sled that flew over the snow, bringing Christmas cheer to some lucky guy who would now know the thrill of a closer electric shave, making his Christmas a success.] The most memorable moments of those long ago evenings were the simple gift of an apple and a bag of nuts and candies, handed out by someone's dad at the back of the church as we headed home.
In all the hustle and bustle of a modern Christmas, the meaning in the season is often overlooked in the effort to create the perfect holiday experience. I think my own children, and perhaps someday my grandchildren, will be surprised to find it is the simple experiences, what seem like throwaway moments at the time, that will stay with them, and which they will recall most fondly.
This Christmas, I wish each of my faithful readers, wherever you are, and whomever you may be, a bag of nuts and ribbon candy, and a shiny Red Delicious apple. Spread the Christmas cheer in this hectic week of last minute everything. Remember that whatever is left undone will not be remembered in the years to come. Instead, it is the quiet moments of time together that really matter, and which will be remembered in all their beautiful simplicity. The true joy of Christmas is found not in the trappings of the commercial holiday, but in the humble manger. From my stable to your heart and home, Merry Christmas!
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Today's blog....
In the course of writing well over a hundred blog posts, I have always been honest, but have also striven to preserve a certain level of privacy for myself and my own experience. Today was a departure for me, one that I don't expect to make very often, but which was, at the bottom, my effort to take something painful for me and use it to help others who find themselves in the same situation.
I don't easily share my personal pain. But if, in the course of googling for answers, solace, or meaning, someone stumbles across this blog post, and I can give them hope, or I can let them know they are not alone in their pain, then it is worth the unwanted exposure.
You are not alone.
I don't easily share my personal pain. But if, in the course of googling for answers, solace, or meaning, someone stumbles across this blog post, and I can give them hope, or I can let them know they are not alone in their pain, then it is worth the unwanted exposure.
You are not alone.
Faith....
Faith is an interesting word, and means so many different things, depending on the context in which it is used. But in all cases, it means believing in something (or someone) even when there is absolutely no tangible basis to do so. Sometimes, you can see all the evidence to the contrary, and your faith will override everything - your doubts, your common sense, even the evidence you see with your own eyes and ears and mind. The heart is a willful ruler, and most people, no matter how cold and analytical they may seem on the outside, have a soft place deep inside their heart for the people they love.
I belong to a sorority of sisters, rich and poor, famous and totally unknown, to which no one would ever want to belong ~ the spectacularly spurned wife, the discarded woman of a serial philanderer. (Odd as it may sound, I think it may have been easier to find out about a long term love affair, where at least you could feel that it was a serious matter, and not just another fling, which cheapens both you and the relationship.) Thus, as I have watched the debacle of the Tiger Woods saga these past weeks, while the world seems to focus on him and his peccadilloes, I can only think of his wife, and what she is now going through.
The world at large seems to believe she should have been aware of what was going on. I can almost promise you that the truth is more like she harbored some suspicions in her heart, but couldn't quite bring herself to believe that what she thought was what she knew; much less that she was right. When you feel it, deep down inside you, but there are denials and you are made to be the one in the wrong, it is easy to overlook the evidence in favor of the faith.
I have been disturbed by the criticism, masquerading as false sympathy, for Elin Nordegren this week. I have seen speculation on her character and her behavior, and even her motives for marrying Tiger Woods in the first place, and it is wrong.
Whatever her husband did or didn't do, she is not, in any way, responsible or at fault, and she deserves every ounce of sympathy the public can muster. However much money you have, it cannot buy peace of mind, and the crushing dismantling of her carefully constructed house of cards in such a spectacularly public way is a hurt that she will never overcome, no matter how many promises Tiger makes, no matter how much money she has at her disposal.
It has been brutally, painfully self-evident to me that Elin had no idea of the level of infidelity that her husband had engaged in, and speaking from experience, I know exactly how she feels. It is like being suddenly dropped into the center of a minefield, and knowing, understanding, but not quite believing, that the only way to peace is walking out again, step by dangerous step, until you are free. If you have never faced that, I can tell you it takes a rare courage to make the journey under any circumstances. With all the public exposure, it must be almost unbearable.
I have walked that minefield, and it is a frightening experience filled with anguish and grief. You are assured, from the very first step, that you will bring your foot down upon a mine here and there, and it will blow up on you, wounding you with devastating accuracy. And yet, you have no other choice but to keep on going, because you can't stay where you are, either, however tempting it may be. Your life becomes an excruciating series of revelations of things you didn't know, may not have even suspected, and you continue to absorb those blows until you are transformed into someone new and different.
