bouleversement (BOO-luh-vers-MAWN) noun

1. Reversal.

2. Violent uproar, upheaval, or disorder.

[From French bouleversement (upheaval), from bouleverser (to overturn),
from boule (ball) + verser (to turn).]

Just getting the word out might cause one!

My dh and my dad had a bouleversement (definition #2) four years ago yesterday, and have not spoken to one another since, except on one ocassion last summer that was so important to my sons that they wanted their grandparents there, and that concession was made, though conversation was terse and minimal, and nothing changed as I had so desperately hoped that it would.

I find it ironic that dh and I had an argument about this on the very date on which it happened four years ago (yesterday) and when I came to this realization I was startled. I can't help but wonder how much goes on in the subconscious memory that prompts us to act as we do in the present.

I am no longer deeply angry about any of this--not on a continual basis anyway the way dh is. Most of the time I love them both and keep them in separate corners and just don't allow them to touch. It takes a bit of juggling, but after four years I've had plenty of practice.

But today I was sad. Most of the day. I found it hard to concentrate on things I needed to do, and I walked around with a headache that refused to go away. I just can't help but mourn the loss that these two magnificent men are inflicting upon themselves.

My dad is a special person. He is quick-witted and deep-hearted. His generosity is well-known, and he doesn't really have much to give in a material way--though he does that when necessary and like "bread cast upon the waters" it does return. Mostly he gives of himself. He has a creative side that is touching and awesome. From the little welded figurine pencil-holder he made me when I worked at Langston, to the wonderous letters he wrote me when we moved to Connecticut, I think it's that creative side of him that endears him to me most. He is so supportive of my writing but in a quiet way. I feel it more than I hear it.

I know that my Dad loves me even though for some insane reason I am not the easiest person to get close to. He was never one that I could pour my heart out to; I'm not sure that Dad ever had anyone that he could pour his heart and soul out to, especially in his formative years. I know he overcame shyness. Babysat too often. Worked like a slave for his father at the gas station. He learned important qualities from his family about working and providing and as a provider he never let his family down. There were times we didn't have much in the way of money, but we never went to bed with empty bellies, and we always went to bed with Dad in the house with us. In those early formative years of mine, he was there--as many fathers are not these days--and while as parents there are always things we would do differently if we could, my father can look at his children and be proud. We are all self-sufficient, hard workers who have proven to be solid, upstanding adults who don't expect hand-outs and who earn the respect of employers and those around us simply through being decent human beings.

My dh--well, I can't begin to enumerate the things he has taught me and all that he does for me. Dad and dh are poles apart when it comes to risk taking, and thanks to dh I have learned that sometimes it's worth bucking the system and not doing "what everyone else does" just because. I have learned from my hubby how to keep a cool head in situations where I need it so that I can think. I've learned to be more observant. My creativity has blossomed because he never stops at the obvious, but keeps digging till he has the best. He can do anything with nothing. He firmly believes that and has shown time and time again that he can do it. He knows how to use money to make money (and how to lose money in the process of learning--education always costs!). I know that if anything were to happen to him and I no longer had the advantage of his financial support, I would not go to work for someone else, but I would be my own boss, doing what I love and making it work.

I have had the full enjoyment of my children because with him by my side I was able to be with them through every step of their development. Home has been school and school has been home, and I am a lucky woman to have a teenager who still comes to talk to me. Maybe not every day, but I can feel when we've been "apart" too long and can predict with uncanny accuracy when he's going to start talking--usually at night when everyone else is in bed. The close bond I have with my children would have been diminished in untold ways if their father had not made it possible for me to stay home and love them--which happened to include teaching them how to learn.

These two men who are at poles of my earth--with me at the equator--both have large hearts and deep faith. But they also struggle with the burdens of their upbringing. I have wished for four years now that there was something I could do to fix this rift. But it's not my rift. Every time I try to get involved, I come away hurting more, and it's just another reminder that I am supposed to have left this in someone else's hands. I do trust that the hands in which I have placed this problem are capable ones. The "fix" is taking a long time because it's not going to be a patch. The root will be dug out and destroyed and in the end, we'll all be better because of this test that was allowed. But sometimes I miss so much the dinners and conversations that we used to have together. Perhaps even more I miss not having to worry about what's going to happen if/when they ever do come together again. It will not be an easy thing. It will either get worse and then be gone or it will get worse and stay that way. I'm not sure how much courage I have when I've learned to make the present comfortable.

It must look so easy from the outside. Why don't they just get together and talk it out? They're grown men! Well, I'm hear to tell you, grown men have feelings rooted in childhood and those feelings--whether they admit to having them or not--can be consuming and all-powerful. Intellectual basis goes out the window, the mind mud comes in, along with the anger, fear, frustration, hurt, and what's left behind is bouleversement. And the sadness that goes with it.

Well I have to write something.

Something.

There I did it.

I'm losing my edge because I'm letting myself drift. It wasn't okay in December and it's not okay now. My mind plays tricks on me like, "Well look at all the good months you got in. One or two bad ones won't hurt." But they do hurt. The longer I'm away from the keyboard, the harder it gets to come back. One month becomes two, that becomes three, and before you know it I'll hit December with the same goal I had last December--get back to writing regularly.

