Monthly Archives: February 2008

A Final Flash Post for M’s Birthday

I’m back into school and sliding into the semester at last.  Here is one final post to honor my husband’s birthday.  This bit of flash fiction was a finalist in the Florida State U’s “Shortest Short Story” contest.  Crazy moments–I love it.    J. Lee

Rocks Don’t Breathe

When he found me I was living under a rock contemplating the wide nothing that had become my life.  I was used to fungus and soft moss and no mirrors and was beginning to think this was not a bad life.  After all.  At least I was no longer clawing tree trunks and scaling naked sky and flying into nothingness.  I am a rock.  I live under a rock.  Rocks are all I eat.  I shit rocks.  When I grow up, I will be a bigger rock.  That’s life. 

But when he scraped the mossy sweater off my back and found pink skin and breasts and said that’s not fungus, that’s the life of a woman between your legs, I was so scared I burrowed and hid but he said no and pulled me into sunshine and laid me nude atop a boulder to dry and said you are so beautiful.  I said yes but you cannot imagine how much I like rocks and he said bullshit.  Rocks don’t bleed or breathe or beat.  Rocks don’t.

And then I was between the rock and him, a hard place to be. 

But I pushed when he said push and breathed when he said breathe and air entered my stony lungs in deep gulping pulls and I came out of myself fast, rushing, realizing, split seconds only, that I could have it all.  After all.

On the Eve of Milt’s Birthday

Below is a little poem I wrote for Milt’s birthday one year when I had no money for a gift.  I give it now again just because. 

  

Smooth as Sand

What wind of the greater soul
Blew your sand into my crevices? 
So fine a grit that all my dips and hollows
Became smooth and seamless?

What sun broke through dark
Clouds the first day we awoke
Together and knew that dusk
would never again be night? 

What cool water leaked
across burn and scar and
made them invisible
once again?

What scarlet bridge formed
Across what canyon
to bring you to me?
Love, only love.

 

The Soul–The Mate

In January Milt and I celebrated our 19th anniversary–and sometimes it feels like we are just getting started.  Often people we meet comment on how nice it is to see a couple who is still in love after that many years.  Once, a couple years ago, I wrote a summary of how I think people can do healthy relationships.  I think I will post that here tonight–and posting when you should be with your mate is not on the list.

 Here it is.

Clearing for Couples

Say it early, say if often, say it before it becomes impossible to say!

Most relationships crumble not under the weight of large events but under the rubble of the unspoken small things.  Learning a good process for “clearing” the small rubble of day-to-day living prepares us to weather the larger events should they arise.  Trust, intimacy, and growth flower when a space is prepared for this regular “clearing” of the small things.  When Milt and I got married we discovered that both of our previous marriages had crumbled under just such a weight–the small things unspoken.  Because we didn’t say the small things, they would all explode out destructively in an emotionally loaded moment. 

When we married, Milt and I agreed to accept three guidelines for our marriage:

  • Everything happens for a reason-there are no accidents.
  • There is no such thing as a “bad” (or unworthy) feeling.
  • And we would keep no secrets (of thought or action).

So–no accidents, no bad feelings, no secrets.

To check our progress on this we began to do a regular “Clearing Session” and to create a space for allowing information to flow in the relationship.  The “signal” for the need for clearing is when one or the other of us is not feeling connected to the other.  It is as if when things go unspoken, a balloon blows up between the two partners and rather than risk pricking the balloon and saying something wrong, both partners begin to drift away from one another.  If there is no communication, the balloon just gets bigger and the risk greater.  So, the solution is clear it before it becomes too big. 

The only real parameter set for a good clearing is that either partner can say anything they need to say.  Often, when we are doing this, we even begin by saying “this is hard to say, but….”.  The underlying message in this is “Be gentle with me, I am about to take a risk and I need to feel safe with you.”

Be aware of any “Yeah buts” in the clearing.  If you say what needs to be said and the partner automatically goes “Yeah but…you did or said…” then you know this is straying from the purpose of the clearing session.  Score-keeping and “yeah buts” are not allowed.  If these old, destructive measuring patterns are not allowed, then what is allowed? 

The secondary goal of a clearing session is not just that the stuff get dumped but that it go somewhere different and lead toward a resolution.  The common stance in relationships is “I am unhappy and it’s because of something YOU are doing or not doing.”  This is a dead end.  The clearing session gives us an opportunity to explore many of the following hidden premises for a relationship.  Here are just the ones that come to mind for me. 

What is my expectation of you?  Is it a true or fair expectation?

  1. What is my expectation for myself?  Is it a true or realistic expectation?
  2. In what ways am I making your business my business?  Or vice versa. 
  3. Am I feeling guilty or incomplete about something and shifting blame?
  4. Is what you just said somehow reflective of what I think of myself? 
  5. Is anybody in the family using “hostile humor”.  This is something I don’t allow in my family (unlike the Simpsons). We do not seek intimacy or resolve issues by “poking fun” or making digging comments at someone in the family.  Everyone is allowed to be in the family without teasing, nasty humor etc. coming at them.
  6. Is there a systems problem here we can recognize and redesign?  For instance, if every night at supper chaos erupts right before supper, we can analyze the process of “bringing supper to the table” to determine if the system is messed up somehow.  Perhaps the kids need a snack at 4:00 to waylay the hungries.  Perhaps a crock-pot supper would save stress at suppertime.  Perhaps Mom or Dad really need 15 minutes each of alone time prior to supper.  Perhaps other tasks and chores are choking the suppertime traffic.  All of these questions analyze the “system” instead of shouting blame and accusations at each other.  Milt and I have discovered that fully 90% of relationship difficulties are really “systems” problems.  We can pick apart the system without picking apart each other.
  7. Finally, what of our communication difficulties relate to our systems of origin (old ways of being) and our own inner systems (Am I staying my right age or are there things triggering me to shrink?)

