How to bring the conversation back here

This is a thing I have been thinking about and don't know what to do.

So, for the last number of years, almost all my blog conversation has been on Facebook. I post links there, and then the conversation takes place mainly on my own personal page, although I do have a Lemon Gloria FB page.

But here's what's bothering me: All those comments get lost. I mean, they're somewhere in the FB machine. But I don't have them.

I don't have recommendations to refer back to, or funny stories, or random thoughts.

And frankly, I'm kind of sick of the conversation taking place on that platform.

I haven't contemplated getting off FB, because I also use Instagram and What'sApp, owned by FB, and I don't picture myself divesting myself of all of those.

But I am in a working group of parents of my son's school, and one of the moms I've been collaborating with is a software developer. And she said she just knows too much to be willing to have FB on her phone, and she does the bare minimum with it.

I am so open about so many things that I hadn't been concerned about the privacy issue.

But I have been thinking about my conversations, and how I'd  like to have them back in my own space. And I'm not sure how to do this.

I looked, and FB does not have a way to turn off comments on a post. So if I post a link, I assume that's where people will still comment.

If I don't post a link, most friends won't know there's a post up. I guess if I'd never started posting on FB, maybe that wouldn't have happened.

But I also find that I write more short, quick little posts--in keeping with FB--and fewer and fewer well thought out blog posts.

And I miss those. And, as I said, I want to take my conversation back from FB.

So if you have any thoughts on this, I'd love to hear them.

Also, in case you have been wondering, I have not been at all diligent about working on my splits or my writing. But I have significantly curbed my sweet consumption (argh! so hard!) and I've been exercising like a fiend.

I continue with my clog obsession, but not with acquisition.

Together together, and thankful

One of the things I am thankful for is all of you.

I'm lucky I began blogging when I did.

I started out heartbroken, single, depressed (clinically, as it turns out), and in need of a tremendous amount of support. Way more than my friends could provide.

And I processed things on the blog that I was working out in therapy. Or I told funny, weird stories, and got insight and support from you.

If you've been with me for a while, you know all these things.

I felt very isolated, no matter how many people were around. Because I believed they were all happy and fine.

And I was not.

Putting my struggles and my fears into the world on this blog and hearing that they resonated with others was incredibly powerful.

I wasn't alone. And I wasn't aberrant.

---

I blog less and less now because life takes over and because I lack a community of bloggers. DC had a great blogging community when I started.

Last month I celebrated my 12-year blogaversary without notice.

Nick and I were both away for work last week, when we would've gone to the Tabard Inn, if we could manage, and cheersed 11 years of meeting. I didn't even post about it.

As I said, life takes over.

---

This morning Nick realized that last week was our anniversary. He said, "Last week, 11 years ago, we met. And then you went to Mexico with Jen for Thanksgiving."

I said, "Best Thanksgiving of my entire life."

He rolled his eyes.

Maybe not best, but most fun. No family dynamics (as this was back when my nuclear family was still intact), no cooking, lots of sunshine. We read books and swam and drank cocktails. We showed up at Thanksgiving dinner on the resort.

And then, if I'm not mistaken, we resumed our cocktail consumption and then went to bed with our books.

I don't wish away my family, but I would say that since my children developed the ability to say, "No!" I have not had a conflict-free day. I've not had a single day at home where I didn't have to convince at least one person do to something.

That something ranges from eating breakfast to brushing teeth to settling down for bed.

I am not saying there aren't upsides to children--of course they are charming and delightful and hilarious and full of joy and wonder--but let's be honest: they are also relentless and exhausting.

---

For years I hated Thanksgiving, not because I am opposed to gratefulness, but because I was already well into my slide into winter depression.

I was already eating every sweet I could get my hands on. My clothes were tight. I cried a lot.

And then there was Thanksgiving, with the forced gratefulness and its endless piles of carbs and sweets, and the darkness of night at 5:00 pm.

---

Now I have medication, and distance, and perspective. I try regularly to think of things for which I am grateful. I ask my children at dinner.

Because apparently just the act of searching your brain for gratefulness changes your chemistry for the good.

---

I have to make a pie this morning. I've never made pie.

Maude says to use vodka instead of part of the water, to make the crust flaky. In fact, she sent me her mama's cousin Gail's recipe for chocolate pecan pie.

Betty is going to help with the crust. Crust intimidates me.

Vodka will likely help with this. 

---

I have many,  many things to be grateful for in this life. And I'm in a place where I can recognize the ways in which I have been blessed.

And I'm in a place to give.

I think for so many years I just needed so much. My ability to give was limited because I was so emotionally limited.

Years ago, when Maude and I were in California, someone was trying to friend me. I can't remember who this was, but someone new was on the edge of my life. And it was clear they were going to take a lot of time and energy.

And Maude said, and I believe this is verbatim, "You only have time for one high-maintenance person in your life. And that person is me."

Which was, at that point, absolutely true.

---

At this juncture, I have four people in my life who truly need me on a daily basis.

