The Zen of Jewelry Making

The anger has subsided but the hurt will remain for a very long time. So I am focusing my attention on making jewelry, and I'm having fun taking photos of my different designs.

Stringing beads is an extremely calming and peaceful activity. It's funny though...I know several people who are patient by nature, but they can't tolerate the idea of putting little beads onto little wires for hours at a time. Me? I have very little patience with most things, but I can spend an entire afternoon separating my beads, lining them up to test color coordination, and then stringing and restringing them.

My hope is to sell most of the items that I produce. I'm still working on creating the prototypes, and I am just now setting up a website. It's fun, and it keeps me distracted. Otherwise, I tend to dwell on many of the other hurtful things that have been said to me over my lifetime:

"You're a flake and I predict that you'll be married and divorced at least 7 times."
Sister, 1988

"You've really surprised me with how well you've done. You were an average student and I never thought you'd make much of yourself."
Dad, 1997

"One day your heart is going to swell up to the size of a pea and explode."
Sister, 1992

"You get down on your hands and knees and beg forgiveness from your sister, because you hurt her feelings. I don't care if she was mean to you and I don't care if she started it. You are destroying this family and I won't have it."
Mother, 1995

"You need to stop wearing those pants. You look like a fat lesbian."
Sister, 2000


The list goes on and on and on.

You know, I've thought about this alot because I think that patterns exist in a person's life for a reason and that people who continually yell, "I'm a victim!" are actually missing their own contribution to their plight. But honestly, I have been the Black Sheep in my family for my entire life. I had hoped that things would shuffle and shift after my sister Ann passed away..but nooo, the family still feels the need to tell me what they think about how I live my life.

Note to family: Reality Check

I pay my bills on time.
I don't drink heavily or regularly and I don't do drugs.
I don't steal or cheat or gamble.
I dedicated my career to helping others exceed their own expectations of themselves.
I am a faithful and trustworthy wife.
I take exceptionally good care of my kitties.
I believe strongly in doing Good Deeds.
I don't like to hurt other people and I won't kill bugs or other living things.
I don't engage in any behaviour that is destructive.
I am honest to a fault and try to live by the Golden Rule.
I have an extremely strong work ethic and have achieved career success.
I donate to others in many different ways and I never tell anyone else about it.


Eh. I could keep going. The point is that my family sees me in a certain way that doesn't jive with how the rest of the world see me. And I take my family's opinions to heart...so I remain unsure of myself.

I wish that I could just.stop.caring. But I can't. I've never gotten their support or approval and I keep secretly hoping to get it. When I don't, I'm devastated. Again and again and again.

So today, I make jewelry...to keep my mind and heart at peace. And I'll probably do the same tomorrow.

And Now This.

Sometimes the confusion and pain make it difficult to describe an interaction and the resulting emotional turbulence.

It all started with my Dad, who gave me his Unsolicited Opinion right outta the blue, in the middle of a non-related discussion.

Dad: I think raising children is best left for young people.

Jill: Are you referring to our adoption? Tons of people my age have kids. It's done all of the time.

Dad: Not really.

Jill: Yes, really.

Dad: Having children is a wonderful thing, but it requires a lot of hard work for a very long time. You may not be up to it.

Jill: Dad, this is part of the reason why we moved here. So I wouldn't have to work and we could adopt. I already knew that I couldn't and wouldn't work full time plus have kids.

Dad: I think you should hold off.


Silly me. I let it go at that.

What I didn't say to him was, "You know, people who can't hold a frickin' job for more than a year shouldn't have kids either. People who abandon their children for 6 months with no explanation have no right to be parents. People who fight with their spouses all of the time, threaten to kill them and never sleep in the same room should never, ever have kids. People who are willing to tell their child that they never believed that they were the biological parent and would they please take a DNA test are too narcissistic to ever have kids."

Instead, I talked to my sister about it, because I was highly offended that my father had the nerve to sit in judgment of my ability to parent after all that he had done.