Because I have taken that demoralizing path in my own life, my sympathies are all for Elin, that intensely private wife who has been scorned so publicly, so humiliatingly, by someone who painted a public picture of a person who was clearly fatally flawed. I will say frankly, I don't know how Elin can bring herself to get up in the morning and get out of bed to face another day of increasingly painful revelations, because it was hard enough when I could choose who I told and who knew what was happening in my life, and it wasn't spread across the headlines of the world's news.
The media have barely scratched the surface of the real pain of the situation, however. We, the disassociated public, with our voracious appetite for the flaws of others, seem to believe that real people do not reside underneath the glamour and the false glitter of celebrity. For my part, I suspect that they are simply better at covering up their feelings than most of us, because if you are human, you have a heart, and it can be broken.
But more than for themselves, for most people, the most vulnerable place in their heart is reserved for their children. The children of Tiger Woods will always know how he treated their mother, their family, their life. There will always be a breach, and it is one that he will never heal.
Whatever the agony I may have felt during my marriage and the five years since, I would have borne it all and much more, if only to save my children from knowing the full hurtful truth. I can only imagine that Elin Nordegren, who I feel certain loves her children much the same as I love mine, feels the same way about the wanton public speculation on the demise of the perfect family she thought she had. Every careless word that is published is another spike in her heart, as she thinks about the future, and how to shield her little ones from the consequences of their father's behavior.
The part that is most frustrating, I think, is that although one person had control of the whole situation, it is everyone else that suffers by the actions that cannot be undone. While the person who caused it all may be in pain, it is, at least, self-inflicted, the result of their own choices. But the collateral damage was not only unexpected, it was unearned and undeserved. It is that pain which causes me to have the greatest empathy for Elin and her children.
I am not so foolish as to think that more than a few people read these words, or that it will make a difference to her to know that she has joined a sisterhood that is out here supporting her and feeling her pain along with her. But there are many other women out there, (men as well,) who belong to the club, and if my words help anyone, then it will be worth the price of revealing my own personal pain.
If one positive thing could come from this media nightmare for Elin and her children, it would be for all of us to understand that public words can cause a lifetime of hurt, and Tiger's first statement, that his family deserves some privacy, is the right one. When you hear about Tiger's fall from grace, and the additional revelations that I feel certain are still to come, think not about the prurient details of his misbehavior, but about the wife and children who will bear the brunt of the shame and the injury of his freewill choice.
If you know someone going through the painful journey of serial infidelity, don't look for the flaw in the spouse who was wronged. They do not need to hear how they should have known, they must have seen, or they should have done something.
It is not their fault that the person they married was a fatally flawed individual, (yes, it is most definitely fatal, as their marriage and their family have been dealt a terminal blow, whether she realizes it now or not.) He is most probably a narcissist, if not a full blown sociopath, and there is no cure.
Instead of finding fault with the victim, uplift them with encouraging words about what a great person they are (they won't believe you, but they will love you for saying it, anyway.) Tell them that the world is a better place because they are in it (see above comment.) And especially, tell them what a fantastic parent you think they are, and how their children are so lucky to have them, because they are good enough to bring them through this time. (They will be forever grateful that someone noticed how hard they are trying, and appreciated that effort, no matter how much trouble they have believing it.)
We, the people, do not have a right to know everything about our celebrities, especially when the celebrity being sold is based on a skill or a talent, and they have not sought out the attention for their lifestyle. I wish, for a change, the media would display a little discretion, and allow the personal pain to remain where it belongs - in the privacy of their rapidly disintegrating life. It would elevate all of us to know less about what we should never have known in the first place.
To anyone who may have stumbled upon this looking for hope, I can truly tell you that you will eventually emerge from the minefield - changed, but in one piece, none-the-less. Your life will look different than you thought it would, but you will have stability and peace instead of the quicksand of the unknown. Your spouse was, without a doubt, an edgy thrill seeker, because that is the personality of the serial philanderer, and you will find that while things are not as exciting, they are more predictable, and you will be able to wake up each day knowing pretty much what to expect.
Most importantly, have faith in yourself. It is enough.