So let's pretend June is December. It's time to start making those 10 minute sessions happen whether I want them to or not. I have to put an end to this scattered feeling.

I want a project. Why oh why can I not settle on a project? I can't get excited about anything. I wanted to walk--not doing that. Want to make time to get to the pool--haven't done that. I'm always being gobbled up by fixing things or rearranging things or paying bills. Hey I finally got the accounting back to organized, so maybe that's a start. I wish I had a regular day, with regular hours that I could plot and plan and not have jumbled on me from the beginning. That will only happen if/when R has regular working hours. I can't make it happen all by myself. I've tried. I can't make him understand that the interruptions and the delays just derail every plan I've made for the entire day. I don't mind the interruptions that are unavoidable, but with a little planning and forethought on his part, I could parcel out my day to include the things he needs done. But he'll never be that way. When he needs it, he needs it now. "It" can be anything from phone calls to finding old receipts. Do it now, drop everything. Arg. I'm going crazy. I need some order. NEED it.

The clouds were phenomenal today. I have to practice describing the sky. I watched the sun finish coming up from the porch among my petunias. I don't think I was more contented all day. I sit out there and think of things like "salmon and smoke" and "high clouds smeared like ashes across the pale morning sky." But it doesn't do justice to the layers and the way the colors change. One mass behind a pink tinged cotton-mass will go from vanilla ice cream white to a more subdued, grayed white and then can even deepen into gray. Some of the clouds clot, like cream and others climb in thin sweeps that catch the light. Then these fronts (for lack of a better word) would come in from the north and turn the sky the most incredible deep blue. Only it wasn't really sky--it was clouds. Then there would be a thinning in a spot, a gap in the blanket that would be a blue-green--another layer of clouds behind. I want to grab a camera, to keep it. But I have to be content to be in awe, love it and let it go. And feel that satisfaction that doesn't come from any other thing.

We did get rain. Not nearly enough, but it did rain off and on for a good part of the day. Papa and son spent the day fishing. It was good for both of them. The house was quiet and I did get caught up on laundry and some cleaning. I have an ASL presentation tomorrow that keeps nattering through my head with a clack rather like an insistant typist. My hands will start flying in the middle of something and I wonder sometimes what people think when they see me "talking" to myself.

Okay, this feels good. I have missed this. My plan is to be back tomorrow after ASL class.

What are you writing?

Say good-bye to May.

Writing-wise it was a sparse month. Maybe though it was time to refill the well because I sit here tonight feeling content and happy with the results of the month. I met new people, improved important skills, I reconnected with old friends, spent contented hours with family--some of whom I hadn't seen in years, I got my hands in the dirt and planted flowers that make my front porch a little oasis all my own. All in all, it was a rich, full month, even if I didn't meet the smallest of my writing goals.

By way of example, on Saturday night we had one of the most laid back and enjoyable evenings I think we've had in a long time. R decided he had a hankerin' for some shrimp and he dug out the last of the butterfly venison steaks from the freezer and put some bodacious smoke in them. We sat out in our front yard on the south side of a ferocious, tornado-filled thunderstorm (which was moving northeast of course; we're not stupid. LOL!) and watched the light show through the clouds. What a churning bubbling mass of energy. Incredible in shape and changing in color as the sun set and the clouds billowed and ran across the sky in thick molten layers attended by veils of scud that at times reminded me of cotton candy. It was too tremendous for words. When the worst of the wind in the backdraft was over and we were no longer in danger of having the plates blown away if we let loose for a moment, we nibbled on shrimp and steak along with a nice Zinfindel and for a few hours became human beings instead of human "doings." It was much needed and so much enjoyed.

Then the following night we were invited to my inlaws for dinner. We feasted on grilled hamburgers and bratwurst, potato salad, green salad, her "famous" baked beans, and cherry pie ala mode for dessert. To work all that off, we started out with a few sets of badmitton to get the blood flowing before we ate, and then after we continued. I have never played so much badmitton in my life! It was 10:30 before we left. We laughed so hard and just had a beautiful evening together. We need to do it more often.

Those are just samples of how generous May has been.

I'm ready to settle into a routine that's a bit more home-centered, hoping against hope that June will settle down a bit. After the graduation party next weekend. Oh well, it's good for me I guess. It's just that we've been gone a lot in May! But I do have some paperwork and house-keeping jobs I want to get off my shoulders so that when I hit November I don't have things niggling at me while I'm writing the draft of my blockbuster novel during NaNoWriMo. :)

We're gearing up for A's trip now and his potential graduation. It's a toss-up really. He's ahead by a year, but staying in school may open opportunities for concurrent enrollment in some college programs and/or vo-tech. He's still undecided with just what he wants to do with himself, and I empathize. I wish I had had more time to just explore--really search out just what it was that ignited a fire in my soul and then press forward to make my work my play. Or vice versa. A has so many talents, so many unique qualities and abilities that I do want him to take the time to understand himself enough to know what he likes, what he doesn't, what will make him wake up in the morning eager to enter the day and accomplish the most good that he can. Most of all, I think I would just die if I ever saw the light in his eyes disappear under a work load that was an inescapable burden.

And that, I guess will do it for this month. Here's to a precious June....