Jill: I can't believe he said all of that. I didn't ask him for his opinion, and I have no idea where he got the idea that I should hear his thoughts.

Denise: He probably got it from me. I've had severe reservations about you having kids. You're better now, but you would have been an awful mother. You should never have kids.

Jill: You're telling me that compared to all of the people in this world who abuse their kids, abuse drugs and alcohol and live in belligerent environments...you're telling me that I wouldn't be a better parent than that?

Denise: I don't think that you should have children, I think that you'd be an awful, awful parent.

Jill: You know, I called to talk to you about how Dad's comments deeply hurt and offended me, and now what you're saying is even worse.

Denise: I know. But I'm just giving you my opinion.

Jill: I didn't ask for it and frankly, I would never say these things to you or anybody else.


We hung up the phone and I dragged my butt around the house for another hour until I finally gave up and went to bed. Throughout my entire life, my family has criticized every plan that I have intended to tackle. I have never, ever been supported in anything that I have done. Even before she passed away, my mother constantly said, "Why do you want to go to Russia? Bleh. Can't you just have your own baby?"

Sigh. "No mom, we can't. We've tried. We're going to Russia."

Now this. I suppose my sister is still reacting to something that happened when I was down south helping clean up my parent's house. I was walking outside and closing the door when I heard my nephew scream loudly. I immediately stopped and ran inside. He had placed his fingers into the open slot between the door frame and the open door, and they were being squeezed as I closed the door. He was crying and in pain and I started crying too, because I had hurt him, albeit unknowingly. My sister told me at the time that I was incapable of having children if I got upset about squishing fingers in a doorway.

It hurts me when I hurt things...so this apparently makes me incapable of being a good mother.

Whatever.

I talked with Husband about all of this before I went to bed. I asked him if his family ever gave him this kind of input on any aspect of his life.

Husband: No, they pretty much support me in anything that I want to do.

Jill: Did your parents ever have words with your brother, who's an alcoholic and meth addict with 3 kids?

Husband: No, they know that he's an adult and he makes his own decisions.

Husband: Listen honey. Your family has never supported you in anything. I've seen it the whole time we've been married. You're the Prove Them Wrong Girl. They have extremely low expectations of what you can do, but you have proven them wrong in everything that you have taken on. You're going to be an awesome mom, and I can't wait to have kids with you.

Jill: But I'm tired of this. I'm tired of them thinking that they can say anything to me and that I'll just take it. I'm tired of them telling me all that I can't do. I'm tired being the Prove Them Wrong Girl. This is just one more really hurtful thing inflicted on me by them, and I'm sick and tired of being the target. I would never, ever say these things to anyone. And yet they feel that they can say this stuff to me all.of.the.time. No matter what I do, no matter how well I do anything, I'm still Incapable. I'm sick of this family.

Husband: Don't let them get to you. I'm with you all of the way. We'll do this together and it's going to be great.


So right now, despite having had 11 hours of sleep last night, I'm fatigued and weary. Forty-two fucking years of this crap. From a bunch of people who weren't all that successful in their own lives.

Thank you, God for my husband.

I bought this pumpkin pillow for my mom last year when she moved into her new apartment at the assisted care facility. She smiled when she opened the package, and she kept it displayed on the big, green silk chair in her living room. I recently started going through mom's chest of drawers to donate her clothes to Goodwill, and I found this little guy neatly tucked away. Right next to mom's stack of festive napkins that the assisted care facility used at each holiday meal. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's. She kept them all. And I can't seem to stop petting them, wondering how pieces of paper and a stuffed ball of felt can outlast a person.

Inanimate things are so inconsequential, yet they endure. Like this silly little pumpkin pillow, which I love and hate at the very same time.

The Yin Yang Dance of Marriage is spinning again.

Don't get me wrong, all is good and solid. But the dynamics are shifting and I can feel it pulling at me like an ocean tide...sweeping me along its path, ignoring my resistance.

And resisting is something that I do very well. Because I like to be The Tide. I like to create the gravitational pull and point us in the direction of my choosing. This, however, is different.