I belong to a sorority of sisters, rich and poor, famous and totally unknown, to which no one would ever want to belong ~ the spectacularly spurned wife, the discarded woman of a serial philanderer. (Odd as it may sound, I think it may have been easier to find out about a long term love affair, where at least you could feel that it was a serious matter, and not just another fling, which cheapens both you and the relationship.) Thus, as I have watched the debacle of the Tiger Woods saga these past weeks, while the world seems to focus on him and his peccadilloes, I can only think of his wife, and what she is now going through.
The world at large seems to believe she should have been aware of what was going on. I can almost promise you that the truth is more like she harbored some suspicions in her heart, but couldn't quite bring herself to believe that what she thought was what she knew; much less that she was right. When you feel it, deep down inside you, but there are denials and you are made to be the one in the wrong, it is easy to overlook the evidence in favor of the faith.
I have been disturbed by the criticism, masquerading as false sympathy, for Elin Nordegren this week. I have seen speculation on her character and her behavior, and even her motives for marrying Tiger Woods in the first place, and it is wrong.
Whatever her husband did or didn't do, she is not, in any way, responsible or at fault, and she deserves every ounce of sympathy the public can muster. However much money you have, it cannot buy peace of mind, and the crushing dismantling of her carefully constructed house of cards in such a spectacularly public way is a hurt that she will never overcome, no matter how many promises Tiger makes, no matter how much money she has at her disposal.
It has been brutally, painfully self-evident to me that Elin had no idea of the level of infidelity that her husband had engaged in, and speaking from experience, I know exactly how she feels. It is like being suddenly dropped into the center of a minefield, and knowing, understanding, but not quite believing, that the only way to peace is walking out again, step by dangerous step, until you are free. If you have never faced that, I can tell you it takes a rare courage to make the journey under any circumstances. With all the public exposure, it must be almost unbearable.
I have walked that minefield, and it is a frightening experience filled with anguish and grief. You are assured, from the very first step, that you will bring your foot down upon a mine here and there, and it will blow up on you, wounding you with devastating accuracy. And yet, you have no other choice but to keep on going, because you can't stay where you are, either, however tempting it may be. Your life becomes an excruciating series of revelations of things you didn't know, may not have even suspected, and you continue to absorb those blows until you are transformed into someone new and different.
Because I have taken that demoralizing path in my own life, my sympathies are all for Elin, that intensely private wife who has been scorned so publicly, so humiliatingly, by someone who painted a public picture of a person who was clearly fatally flawed. I will say frankly, I don't know how Elin can bring herself to get up in the morning and get out of bed to face another day of increasingly painful revelations, because it was hard enough when I could choose who I told and who knew what was happening in my life, and it wasn't spread across the headlines of the world's news.
The media have barely scratched the surface of the real pain of the situation, however. We, the disassociated public, with our voracious appetite for the flaws of others, seem to believe that real people do not reside underneath the glamour and the false glitter of celebrity. For my part, I suspect that they are simply better at covering up their feelings than most of us, because if you are human, you have a heart, and it can be broken.
But more than for themselves, for most people, the most vulnerable place in their heart is reserved for their children. The children of Tiger Woods will always know how he treated their mother, their family, their life. There will always be a breach, and it is one that he will never heal.
Whatever the agony I may have felt during my marriage and the five years since, I would have borne it all and much more, if only to save my children from knowing the full hurtful truth. I can only imagine that Elin Nordegren, who I feel certain loves her children much the same as I love mine, feels the same way about the wanton public speculation on the demise of the perfect family she thought she had. Every careless word that is published is another spike in her heart, as she thinks about the future, and how to shield her little ones from the consequences of their father's behavior.
The part that is most frustrating, I think, is that although one person had control of the whole situation, it is everyone else that suffers by the actions that cannot be undone. While the person who caused it all may be in pain, it is, at least, self-inflicted, the result of their own choices. But the collateral damage was not only unexpected, it was unearned and undeserved. It is that pain which causes me to have the greatest empathy for Elin and her children.
I am not so foolish as to think that more than a few people read these words, or that it will make a difference to her to know that she has joined a sisterhood that is out here supporting her and feeling her pain along with her. But there are many other women out there, (men as well,) who belong to the club, and if my words help anyone, then it will be worth the price of revealing my own personal pain.
If one positive thing could come from this media nightmare for Elin and her children, it would be for all of us to understand that public words can cause a lifetime of hurt, and Tiger's first statement, that his family deserves some privacy, is the right one. When you hear about Tiger's fall from grace, and the additional revelations that I feel certain are still to come, think not about the prurient details of his misbehavior, but about the wife and children who will bear the brunt of the shame and the injury of his freewill choice.