There is give and take, to be sure.

But sometimes there is way more take. Sometimes I am all gived out. Sometimes I get tired and crabby and whiny. Sometimes I get resentful.

And sometimes I haven't even realized it yet, but Nick does, and he suggests I take a break.

---

I have many, many people I love. I have a safe, comfortable, interesting life.

I'm thankful for many things in this world And I want you, my (in some cases invisible) friends, to know that I'm truly grateful for you.

Thank you for being a part of my life.

Big hugs and lots of love,

Lisa

Cozy and cold, put the horse before the cart

Me, 10 years ago

Today I have been blogging for ten years.

TEN YEARS!

This is longer than my longest romantic relationship, which at this point is approaching nine years. It's way longer than I've lived in most places.

Really, this relationship, with all of you imaginary friends--many of whom I've been lucky enough to get to know in person--is one of the longest and most constant I've had.

I was thinking about where I was when I started. And it was here: heartbroken, fearful, insecure, depressed...really, kind of broken.

Some of you have been with me since the beginning, when my dear friend Kaysha said, "Do it! Start your blog!"

A few of my friends approved wholeheartedly. Some disapproved. Some just thought I was odd, but that's true; I am odd.

My dad read it from the start. He'd send me notes about typos or grammar. Sometimes he would lament my profane mouth; I'm well educated enough to use myriad other words.

I know now that he was proud of me, although he didn't say it to me. I'd hear the criticism. He'd sent my blog posts to friends, though. He'd talk about my writing.

Recently I was in a writing workshop and someone asked me why I started blogging.

I think the most honest answer is that I wanted to write and I desperately needed support, although I had no idea that was what I was looking for.

Truly, I could never have expected to encounter such fine people. I've met such smart, funny, interesting people, just by showing up here and writing.

Then they also asked how I named my blog, and of course I had to say it was my porn name. And also my Match.com profile name, which is up there with the poorest choices I've mad.

When I started I wrote every day. Every day. I had so much to say. And I wanted to say it to you!

I wrote blog posts in my head on my walk to work. I spun them around. And I typed them up at lunch. It was so easy. My head is so busy! And I finally had somewhere to put the words!

I now have less time, and honestly, my life is a lot less varied. I don't think I can ever top the Internet dates for blogging fodder. I was looking for love and I found all kinds of fabulous stories.

Sadly, I do think it's true that I got a lot less funny after I fell in love.

Such is life.

Blogging has given me a number of gifts. First would be friends. I have met heart people here, people I value tremendously and genuinely love.

It has made me a more honest person. I've laid myself bare, and people have responded with thanks, with their own stories.

I don't, in retrospect, know that I've always done the right thing being so open and honest. My dad was so angry that I wrote about him. He felt it was very unfair.

And for my part, all I could see was that he was shattering my life all over again. That he wanted us to live in silence because it was more comfortable for him. But it was killing us.

For me, it was such a relief to start talking about mental illness and suicide that I couldn't stop. I haven't stopped. He is gone, and there's no question of fair or unfair. But I don't know that I was 100 percent in the right back then.

Through this blog, I have come to believe that most of us have lived through something terrible, something brutal. We aren't all comfortable talking about it in public, but we need to be able to share, and to know that we aren't alone in our vulnerability, in our pain. To lay it out without being judged.

Darkness and fear are heavy. They are cumbersome. Everything starts to feel better when you call them out by name. When you expose them to sunshine and air they start to dissipate.

I feel so grateful and honored that people feel comfortable sharing with me.

Blogging has made me a better writer. I look back at early posts and I am tempted to re-write them, because I know I could do a better job now. But that's who I was then, and this is who I am now.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for your support, and for holding my hand through some very rough times. Thank you for not bailing on me even when I did things like rub butter on a complete stranger's nose.

Thank you for being part of my life. I am so lucky.

Love and hugs,

Lisa

When you brunch with ex-bloggers

A week or so ago, my friend Kris texted Megan and me and suggested brunch.

We went back and forth on where, and then someone suggested Circa in Dupont, and Kris said she'd make a reservation.

She wrote and said she had a reservation under "Sister Wives" and that she'd see us on Saturday.

Now. Kris and Megan are both the kind of people who are five minutes early to appointments. That for them is on time. And I am the kind of person who arrives either on the minute but panting and gasping and sweating profusely because I have flat-out sprinted the whole way, or five minutes late.

This was exactly how I arrived for my last first date with Nick.

So on this particular Saturday I started out early and was wearing shoes in which I could jog, and as such, arrived sweaty but not gasping a good two minutes early.

I am almost never the first person to arrive. And I was the first person there. I had to ask the hostess if I had the date right. I did.

The hostess asked if we had a reservation, and I said, "Oh, yes! I just need to look it up...give me a second..."

I scrolled through my text messages and then through our conversation and found it.

"Sister Wives!"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you, uh, do you have a reservation for 'Sister Wives?'"

She looked down at her screen and back up at me. "No."