Part of the shift is occurring because he is working and I am not. There's an upheaval in our former routine of Who does What. I've taken on a lot of new chores including laundry, dishes, sweeping the floors and paying the bills. Husband has kept cleaning the cat boxes and taking out the trash. But whenever I ask for help with anything else, I get Attitude.

"I've already worked all day."

"I know, but I can't reach those pot lights, not even on the ladder. I need your help, I can't do it without you."

Heavy sigh with the shake-age of the head, "OK."

Egads, this is for changing lightbulbs. Just wait until he hears that I want to move the desk upstairs.

I'm not used to this counter resistance from my husband. But in the wake of my current unemployment, I feel compelled to go with it. Do more myself, by myself because...well..I'm not working and he is. And I am eternally grateful for the chance to take this break. But with it comes a shift in our patterns of habit and power. He overrides me more often now and I silently give in.

The Yin Yang Dance is still a tango, but I'm no longer the one who's leading.

Some People Drink. I Run.

I know this feeling, I've had it for most of my life. It's like a clock ticking deep inside of me, tugging on my heart with every beat.

Pending dread.

The instinctual knowledge that something is looming...an upcoming event that is going to cause pain and tears in the shower. Silently, in my sleep it came to me: The One Year Anniversary...of so many hurtful incidents that I'm afraid for time to roll forward.

Pierce being diagnosed with autism.
My dad's heart attack.
The car accident.
Thanksgiving 2004 - the last time we were all together as a family.
My sister's mysterious hospitalization and sudden, unexpected passing.
My futile attempts to keep my mother alive.
Her last words to me, "Please take care of me" as I was kissing her forehead.
My medical leave and the grinding angst until I finally pulled the trigger and quit.

Is it any wonder that my stomach and digestive systems are an utter mess? Can anyone be surprised that I refused to leave the house, answer the phone or even talk with friends?

I held my sister's cats last night and just sobbed. For them, for her...and because of the disbelieving shock that still radiates throughout my body. I cannot conjure up an explanation of how I made it through this last year, and there is nothing, nothing that could ever entice me to go through it again. I want to say that I am wiser now...that I have a deeper understanding of humanity and our purpose here on this planet.

The truth, however, is that I am lost.

No ambition or desire to ever return to the corporate world. No clear understanding of what purpose my life serves in the end. Good or bad, does my behaviour really matter? Two of my sister's friends claim to have experienced a visit from her shortly after her death. Was that real and if so, why the hell didn't she come to my other sister or to me? Our insides have been curdled by pain, and we could have used the enlightened hope generated from a Vision.

I am grateful for this new beginning in a new city. And as hard as I have tried to outrun the pain, it's still there. Beating against my heart and ravishing my stomach. Forcing me to go through it.

And pressing me to understand that pain is a part of me that cannot be denied or ignored...or extricated by distraction or newness.

It's a Losing Battle.

The conversation, as I can best recall:

Dad: I'd like to hold-off before you get that electric stairlift chair ordered.

Jill: Why?

Dad: I don't think I need it.

Jill: Dad, I'd like to have it installed because I think there is a safety issue.

Dad: I understand but I think I can handle the stairs just fine.

Jill: Dad, you can't walk.

Dad: I feel better today than I have in a long time.

Jill: Dad, you can't walk. Your legs have given out and you have to crawl to the bathroom. These are somewhat steep stairs and there are about 15 of them in total. I get pooped going up them. What's the problem, is it the money? It isn't as much as you think!

Dad: Listen, I don't need it. I'll be just fine.

Jill: But Dad...You Haven't Been Able to Walk For Over 3 Weeks.

Dad: Enough said. I don't want it and I'm not paying for it.

Jill (flying around the room like a balloon losing air): Let's call Denise and get a second opinion.

Dad: No.