If you know someone going through the painful journey of serial infidelity, don't look for the flaw in the spouse who was wronged. They do not need to hear how they should have known, they must have seen, or they should have done something.
It is not their fault that the person they married was a fatally flawed individual, (yes, it is most definitely fatal, as their marriage and their family have been dealt a terminal blow, whether she realizes it now or not.) He is most probably a narcissist, if not a full blown sociopath, and there is no cure.
Instead of finding fault with the victim, uplift them with encouraging words about what a great person they are (they won't believe you, but they will love you for saying it, anyway.) Tell them that the world is a better place because they are in it (see above comment.) And especially, tell them what a fantastic parent you think they are, and how their children are so lucky to have them, because they are good enough to bring them through this time. (They will be forever grateful that someone noticed how hard they are trying, and appreciated that effort, no matter how much trouble they have believing it.)
We, the people, do not have a right to know everything about our celebrities, especially when the celebrity being sold is based on a skill or a talent, and they have not sought out the attention for their lifestyle. I wish, for a change, the media would display a little discretion, and allow the personal pain to remain where it belongs - in the privacy of their rapidly disintegrating life. It would elevate all of us to know less about what we should never have known in the first place.
To anyone who may have stumbled upon this looking for hope, I can truly tell you that you will eventually emerge from the minefield - changed, but in one piece, none-the-less. Your life will look different than you thought it would, but you will have stability and peace instead of the quicksand of the unknown. Your spouse was, without a doubt, an edgy thrill seeker, because that is the personality of the serial philanderer, and you will find that while things are not as exciting, they are more predictable, and you will be able to wake up each day knowing pretty much what to expect.
Most importantly, have faith in yourself. It is enough.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Bleak Friday? Not this year....
Along with millions of Americans, I was out among the crowds at the mall yesterday, celebrating the nation's obsession with shopping on what is one of the biggest spending days of the year, the so called Black Friday. This is not in commemoration of the Black Widow Spider, who mates then kills off the evidence before he can kiss and tell. Black Friday refers to the legend that most retailers finally become solvent for the year on that day.
Although, come to think of it, the voracious appetite of consumers may have some similarities.... Thankfully, there were no reported deaths this year. I guess that's something, anyway.
While it may not be true that this is the first time they are solvent, there is no doubt that most retailers depend on the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas to pump their profits. They certainly depend on the sales from the holiday season to provide them with enough working capital to make it through the early months of the next year when shoppers, having gorged themselves on mostly superfluous merchandise, refuse to buy much more of it.
If you, like me, have no money, it makes the whole day a lot easier, since you do not have to rush out at 3 a.m. to get to the store to stand in line for the two items that you are looking for which are only available in the moments between 5:42 and 6:01 a.m. For which, it should be noted, you will then have to stand in line for an hour to pay.
I pretty much walked from store to store, looking at everything I not only cannot afford, but actually do not need, either, which is sort of an interesting realization. Being poor is, among other things, very clarifying, as you are forced to recognize the difference between needs and wants. That divide is crystal clear when the bank account is approaching zero.
I did notice this year that more shoppers were carrying bags and boxes, which should put a smile on the faces of stockholders receiving their dividend checks from the retailers who have survived this past year of belt tightening. Of course, the discounts were already deep, and the sales in full swing. Makes me wonder what will be left for the Saturday before Christmas, which is, in fact, the actual biggest shopping day of the year.
I have noticed the sales techniques have gotten a lot more innovative [mercenary] this year, as retailers work hard to induce customers to part with a little more of their precious cash. I saw a lot of sales tied to making a bigger purchase than originally intended; for example, buy one, get one for half price. It encourages you to buy two to get the sale price, the promise of savings working your subconscious like the massage therapists suddenly lining the mall hallways.
[Is it just me, or is it a little weird to be sitting in the mall getting your back rubbed and your teeth whitened in full view of the whole world? If I wanted people to see my gums, I would smile more.]
This is very creative marketing. The retailer has just gotten 150% on the sale, instead of simply marking each item down to 75% of the usual cost, which would land you in the same place if you bought two, but no one ever does.