"Oh. Well. How about Kris Lastname?"

"We do. Would you like to sit inside or out?"

Last time I arrive first, I'll tell you.

Three introverts walk into a bar...

A couple weeks ago, I caught up with two blogfriends over fabulous martinis.

The truth is, I never knew either Kris or Megan in person all that well. But I felt like I knew their hearts, and they felt like they knew mine, and when the opportunity to catch up presented itself, I jumped.

There aren't many people in my current world who were part of the microcosm that was the DC blog scene in the aughts.

Ten years ago, blogs were rather new to me, but as it turned out, I was late to the party, as people had been blogging for years. In fact, the DC blog scene was on the wane, although I didn't know it.

For me it was fresh and exciting, and I was single and heartbroken, and I threw myself in with wild abandon. I could pour my heart out, and not burden my friends. There were strangers on the Internet who would actually read what I wrote!

I started going to the DC blogger happy hours. I made blog friends, in person and virtually. Like Internet dating, which I'd also thrown myself into, there was an entire world of people out there that I wouldn't have known otherwise. The blog scene became a huge part of my world.

But unlike Internet dating, many of us were telling people, up front and in public, what was in our hearts.

And so I got to know people, in an odd and very intense way, well before I actually met them in person. There are still people I care about that I've never actually met.

Lucky for me, I did meet Megan and Kris in person. I read their blogs, and I loved how funny and real they were. In person they were just the same--hilarious and so very candid.

They, like many others, had been blogging for a while before I started. Their posts were eagerly awaited. They got lots of comments! People were in awe of them! Kris presented at BlogHer! She was famous! She knew really really famous bloggers!

Like many others, they stopped, while I was still fully immersed. Actually, Kris briefly started another blog (hooray!). And then she stopped for good.

I missed knowing what was going on in my friends' lives without seeing them in person. Do you know how perfect blogs are for introverts? You can know all about your friends actions, feelings, kids, and such, without leaving your house!

Best ever. And then it was over.

But fortunately there is Facebook, and we are friends. And so, as Kris and I realized when catching up a couple weeks ago, seven years can go by without seeing each other in person, and somehow it doesn't feel like it.

But it had been that long since we had actually shared drinks and stories. It was fabulous. They're both still hilarious and so very real. They just don't write their feelings on the Internet for all to scrutinize anymore.

We reminisced about the bloggy days, and the characters in them.

The blog world was a weird and intense place, much like down the rabbit hole. You could know such personal things about people you didn't actually know. We talked about the intense moments. I remembered when Kris's father died. When her cat Bug got cancer. When Megan ran into that guy at the airport. We talked about Stacy, with whom Kris was in-person friends.

It may sound odd to talk "remember whens" for events you weren't actually part of. But they felt so real. When you read heartbreaking things written by a terrific writer, you are right there in it with her. And I was, over and over. Oh, I was.

For me, getting into blogging helped heal me at a time when I needed a great deal of...well, everything. I needed to write my feelings. I needed support. I needed to feel connected. I needed people who understood.

I got all those things and more. I made some dear, dear friends. Friends I may not see in person often enough, but who I love nonetheless.

Sometimes I feel dorky still blogging, like I'm sitting at the party eating the last of the onion dip long after everyone has left. But my blog has been such a part of my life for so long now, I'd miss it if I let go.

It sounds cheesy to say that falling into the blogworld was a gift, but it was. And I am so lucky for it.

For Stacy, who was dazzling

Stacy was not mine to lose, nor mine to mourn, but I do.

I never met her in person, and the truth is, after she shut down her blog, Jurgen Nation, I pretty much  lost track of her.

And still, news of her death punched me in the gut. I know enough to realize that suicide always feels personal to me. But Stacy was someone who stuck with you. For a time, I felt like I knew her, and she was amazing.

When I started blogging, she was an established blogger, a breathtaking writer, and a gorgeous woman. And she was hilarious. I was nervous to comment on her blog. She got tons of comments. She spoke at BlogHer. She hung out, virtually and in person, with other famous bloggers.

She was a celebrity. Cool. Popular. Pretty. Witty.

And also real and raw. Damaged, and so frank about it. She offered herself up to all of us, emotionally naked.

I adored her. I admired her so. She inspired me.

We had a little correspondence. She was kind, so very kind.

And she had that little voice inside her head, the one my friend Michelle describes as saying, "Just quit."

Am I drawn to those with that voice? Those who struggle?

I think I am.

I think it's because these are people who burn brighter, who live and feel more intensely. Whose minds intrigue me. Whose emotions pull me.

She had a sparkle. She burned so brightly. And she was honest, painfully honest, about how she felt, about her traumas. About the urge to just quit.

And you could look at photos of her, and see how luminous she was. You could feel the brilliance in her writing, and think, how could someone that beautiful and amazing feel so bad?

But your own personal truth, as I know too well, eclipses everything.