"Uncle"

20 Random Things

1. I hate spiders but I don't kill them.
2. I really, really want to get a whippet.
3. My cousin once shoved a pencil straight into my calf two inches deep.
4. I have never had the mumps, measles or chicken pox.
5. I outshoot most men on the skeet range.
6. If I ever won the lottery, I would open an art studio for underprivileged kids to take lessons and create art pieces. Free.
7. I find zero personal satisfaction in cleaning and food prep.
8. I steadfastly wash my hands before anything goes in my mouth.
9. I am susceptible to the flu and typically have to be hooked up to an antibiotic IV.
10. I love Law & Order.
11. I was shocked to see that Clay Aiken from American Idol was able to afford a $2.5-ish million dollar house in LA..which is now for sale. He wasn't even the winner.
12. All of my cats have been declawed, neutered, and they get their teeth scraped on a regular basis. We believe in good dental hygiene in this household.
13. I am now doing laundry for the very first time since getting married over 10 years ago.
14. I have never eaten a bon bon.
15. I no longer feel that I understand the purpose of life, why we are here, what it is all about.
16. My father called me Dunderhead when I was a kid.
17. My celebrity crushes include Shemar Moore, Hugh Jackman and James Caviezel. And I thought Kevin James was utterly darling in Hitch. I would have dated him in a nano-second.
18. I am thrown by the concept that Good Deeds mean nothing in the hereafter.
19. I dream of exploring underneath the Vatican.
20. Sienna Miller did the right thing to bounce Jude Law. There is nothing more dangerous than a handsome, charming and untrustworthy man.

How Do You Spell Heartbroken?

m-y-n-i-e-c-e-i-s-i-n-t-h-e-m-i-d-s-t-o-f-h-e-r-s-e-c-o-n-d-s-c-h-i-z-o-p-h-r-e-n-i-c-e-p-i-s-o-d-e.

She was my flower girl and my heart is crying.

Colorado residential architecture is extremely different from that in California.

There are lots of two-story archways for the entry. Kitchens and family rooms are three times the size. Houses have huge (1500 square feet ++) basements - a totally new phenomenon for us. (I love to run the distance with my arms flapping wildly and just feel the space.) And the master bedrooms don't have doors leading into the master bathroom.

Husband has been getting up at 4:30am every day for work. He likes to get to the shop by 6:30am and beat the traffic that is fairly thick going into Denver. So every morning, I get to watch him jump into the shower from my vantage point in bed.

What is it about watching a guy get ready in the morning? I remember sitting in the bathroom when I was a kid and watching my dad shave. Then, he'd walk over to his standing, wooden valet and put on his trousers and shirt. I'd watch him comb his hair and brush his teeth, and for as long as I can remember, Dad used powdered toothpaste that he mixed with water in his hand.
Husband's routine includes a sonicare and a zip-zip of his electric shaver over his Brutis Beard, then he ducks into the closet and throws on some clothes. Every. Single. Morning. he steps out of the closet and his jeans are tucked into his socks hary-cary. (It's an especially bad look when the socks are tan.) I'll say something like, "You've got that bicycle messenger look again!" He bobs his head and pulls out the cuffs, smiling at me the entire time.

I think about how lucky I am to be with a man who isn't arrogant and narcissistic. My guy is a sweet loving, jovial man who doesn't take much of anything too seriously.

Last night Husband told me that this is the happiest he has ever been in his life...that he was meant to move here. He loves his work, he is earning more than he earned in the Bay Area and he respects the people he works with.

It's so nice to see someone jump out of bed, excited to take on the day, and say outloud..."Today is a great day to get up and go get 'em!"

I am so thankful to have him and this enveloping sense of peace in my life.

It came outta nowhere and took me down to my knees. Literally.

Those pesky curbs...I was too busy talking to take notice. I twisted my ankle, wrenched my back, jammed my left wrist and damaged my left knee. I was so hurt I just sat there, in the middle of the parking lot for several minutes. Chirping birds flew around my head and I started crying.

Husband called me Sweet Baby in a loving tone. He knew it was bad. I didn't even have a chance to try to recover on my own, and I went down hard. I swear, the earth rattled.