Survival of the fittest, indeed. It is a jungle out there, and I am watching out for the teeth hidden behind the smiles of the cute little sales "associates" who are hawking the wares of their employers for $7.50 an hour. [Have you noticed how no one employs clerks any more? They are associates, partners, cast members - anything but sales clerks. Do they really think that, whatever you are calling them, sales people don't know a minimum wage job does not earn your name on the left side of the letterhead?]
One retailer I visited took that tactic a step further, requiring a purchase of two same priced items to get two free. I thought about it, because I really wanted one, but realized, ultimately, that I didn't need four, and didn't have the money to pay for two, either. [Actually, as it is a fairly spendy item to begin with, I didn't even really need one, so two was pretty much out of the question.]
Call it my little strike for the consumer, as I refused to play by the increasingly hardball rules of mega-corporations who want to part me from my money for baubles and trinkets no one, especially me, really needs. If only I had my own flag, we could start a facebook group and you could all be my fans. Of course, that assumes that you agree with me that it is a slippery slope, this whole buy one/get one trend.
Ultimately, I did come home with a few things that I really needed, including new shoes for work. (Buy one, get one 50% off, so naturally I bought two pair. Hey, they were on sale, so it was a real bargain, second pair almost free.) You have to look professional for these meetings, and I realized when dressing for the last one, that I am sorely in need. Seriously.
I bought a Christmas gift for my mom, which was at reduced price [once I renewed my discount card for the annual fee.]
I bought stamps for my Christmas cards. No sales there at all. On the contrary, I am surprised they didn't raise some extra funds by charging more for them. I guess they haven't thought of that yet. Rats. I should keep my mouth shut and not give them any ideas.
I bought a very expensive bag of dog food at the pet store, along with yet another cheap $2 toy that my Jack Russel Terrier will have fun destroying, just as soon as he gets his teeth on it. Call me Mommy Warbucks.
The best part of the day, for me, was spending the time with my lovely daughter, without whom life would be bleak indeed. Any day that includes spending time with her is a day that my life account is in the black with the only kind of capital that really matters.
I think spending time with your female relatives is the most compelling reason for Black Friday, and a lot of other people must agree, if the matching faces I saw walking the mall were any indication. It is always entertaining to see the same faces, youthful and maturing, and to know that the generations continue to find ways to connect, even if it's hunting for just the right pair of shoes, instead of hunting for food or shelter.
By the victorious smiles on many of the faces, and the bags swinging from arms on all sides, I think Black Friday was, indeed, a success this year. Whether you are shopping for presents, or groceries, or just spending time with your family doing traditional activities, I wish you the remaining holiday weekend hours to be spent in the joy of your family, doing whatever your own traditions lead you to do.
Happy holidays to each one of my faithful readers. I am thankful for each one who encourages me in my pursuit of perfect prose - it is very important to me, and has often propelled me to write my weekly post when I otherwise would not have done so. For each one who has asked me to publish my better offerings in a book, I thank you for the delicious compliment. However, unless my blog goes viral, there is a pretty limited audience for my collected wisdom, such as it is, so don't be looking for it on a store shelf near you any time soon! [Dollar Tree, anyone?!]
Happy Black Weekend, and here's hoping that whatever bleak things you are holding in your heart will be washed away with the joy of the holiday season now underway. I will leave you with one of my favorite verses from the Word of the Lord and Saviour I celebrate in the Holy Season of Christmas: " The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace." Numbers 6:24-26. NIV
Although, come to think of it, the voracious appetite of consumers may have some similarities.... Thankfully, there were no reported deaths this year. I guess that's something, anyway.
While it may not be true that this is the first time they are solvent, there is no doubt that most retailers depend on the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas to pump their profits. They certainly depend on the sales from the holiday season to provide them with enough working capital to make it through the early months of the next year when shoppers, having gorged themselves on mostly superfluous merchandise, refuse to buy much more of it.
If you, like me, have no money, it makes the whole day a lot easier, since you do not have to rush out at 3 a.m. to get to the store to stand in line for the two items that you are looking for which are only available in the moments between 5:42 and 6:01 a.m. For which, it should be noted, you will then have to stand in line for an hour to pay.
I pretty much walked from store to store, looking at everything I not only cannot afford, but actually do not need, either, which is sort of an interesting realization. Being poor is, among other things, very clarifying, as you are forced to recognize the difference between needs and wants. That divide is crystal clear when the bank account is approaching zero.