As the years went by, I kept blogging, but was increasingly in my own world, as bloggers I knew and loved quit  blogging. The DC blogger happy hours petered out. And frankly, even before that, I stopped having much time to go to happy hour or even keep up with many blogs.

But every once in a while, I would do a search for Jurgen Nation. I'd come up with stunning photos that Stacy took. But not the beloved JN posts.

And then yesterday, I saw Heather's post on Facebook, expressing her sadness at losing Stacy.

She didn't say how, but in my experience, when there is no how, the how is self-inflicted.

So I went searching on the Internet.

I found that amalah, who I used to read the minute her posts came out, had written about her. I'd have known before, but as I said, I just read blogs more sporadically now.

And I came across this exquisite post. What an achingly beautiful goodbye.

The just quit voice prevailed. The darkness won.

And the rest of us have all lost.

The kind of naked I do not like to be so could you please help?

I have the honor of being part of the 2015 This Is My Brave cast.

What does this mean?

It means that a group of us will each be sharing a 5-minute story of our own experiences with mental illness. It means standing up on stage in front of an audience of strangers and speaking from our hearts and lives on a topic that is still highly stigmatized. It means talking to break the stigma.

I'm proud of my audition piece. Crafting it was extremely difficult, and I learned a tremendous amount about myself in doing so. It was surprisingly healing.

And now, now I need a 2-4 sentence bio.

I'm comfortable telling stories about what's in my heart. I'm very not comfortable defining who I am. I mean, who am I? In 2-4 sentences?

Honestly, getting physically naked makes me more comfortable than getting this kind of naked in public.

But I can't just submit a naked picture of myself. I mean, one, that would be weird. Particularly in the boot. Two, I'm certain it would get me kicked off the cast. So I need a brief bio.

I asked for help on Facebook, and a number of friends very kindly did so. I took their suggestions, removed the extremely complimentary adjectives (oh, thank you, friends!) and the references to merkins, penii, my House of Cards extra-ness and the like (thank you again, friends!), and crafted this:

Lisa Jordan is a writer, wife, daughter, and mother to two young kids. Lisa documents her life journey on her blog, Lemon Gloria, sharing her stories of marriage, depression, suicide, motherhood, and life’s stranger moments and everyday pleasures with equal gravity and humor. She is working on a book about growing up with suicide.

What do you think?

I need to know by tomorrow. But preferably right now, like, this minute.

Thank you.

Dispute not with her...

Last month Nick told me that he thought it was weird that I'm still so upset about my dad.

Actually, he didn't say weird. I can't remember exactly what he said. I just remember feeling like what he meant was weird. I'm weird. I should be over it.

It's been five whole years, he pointed out.

He said he knew the news about Robin Williams would really upset me. Which is true. I started crying and couldn't stop. I cried and cried and cried. And he just thought that maybe I wasn't dealing with my grief well.

His dad died last year, and he's not still grieving.

Why am I still so upset?

Hell, I don't know. I just am sometimes. I still miss him and it still hurts.

I know I'm not the norm as human beings go, but in a Venn Diagram, I believe the Lisa circle would overlap at least a decent amount with the Normal People circle. I'm pretty sure anyway. I don't even strive to be pure normal. I just...want to be able to be normal-ish. I want to not be weird.

But it is not hard to make me feel aberrant. And I tend not to appreciate it. In a very large and stabby way.

Plus, dude! If anyone's supposed to make you feel not-weird, it's your spouse, right? If they're telling you you're a freak...you have to wonder if you really are.

So I stewed on it for a bit. As this was The Summer of Our Discontent, I mentally filed it under Things I Currently Hate About Nick. It wasn't a big file. Small, in fact. Just deep and caustic.

I walked around muttering, "Weird, my ass!" Which, uh, well, make of it what you will.

And then a couple of days later, we were out for dinner with a group of Nick's colleagues, and it turns out that one colleague's new girlfriend is a therapist. And so I asked her if I could get her opinion. I set out my scenario with my dad's death, very briefly. And asked if it was weird to still be upset.

She responded with two things. One, her father died - not by suicide - in 1998, and she's still upset about it. And two, does it prevent me from functioning in daily activities?

No. Not usually. Just sometimes I still get very sad.

Her boyfriend suggested that men and women might also process grief differently. And men might get past the emotion faster.

This is certainly possible. I don't know.

But armed with this validation, I gave Nick what-for. My grief is valid. I AM NOT WEIRD!

He didn't even know I was stewing about it. He didn't recall saying I was weird. "But," he said, "you talk about missing your dad so often. You're sad about it so much."

"So often? So much? When do we talk about it?"

And then it dawned on me: so often in person? Or so often on the blog?

"On the blog. I read every post. You talk about your dad so much lately, and it's been five years."

I said, "You do realize that the blog isn't an entire picture of who I am and our whole lives, right? Like, if you only read my blog, but didn't know me as a person, would you know everything that was going on with us?"

My blog is my head, and my blog is my place to process. Sometimes it's real life action stuff, and sometimes it's my frets, and sometimes it's my pool of tears. It's my journal, just online.