Rigor mortis has set in today and I am a crabby, hobbled mess.

Gah.

Hit Me.

I was 8 years old when my best friend showed me how to set things on fire.

We'd typically go to the elementary school playground that was just up the street. On weekends, it was deserted so we had the run of the place. There was no grass, only dirt, jungle gyms and sandboxes on a piece of land that stretched 1/2 a mile.

We started by playing war and setting plastic soldiers on fire. We always had a bowl of water ready to douse out the blaze. One day, there was a puddle of water in a tree well and she said, "Check this out." My friend pulled a can of shellac out of her jacket, sprayed the top of the water and then set it on fire. Our eyes bugged out as we watched the top of the water burn, something we'd never seen before. "Whoa, that's neat!"

Then, things began to accelerate until one day we were shellacking our fingers and setting those on fire. I remember my utter fascination at watching my hand burn until the shellac wore down and I couldn't tolerate the burning pain. Then I'd dunk my fingers deep down into a bucket of water. The thrill of the risk was overwhelming and luckily, I didn't do serious damage.

Fast forward now to Jill, who stays home most of the day with stomach pain and nothing else to do but Think. Mentally flipping the pages of her childhood memories. Reliving the the mistakes made during her young adulthood. Questioning everything that she ever knew to be true.

Jill: Hey Dad, was it ever your impression that Mom didn't like me?

Dad: Your mother? No, she liked you.

Jill: Well, she treated me so differently than Denise and Ann. She wasn't ever mean to them the way she was to me, and she never said nasty, hurtful things to them. She didn't chase them around the house screaming. And even later, when we were older...she was afraid to say certain things to them but never to me. She didn't seem to care if she cut me to the core.

Dad: I've thought about this quite a bit, and I think that your mother was mad at me and she took it all out on you. It wasn't your fault, you just happened to be there. And you weren't able to fight back, you were too young and you didn't understand what was happening.

Jill: My whole life, Dad.

Dad: I know. She and I didn't click.

I call this type of dialogue "Stirring Up the Soup." I brought the issue up, asked a question and the answer became a burr under my saddle. I started to Think some more.

Why the hell didn't Dad help me out, especially if he knew what was going on?
Why did my sisters turn on me as well?
Why didn't somebody, anybody, defend me?

It can be a dangerous thing to initiate discussion on an issue that can never be resolved, never be fixed, and never be righted.

It's very similar to setting your fingers on fire. There's a fascination and an innate curiosity that forces one to do it. But it's stupid and pointless and needlessly risky. Self-flagellation, in a sense.

The dvd with my voiceover is now on the market and I feel absolutely...sick. I don't like the way my voice sounds. I'm afraid people are going to listen to it and discount the value of the dvd because of my poor voice work. I don't sound like other professionals.

Gah. I'm being eaten alive by insecurity, which pretty much feels like being bitten all over inside and out by fire ants.

Hot Toddy, Jill Style

3 oz brandy
2 tsp sugar
1 squeeze of fresh lemon juice
3 oz hot water

Combine all of the ingredients in a brandy snifter and enjoy.

On a recent road trip to Vail, I saw the gorgeous changing colors of the Colorado Rockies. The town was quaint and it reminded me of Bern, Switzerland. My friend and I strolled along the storefronts, disappointed that our choices were limited to fur, jewelry, tee shirts and ski wear. The only antique store that we spotted was closed. So we focused all of our attention on the trees. Stunning shades of gold and green really popped against the true-blue sky.

Currently, it's 2:30 am on Monday morning and I can't sleep. I'm too excited. I knew it was going to snow and I had to get up and take a look. It's a Winter Wonderland outside...my first since we moved to Colorado. I am relishing this first time experience because I know that one day, this will start to feel old. I hope it doesn't happen too soon. I love this feeling of newness and fascination with the stark beauty of our community blanketed in white. I love feeling so warm and cozy and safe inside.