When we take the small problems and irritations that come up during the clearing session and look at them from the “bigger picture” we can perhaps begin to actually design solutions and new systems to make life go smoother. 

When one of the partners says something that may be perceived as “hurtful”, be willing to take it in, turn it over, think of it in all of the above ways and even sleep on it for a few days before responding in kind. 

Conclusion

A solid, trusting relationship makes it possible for us to risk new behaviors and to grow in other arenas.  Taking the time and energy necessary to do these small clearing sessions can yield a big reward for both partners.  Old, stale energy is released and new energy can come in.  The frequency or length of the clearing sessions depends upon how often your “balloon of the unspoken” blows up.  Initially, you may need to do it daily or weekly.  Eventually, a clearing session is needed only when the drifting signal comes. 

Remember, the best gift we can give to our children is to show them intimacy and trust between two parents.  Children thrive when the first priority in the family is the relationship of Mom and Dad. 

Flash Fiction

Milt and Jamie LeeI am home again from Lincoln, NE and the visit to my new grandson, Adrien.  It was a long trip but worth every mile.  Tonight I am appreciating my husband, Milt and also thinking about his upcoming birthday this Monday-he will be sixty, but seems to grow younger every day.  Just for fun, over the next couple of days I am going to post several short “Milt” pieces-bits of writing stimulated by our relationship.  This first short “flash fiction” has never been published (or read?) by anybody.   

 Scroll down a bit to read the story.   

 

 

 

 

 

Cabin Fever

In the summer of my life I built a small cabin from logs individually cut and peeled and dried in the sun.  In the center of the cabin were stones piled around an iron firebox for heat and comfort.  A high meadow fringed with Ponderosa pine held my cabin in its palm.  It was the perfect world.   

Until one day he walked up my path wearing a deep purple shirt and a pale lavender necktie and I said, would you like to come in, and he said, yes, don’t mind if I do.

I wanted to please and so shooed all solitary and private desires off into the hidden, dead energy corners of the cabin where they stayed quiet as little mice so as not to disturb my new lover.  Hush, I whispered to them in their hidey-holes, be still

We planted a garden, he and I, and set about putting together the good life.  And it was the good life-except for the creatures hiding in the corners and under the furniture causing the most ridiculous mischief.  They nibbled away at the good life as if it were a block of cheese laid down for their consumption alone.  They disturbed my sleep, heating my dreams, rustling around in night in the dark; and each morning I’d find their messy remains and sweep them quietly between the cracks in the floorboards. 

Naturally, after many months, this practice caused a certain odor to arise from the floor that, on hot days (or very cold days), would send me out into the restless world.  I’d leave the door open behind me in hopes that the hiding creatures would flee into the sunshine and find a new home.

I thought he, the guest of my heart, didn’t notice the little buddies and their rustling movements, messy droppings or the odors arising from the floorboards until the day he confessed.  It was a funny, serious moment with the two of us sitting at the small kitchen table, the sunny morning light coming from the east window.  When he took my hands in his, looking so serious and somber, I wanted to kiss the small crease between his brows and say, no worries.

And then my heart, my soul-my mate-explained in careful language that he hadn’t walked up the garden path with no agenda or plan.  He was, in fact, looking for me, had been looking for a long time.  And not only that, he hadn’t walked in the door alone but, in fact, a certain small tribe of creatures came with him born of his squirming ideas, his itchy desires, his many wants and dreams.  He hadn’t wanted me to see them.  Now chagrinned, he feared the restless creatures were now multiplying in the unseen corner spaces of our little cabin, a certain rustling he’d noticed that kept him awake at night, a certain morning trail he’d seen me quietly sweep away, an unseemly odor (of spice and moss) rising from the floorboards.  I’m sorry, my love, he said, But I simply cannot trap and kill them.

I laughed then.  I laughed even harder when confusion creased his brow.  

 What? he asked.  What is so funny?

 The steady beams of light from the east wavered and I said, we have a family, you and I.  It appears your little come-alongs have found my little stay-at-homes, and they’ve been mating in the shadows where we couldn’t see them.

What shall we do, then, he asked.

I said there is nothing to do but chase the shadows from the corners and have a look.  Yes, and we’ll have to stop sweeping away their leavings and, instead, add the stuff like compost to the garden we are growing.  Don’t you think?

What a very good idea, he said.

Astounding what strange creatures emerged from the shadowed corners once we allowed them visibility.  They were not mice at all but tiny dragons and hummingbird creatures and mythical beings and things we couldn’t even name-but all beautiful, all alive, and all prepared to do whatever we asked.  We let them mate and hum and sing while we made love and gardened and then it was no longer just a good life but a wonderful life.   

Happy Birthday, Milt!!Milt with Bead People