But it's not a 360 view. I'm never going to be all, we had chicken for dinner and then we watched Game of Thrones and then we took our sheets out of the dryer and made the bed and went to sleep at 11:00.

Why would I write that when I can work out my gut-wrenching emotions or fret about rabies or talk about putting raisins in Nick's anus?

So then he was all, "Oh. Well, in that case, no, you don't seem excessively upset about your dad. And I don't think you're weird."

But my takeaways are thusly: You cannot fuck with someone's relationship with their parent. You especially can't do so if said parent is dead.

And grief is an odd beast. As my cousin Lyrae pointed out, grief is not linear. It loops at unexpected times. It's not like when you head north on 95 and every mile closer to Maine is a mile farther from DC. If that makes sense.

Also, even though I totally did say that in public about the raisins, I'm not weird. I swear.

Which is fine as I've never grown out of the 80s really anyway

Today I linked to this post from when I was 21 weeks pregnant with Jordan - which was FIVE years ago today! Five years!

Five years ago I was pregnant and thinking I was enormous. Ha! And five years ago today my dad was still alive, and would be for another six weeks.

Five years ago we hadn't yet signed our lives and first-born away to buy the grand hotel and sink our blood and sweat and tears into it for, well, ever.

Five years ago we hadn't so many things. There's a lot to chew on.

One of my friends remarked on my post that it was the golden age of blogging in DC back then, which was true. It was so much fun to blog and meet other local bloggers.  I was very immersed in it and made a number of friends who became in-person friends that I still see, even though some of them have left blogging behind.

I wonder periodically if I should do the same. I read a line somewhere recently about blogging being so eight years ago or something of the sort, and I was thinking, well, yah. But I like it. I don't do it so much anymore, particularly as I'm trying to focus on other writing, but...I like it.

So at the moment, my little corner of the Internet is still here. No matter how eight years ago I might be.

How's your day going? I mean really?

"How are you?" "How's it going?" "What's up?"

We say this as a greeting. We say it in passing. Mots of the time, what we mean is, "Hello!"

And when asked our automatic response tends to be something along the lines of: "Fine, thanks. You?" "Not bad." Or maybe, "It's Monday."

This is the exchange we expect, I think. Every once in a while you might say, "How's it going?" and the person will shock you with a response like bursting into tears, or saying something like, "My dog died."

I know I've done this to people. Sometimes you are carrying something so close to the surface that you cannot manage a normal response.

But sometimes, sometimes you ask, and you get real answers. I'm sharing something I posted on Facebook this morning. Really, I was venting, and maybe looking for a little sympathy.

The real-life, candid, thoughtful answers I got absolutely delighted me. I could so relate to all of the responses, and some of them made me giggle, and one of them made me so glad that he hadn't vomited on me while on my shoulders in a department store (you win with the puke, Lesley).

We've all got our stuff going on, you know?  So, how are YOU today?

Me
Yah, so my morning began with my son vomiting at the breakfast table. How's your day going?

English
Ha ha! Better than in the bed where you'd have to change the sheets. See? Always a positive side!

I hope he feels better soon!

Kelli
Yikes! -15 degrees here and husband with the flu. Thanks for asking;)

Sophie
yelled at Zoe so loud this morning I think I woke up the neighbours. I just can't do mornings anymore, they are Sean's domain. Really, just put on your frikking snowsuit!!!!

Christopher
I had a long commute in today, but believe me I'd rather have that than deal with puke at the table. Hang in there.

Lesley
Well, our son locked his bedroom door and refused to get up, so missed the bus and had to be driven...

Gotta love these kids, but probably easier than your morning! I still remember the stomach bugs. Could tell you some good stories - like the time Chloe was on Stephans shoulders at the 'Macy's' equivalent store in Germany and threw up all over him (that was our first experience w a stomach bug - fun times!!)

Kory Danielle
Well i have been home with all 4 kids since december 20th, they canceled school again today!! So here we are again home together.

Rachel
I'm trying to figure out how to answer Angie's questions about death and dying. Nana, I can manage, but she asks things like "Do kids die?" I'm at a loss.

Dana
Kids bitched and moaned about waking up because it's been two weeks since they needed to. Youngest threw a fit about his socks (but he always does). The puppy ate a book. And I'm overcome by a surprise but heavy bout of sadness. Yay Monday.

Paula
Oh no sorry. Hope he's feeling better.

Bobby
My dog decided to eat something out of the trash last night, so I put her in Time-Out. Now she's not speaking to me this morning.

Julia
Stepped on glass and cut my foot and have been trying to stop the boys from killing each other all day (its only noon).

Monique
Kids school got canceled due to yet another snow day... Uuuggghhh... Hope your day gets better... Hugs...

Amy
how do you do time out Bobby Evans - I need that for my dog?

Bobby
Amy, my dog knows when she's in trouble and she puts herself in Time-Out. She just walks into her room and sits in the corner. She is still avoiding me today.