Insomnia be damned! I feel like kid who's going to Disneyland in the morning.

Despite the fact that I am new to beading AND I don't know how to sew (I use duct tape to hem my pants), I must purchase the kit for this fish and make him with my own, two hands. He's whimiscal and fun and so...so....Me.

ps Am I the only Blogging Idiot who doesn't know how to paste a picture without it appearing twice? Doh!

We woke up at 6:00am today...just in time to see the sun rise. The colors in the sky were vibrant shades of blue, pink, yellow and gray and the temperature qualified as Nippy. We bundled up, grabbed two cups of Joe and sat on the deck for about an hour...just watching the dynamic slide show up in the sky. Afterward, we ducked inside for breakfast. Omelet, fruit, toast, browned mashed potatoes and chocolate milk.

Cooking is my way of thanking Husband again (and again) for moving to Colorado without much fuss. It's changed our lives dramatically and we are happier, more joyful and at peace with our little place in the world.

For all of the years that I have suffered in silence over my girth, I wish that I could finally say that my recent weight loss was due to diligence, dedication and hard work. It's not.

It's a very simple secret, really, one that I want to share with anyone else who is stuck in a Weight Rut like me.

First, the scenario: I used to carbs all day long. Very little veggies, certainly some meat, but the majority of my meals were comprised of bread, cereal and sweets.

The solution: Give up Gluton.

Now that I don't eat wheat (forced to do this because of recent, ongoing stomach problems) I have shedded the 19 pounds very easily. Certainly, I eat a whole lot less than before, mostly due to the fact that 1) I am not stressed out and 2) I am not working and eating out everyday and 3) Food has lost its "confort" appeal to me.

It took a lot of research to understand all of the foods that contain gluten. Thanks to Whole Foods, a local grocery store, I was able to download shopping lists. Easy. The most difficult part was Just Saying No when a cinamon roll or cheese cracker was offered to me.

Waiter: Fresh Berry Cobbler?
Jill: No.
Waiter: Homemade chocolate chip cookie?
Jill: No.
Waiter: Bowl of strawberries?
Jill: Sure.

Now that I'm losing weight, I see many body changes happening. As if my bloated, bulging stomach wasn't bad enough, now there is something really strange going on. There's a weird skin shelf developing right above my scar from surgery. Whatssup with that!

With much more weight to lose, the future doesn't look appealing...so I've already notified Husband of my intention to get things Tucked if needed. He's 100% cool with that, though he isn't bullish on the belly button ring idea.

I Miss You, Man.

Blogs are funny things.

They give you insight into the mind and emotions of a person you don't know. Sort of like the stranger who sits next to you on the airplane and unloads during the duration of the flight. This is different, though, because you can get a daily dose of that person and learn how they overcome their struggles or see things from their unique perspective. And a connection develops in the form of curiosity and entertainment and education and fondness.

I miss two of my daily reads: notdonnareed and alexa. I click on my Favorites link...and they are suddenly gone, finito, kaput.

I didn't like it when Calvin & Hobbes ceased to exist and now...this too has thrown me a bit. I've enjoyed reading about Alexa's amazing, healthy transformation and I always chuckled at nondonnareed's caustic humor. Plus, we both moved to Colorado around the same time and I felt we shared some similar transition experiences.

It's so odd to feel connected to something that is unknown yet intimate. And I feel ever so slightly miffed about it all and I can't really explain why. It's like when I finish the current Janet Evanovich novel and I know it's going to take her another year to publish the next version. I get miffed because my interest and curiosity and desire to read more cannot be filled.

The only other comparison that I can make has to do with an ongoing disagreement that I have with my Husband. He keeps trying to sell me on the benefits of Temporary Art. Outdoor sculptures designed to be washed away with the next downpour. Chalk drawings on a sidewalk. Canvas art that is created with the intention of being destroyed after a specified period of time. I think all of this is silly. I like permanency, things that I can count on to be there.

I have a problem with things that go ***poof***

There's been too much of that going on this year.