I did notice this year that more shoppers were carrying bags and boxes, which should put a smile on the faces of stockholders receiving their dividend checks from the retailers who have survived this past year of belt tightening. Of course, the discounts were already deep, and the sales in full swing. Makes me wonder what will be left for the Saturday before Christmas, which is, in fact, the actual biggest shopping day of the year.
I have noticed the sales techniques have gotten a lot more innovative [mercenary] this year, as retailers work hard to induce customers to part with a little more of their precious cash. I saw a lot of sales tied to making a bigger purchase than originally intended; for example, buy one, get one for half price. It encourages you to buy two to get the sale price, the promise of savings working your subconscious like the massage therapists suddenly lining the mall hallways.
[Is it just me, or is it a little weird to be sitting in the mall getting your back rubbed and your teeth whitened in full view of the whole world? If I wanted people to see my gums, I would smile more.]
This is very creative marketing. The retailer has just gotten 150% on the sale, instead of simply marking each item down to 75% of the usual cost, which would land you in the same place if you bought two, but no one ever does.
Survival of the fittest, indeed. It is a jungle out there, and I am watching out for the teeth hidden behind the smiles of the cute little sales "associates" who are hawking the wares of their employers for $7.50 an hour. [Have you noticed how no one employs clerks any more? They are associates, partners, cast members - anything but sales clerks. Do they really think that, whatever you are calling them, sales people don't know a minimum wage job does not earn your name on the left side of the letterhead?]
One retailer I visited took that tactic a step further, requiring a purchase of two same priced items to get two free. I thought about it, because I really wanted one, but realized, ultimately, that I didn't need four, and didn't have the money to pay for two, either. [Actually, as it is a fairly spendy item to begin with, I didn't even really need one, so two was pretty much out of the question.]
Call it my little strike for the consumer, as I refused to play by the increasingly hardball rules of mega-corporations who want to part me from my money for baubles and trinkets no one, especially me, really needs. If only I had my own flag, we could start a facebook group and you could all be my fans. Of course, that assumes that you agree with me that it is a slippery slope, this whole buy one/get one trend.
Ultimately, I did come home with a few things that I really needed, including new shoes for work. (Buy one, get one 50% off, so naturally I bought two pair. Hey, they were on sale, so it was a real bargain, second pair almost free.) You have to look professional for these meetings, and I realized when dressing for the last one, that I am sorely in need. Seriously.
I bought a Christmas gift for my mom, which was at reduced price [once I renewed my discount card for the annual fee.]
I bought stamps for my Christmas cards. No sales there at all. On the contrary, I am surprised they didn't raise some extra funds by charging more for them. I guess they haven't thought of that yet. Rats. I should keep my mouth shut and not give them any ideas.
I bought a very expensive bag of dog food at the pet store, along with yet another cheap $2 toy that my Jack Russel Terrier will have fun destroying, just as soon as he gets his teeth on it. Call me Mommy Warbucks.
The best part of the day, for me, was spending the time with my lovely daughter, without whom life would be bleak indeed. Any day that includes spending time with her is a day that my life account is in the black with the only kind of capital that really matters.
I think spending time with your female relatives is the most compelling reason for Black Friday, and a lot of other people must agree, if the matching faces I saw walking the mall were any indication. It is always entertaining to see the same faces, youthful and maturing, and to know that the generations continue to find ways to connect, even if it's hunting for just the right pair of shoes, instead of hunting for food or shelter.
By the victorious smiles on many of the faces, and the bags swinging from arms on all sides, I think Black Friday was, indeed, a success this year. Whether you are shopping for presents, or groceries, or just spending time with your family doing traditional activities, I wish you the remaining holiday weekend hours to be spent in the joy of your family, doing whatever your own traditions lead you to do.
Happy holidays to each one of my faithful readers. I am thankful for each one who encourages me in my pursuit of perfect prose - it is very important to me, and has often propelled me to write my weekly post when I otherwise would not have done so. For each one who has asked me to publish my better offerings in a book, I thank you for the delicious compliment. However, unless my blog goes viral, there is a pretty limited audience for my collected wisdom, such as it is, so don't be looking for it on a store shelf near you any time soon! [Dollar Tree, anyone?!]
Happy Black Weekend, and here's hoping that whatever bleak things you are holding in your heart will be washed away with the joy of the holiday season now underway. I will leave you with one of my favorite verses from the Word of the Lord and Saviour I celebrate in the Holy Season of Christmas: " The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace." Numbers 6:24-26. NIV
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