Amy
Bobby, I wish I had that control over my dog. My daughter left to go back to college Sunday so he is down.Won't be happy around me, won't eat for days and he wont even be in the same room with me right now. he gets depressed when she comes back and forth. I can take this but he behavorial problems are about to drive me up the wall (sheltered dog - from a dog hoarders - 2 years old). I have no life anymore!!

Heather
Hugs to you and Jordan! I feel okay but woke up without a voice. If only there were a gentleman caller to use this husky sexy voice on, but alas no. Stay cozy Lisa

Lynn
Came home from Denver to have a nasty, loud argument with my 20yo son. Here I go again. Bigger the kid, bigger the problem. But still, I wish Jordan feeling better real soon and that it does not make its rounds at your house!

Becky
awwweeesome...ugh. We had a haircutting incident this weekend, but vomit tops.

Picking at scabs

I've been going through blog archives, looking at stuff that I've written about my dad.

Partly I'm doing it for research purposes. To refresh my memory. But when I start delving into the surreal things we lived through over and over, I just can't  help myself.

I had unpublished some posts because they made him angry. Because it was his story to keep secret, and not mine to tell. His actions were his, and basically, I had no business being affected by them. It certainly wasn't fair of me to be mad at him.

Now I know that it was the crazy talking. That he couldn't really see or feel beyond himself or his own pain. A rational human being would understand that his actions devastated his family and friends.

Anyway, I'm not sure how they'll publish, but if you see some really old posts pop up, that's why.

Also, sorry about a lot of heavy suicide-y posts lately. Tomorrow's his birthday. Things should lighten up after that.

Tra la!

Out of the Darkness Overnight

Because of you, I was able to contribute over $7,000 to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

I want to thank you, all of you, thank you with ever itty bitty ounce of my being, for donating money to the Out of the Darkness walk, for supporting me personally, for trusting me with names of loved ones you've lost, and for being all around extraordinary, and extraordinarily kind, people.

I felt so lucky to have been a part of the walk, to have contributed to a cause that is so critically important, and to have met such amazing people. I intend to start volunteering with AFSP.

You know, I did the public health stuff in the Peace Corps because I was raised thinking I liked that kind of thing, although I really did not. And I've always felt like I should want to save the planet, should want to go help Sudanese refugees, and while I applaud others who do so, I've not had a drive myself.

But this? This is where my heart is.

The weekend was so many things all swirled together: exhausting, uplifting, devastating, energizing...

I think it best to write about the walk today, and tomorrow write about Friday and our five minutes at the White House before heading to the Old Executive Office Building (because Obama needed the Roosevelt Room, of all things), and the reception, and the awesomeness of it all. Because it is just so much.

And surprisingly, Friday was much heavier for me than Saturday.  Friday held more tears.

India and Nick went with me to check in Saturday afternoon, and India got a balloon that she loved loved loved until it flew out of her hands and into the street and popped.

This is why she can't have nice things.

I returned at 7 pm and met up (finally! in person! yay!) with Kiran of Masala Chica, who is truly lovely. We knew each other from blogging and yet, as is the case, we didn't actually know each other and we met and we hugged and we walked together and now we do.

One of the interesting things about the night was that even though there were 2,000 people walking, finding your friends wasn't hard. I walked into the meeting with White House officials on Friday knowing nobody but Nick, who thankfully had been able to accompany me, and left with friends. It was the same with the reception that night.

Suicide is a strange, brutal thing to have in common, and it is powerful.

Everyone there had lost someone, or multiple people, or had struggled personally, or was supporting someone who struggled, or all of the above.

Usually when I'm in a room of people, my family history always wins as the worst, even though it's a contest I never enter. I'm the one with the dad who killed himself.

Walking into a room, a courtyard, a street full of people who have all lost someone dear, who have all been through the same kind of horror and pain...I don't know. Oddly, it was a little bit like going to my high school reunion. It felt in a way like going home.

I felt safe.

So Kiran and I walked together for a while, and then my dear friend Amanda, who was with me at the hospital when I called the sex hotline, came and walked with me for six miles.

I'd made a lovely new friend - Joy, a name that suits her - on Friday night, and after Amanda headed home around 12:30 am, I walked with her and her friends through the rest of the night, arriving at GW around 3:30 am. And then collapsed on the grass with so many others to wait for dawn.

Everyone had been given a bag to decorate in memory, and I regret not having had the time to do much but write names on mine.

While we were walking, volunteers were busy setting up the bags, filling them with sand and lights, so we returned to walk through beautiful paths lit by memories of loved ones.

Walking what turned out to be 16.5 miles was harder than I expected (go ahead and say "duh"here), but I would do it again tomorrow.

I will do it again next year without question.

I've never stayed up all night and been so proud of myself for doing so. (Which is not to imply that I ought to be embarrassed about other times I've stayed up all night. I mean, probably some of those times. Oh, whatever. I was proud. of myself. I still am.)

