Between the Lines

I'm really good with boundaries. Super-hero good, actually.

Respect!
Consideration!
Personal space!...
...You are all safe with me!

If you asked anyone in my life (be it friend or foe) they would agree. I am pretty respectful of the lines. I'm just not programed to cross them. Come to think of it, when I color with my kids, I actually trace over (with vibrant color, of course) all the lines first so that they are thick and brightly clear to me (and everyone else) and easy to stay in. Hmmm.... interesting self-analysis there. I digress...

I can think of only two times in my life where I crossed a line. I am absolutely sure of these two isolated incidents because I hated the feeling of them. Staying inside the lines is a trait that I am proud of. Sure, it can lend itself to being viewed by others as "too serious" and "defensive", but I believe the benefits have greatly outweighed the risks. I am fiercely protective of what lies between the lines in my life. I've been told I am like a pitbull when it comes to securing my space and of those I love. You can trust me. I've got your back. (Low growl....!)

I walk around this world respectfully navigating boundaries. I look for them on people's faces, or in the way they carry themselves, and in their words, (or the lack there of) in a conversation, text or on facebook. In my mind I know, "Ok, that's off limits. I get it". It's all about respect.

That said, I never fail to be stunned when someone is blind to boundaries, especially mine. I mean, come on people! They are thickly traced over practically neon! Why do you insist on ignoring them? I know these people see my lines. Do they just not care? Or worse, do they believe they can change me? Wrong. Nuh-uh. Not happening. Rrruff! Ruff! (baring my teeth and snarling..).

Twice today my boundaries were crossed and I am pissed. Growl. "Back OFF!" Someone please explain this blatant disregard to me because I have had it up to HERE!

Rrrruff! Growl! Snarl!

Home Is Where The Heart Is... (or so they say)

I hate my house.

I'm no hater. And I don't hate a lot of things...but boy OH boy do I hate my house. To most, it's pretty much like every other suburban cookie-cutter cape house on Long Island. Vinyl siding. Decorative window shutters. Small kitchen. Two baths. Postage stamp-size lawn. One car garage. Chrysanthemums and tomato plants popping up in a micro-miniature patch of garden in the yard. I should love my house. Anyone else would love my house. But I don't. And I make no apologies.

"It's a good house" friends say. "You could dormer/do a kitchen/put in a deck..." they envision, all starry-eyed. Me? I day dream of the family that will live here next. Like a puppy you hope to find a good family for, I just cannot give my house the life it deserves to have living in it.

I moved into this house with my parents in 1976. I was five. My younger brother was born here. Took his first steps in the living room. I painted the walls of my teenage bedroom (now my oldest son's blue room) lavender with flowers, here. Watched my mom make family dinners while heroically fighting cancer here. I cranked up my stereo here. Had my first kiss here. Hosted glitzy pre-prom parties here. Drove away to college from here. I lived here. Mom died here. I left here.

For eight years I lived away, created a fresh new life, while the house was left with a fractured part of our family in it. Then one day the house was an opportunity. "It's a good house" he said. "I want something new" I said. "We could dormer/do a kitchen/put in a deck" he said. "I want to start fresh", I said. "But it's a good house" he said. "Okay. But we won't stay for long", I said.

That was twelve years ago. The kitchen is the same, but older and now much more outdated. There's no dormer. No deck. Yes there are good memories for me and my kids in this house, like first steps, the birth of my youngest, but they collide with the ones of my own childhood. It's not nostalgic like some would imagine. It's memory overload. If memories could be like the mall on Christmas Eve, that's what it's like for me living behind these walls. It's crowded.

I actually re-purchased the house for a second time in my life last November. One of the many ridiculous things that has happened because of divorce. I did not want to uproot my kids so I did it for them, but it's ironic all the same.

Of course I know how lucky I am to have a warm and secure place to live and even though I don't have the means or motivation to renovate or enhance it, I focus instead on the heart of my home - -my kids. I substitute dormers and granite counter tops for miniature vegetable gardens and a few flower beds. I fix what needs to be fixed. Do what needs to be done. It is my obligation to my family. And best of all, I move about these walls with the comfort and security of my children always in the forefront of my mind. I dream of the family that will get to live here next... Because, I'm told, it's a good house.

But I still hate it.

The Dreams Were Your Ticket Out...

Welcome back!

.....And that's all I should say about that.

But I won't. Ahhh... Dreams! I could quote all my favorites here, from hokey 70's TV show theme songs to the haunting words of Langston Hughes who questioned the perils of living with dreams deferred. Dreams. They are so many things to so many people. For the middle-class, middle-aged mostly-comfortable woman like me, they are the essence of selfishness. The epitome of ego. Secret lives we live in moments of desperate longing. Terrible, horrible, spoiled moments of daring to want more. Oh the guilt!

Therefore, I have relinquished the idea of a "dream". I think we should keep "dream" solely as a sleep event. Dreams are things that happen in our heads at night; images and vivid pictures that we have no control over. Some are wonderful. Some are horrid. They are involuntary and they happen during sleep. I do not "dream" of my life. No sir. No mam. I have changed my dream diet. Instead of feasting on the glutenous selfishness of "dreams" by day, I serve up a deluge of hope. I aspire. I expect. I aim. I design. I plan. I trust. I believe. I promise. I wish....

I wish.