Thank you again for your support, for your love, for cheering me on. I couldn't have gotten to the walk, through the walk, to dawn alone, and I'm so happy I had such amazing company all along the way.

If you look at the word "six" long enough, it starts to look wrong

You know how that sometimes happens with a word?

I don't mean like weird and wierd, which I'm never sure of. (Yes, there's spell check, thankfully.) But either way looks weird to me. Or wierd to me.

The point of this post, however is, that I have been blogging here at Lemon Gloria for SIX YEARS. Six! Six! Six! (See how wierd weird odd that looks?)

This is longer than I've held all but one of my jobs, longer than I've lived anywhere except now DC. I've now known some of you longer than I've known my husband.


Thank you for six years of laughing and crying with me. Thank you for cheering me on when my dating life was dreadful, and for rejoicing with me at my wedding and my pregnancies and my babies. Thank you for supporting me through the hardest of times with my dad.

Sometimes I don't feel like I have anything interesting to say, and I wonder if this is what I should be doing. And sometimes it feels like so much fun to share stories, and I'm so happy I can.

I suppose you're always where you are, you know? And I'm glad I'm here and you're here with me.

Big hugs and happy weekend, all.

Lisa

Apartment Therapy: a last minute favor to ask

Towards the end of last week I realized I was getting some traffic from Apartment Therapy (!!!), which, if you don't know it, is such a cool design site.

Being of a curious nature, I looked - and someone had nominated me for Best Family Blog! Super flattering, no?

(And to whoever nominated me - if you're reading this: THANK YOU!)

There are a number of blogs with a ton of votes, and my wee little blog is quite far down the list...but if you have a minute, would you please vote for me and help me move it up the list?

Voting ends tonight, so it's a last minute favor. And I hate to ask this kind of thing, but a friend of mine was like, don't be an idiot. Just ask.

So there you have it - asking.

Also, the girl's room is now Weeping Wisteria. The hallway is Twinkle. Yes, these are dumb names. And I'll have pics very soon. And will be soliciting more opinions.

Happy Monday! And Thank you!

It's Christmas and I love you

Dear Invisible Friends,

This year, this 2011, was going to be the year that Lisa Sends a Christmas Card.

Because I absolutely adore getting annual family pictures of friends and relatives. I know people who think it's cheesy; I eat it up. I love seeing kids change year to year. I love knowing what people are up to. If you have extras annually and do not know WHO might appreciate them, let me tell you: me.

Go ahead, make fun, it's fine. I love these cards.

So I thought, this year, I will be one of the organized people who sends them!

We had a number of attempts at Family Picture - all failures. And then, then at a Christmas party, where all of us were dressed up, someone took a very nice picture of all of us (except that I'm doing something weird with my face/jaw - but this is comparatively minor, let me tell you) and yay! Family Picture! Make a card, Lisa!

And then I...didn't. I tried, and I couldn't decide - Shutterfly? Tiny Prints? Snapfish? This design? That one? - Truly, I am best when I have like three options, tops. Too many and I just can't do it.

So I spent more time than I'd like to admit furtively comparing card designs at work (because home, home is too busy!) And then I didn't decide, and then, well, truth be told, I just...didn't.

And here we are, on Christmas Eve, and nary a Lisa and Family card has been sent. I'm considering sending a Happy 2012! card, but let's be frank: the odds are low.

But even though I cannot get my act together to get a picture on paper and paper in the mail, I love all my friends and I adore all of you. I hope you're all comfy and cozy and happy and surrounded by people you love for who love you right back.

Big hugs,

Lisa, Nick, Jordan and Betty

Push the door, I'm home at last, and I'm soaking through and through.Then you hand me a towel and all I see is you.

So yesterday I realized that as of last week, I've been blogging for five years.

Five years.

I've known some of you invisible and not-so-invisible friends for longer than I've lived most places, longer than many of my friendships, longer than I've kept all but my current job.

I've made some in-person friends who are really my people, who I'm quite sure will be my people for life.

Those of you who have stuck around have known me since I was single, broken-hearted, and trying not to walk by my ex-boyfriend's place, which was inconveniently located just around the corner from mine.

Some of you stumbled here with my job rant, in which I fantasized about my backup career as a foot prostitute. You subsequently saw me contemplate placing dead bugs in my new boss's office.

(In other words: you probably wouldn't hire me. But that's not what this is about.)

You saw me make one bad choice after another, go hopefully on date after date after...and do one stupid thing after another. I'm pretty sure a number of you cringed in vicarious shame after I smeared butter on that guy's nose.

You were outraged when that journalist asked me what was wrong with me for being single.

You rooted for me when I finally met Nick, because he seemed like a good one. And thankfully, by that point I'd had enough therapy to be able to articulate what I'd learned about love. You rejoiced with me when we got engaged, and not a single one of you told me it was a bad idea, even though we were complete strangers who'd just met on the Internet.

You were equally horrified with Nick's taste in wedding attire. You sent us off with the best honeymoon wishes.

You supported me immensely through my dad's suicide attempt and subsequent long hospitalization in 2007. Through another attempt, and then his death in 2009.

You welcomed Jordan to the world when he was born, and you sent me notes when you thought (and you were right) that I might have postpartum depression. You shared amazing stories with me.

You opened your arms in virtual hugs when I talked about my struggles with infertility, and you were so kind in your joyousness last week when I shared our big news.

I just want to thank you for making me laugh, and laughing with me (rather than obviously at me). For making me think. For supporting me in my struggles, and for sharing your own and making me feel less alone.

Thank you for still reading, and thank you for still caring. Five years is no small feat. (Although five is kind of small for feet.)

Big hugs to all of you.

Where I am right now

I have always had extremely intense friendships. I've never had many at once, because I put a lot of myself into relationships.

I don't know how not to. I've always been drawn to intensity. I still am.

The thing is, it took me years to realize that I was also drawn to crazymakers. Those people who suck you in and make you all about their issues. And you spend all your time focusing on them which is kind of cool when you're in all kinds of denial, because that way you effectively avoid dealing with your own shit.

It's not that it was what made me happy, and it certainly wasn't healthy; it was just very familiar.

Plus I can look back and see that I myself did pleeeeeenty of crazymaking.

Thank God for therapy.

So.

Years ago, when my friend Maude and I were in our very early 20s, we lived together in Mount Pleasant.

We were roommates for almost a year, until the serial rapist broke in. And then I went off to the Peace Corps and Maude went back to school and then she and I didn't live together until our late 20's, when she taught me how to drive stick (well, really, how to drive at all) and we drove from DC to San Diego.

Anyway, I can't remember which time it was that we lived together that what I'm about to tell you happened. But if you know my Maude stories, then you know that we've known each other since we were born (separate mothers, she always adds) and we have this very long history together.

Also, this is such a bigger lead-up than it merits, because I'm not going to say anything earth-shattering, but this is the only way that I can get to it.

At some point, someone was trying very hard to befriend me. I don't even remember who by now, probably because she and I never became friends. Because Maude sat me down and said, "You don't have room for her. You only have enough for one high maintenance friend, and that person is me."

Or something to that effect. And I was all, "She's right. I've got no room for this woman." It was very clear. And that was that.

Which brings me to this. I have a lot of stuff going on right now. Things I can't write about even though I would really like to, because I just can't. Although when they're over or different, then I will, and it will be a relief. But for now, I'm full, and I'm tired.

I'm not trying to be all mysterious or cryptic. You know I'm about as good at opaque as a glass of water.

But what this all means is that I've been backing away from blogging a bit, and from my blogging relationships. Because, true to my nature, the blogs and bloggers I love are the intense ones. The ones who talk about emotional things, who pull me in, who make me care.

If I don't care, I don't care.

But it takes a certain amount of energy to care, and while I give it gladly, I don't currently have any extra.

And this is where I am right now. It's not that I don't adore you. It's just that I only have room for one high maintenance person in my life right now, and that person (besides my entire family, I mean) is me.

Oh, I could throw you in the lake, or feed you poisoned birthday cake. I won't deny I'm gonna miss you when you're gone.

A couple days ago, Moue left this comment about what she and her sister used to do to her brother. It had me laughing so hard.

I mean, yes, it's terrible. But...also funny.

"We used to tell him when he was little that he was a K-Mart Blue Light Special. And that when the blue light went off while we were in the store our parents could trade him in.

So we finally go to a K-mart (We were military so there were few and far between overseas at the time) and sure enough the blue light goes off. My brother, petrified he was going to be traded in starts screaming. It took my parents forty-five minutes to get him calmed down enough to tell them what was wrong."

And then FoggyDew said this: "Moue's story reminds me of what my sisters used to tell my youngest brother: Mom and Dad really wanted another kid, but instead of having one of their own they adopted him...from the monkey house at the zoo. This went on for years.

In the end, though, he got even by telling the same story. To their kids."

Me, I did some terrible things to my younger brother when we were children. When he was really little, I tried to leave him in the park for the wild dogs to eat him.

Turns out that fear of abandonment and being consumed by dogs will really make a kid cry.

It was post-war Bangladesh. There were wild dogs. They really would've eaten him. If someone didn't steal him first.

Fortunately, we had adult supervision.

Journey 4 A Cure

My friend Kiran at Masala Chica reached out to ask for help winning money to fight pediatric cancer. The son of a dear friend of hers passed away last year, just before his first birthday.

It is devastating to think about. In fact, I can't think about it without getting all teary. So it's not something to which I'd given much though, except for reading Kiran's posts and feeling so sad for them.

Then Kiran started mobilizing people to vote for Journey 4 A Cure, which, if it gets enough votes, will winn $250,000 towards pediatric cancer research.



Because she knows what she is talking about, and because she said it well, I've stolen the text below from Kiran. (Here's her original post.)

Statistics are hard to look at. They are even harder to believe. And they give a whole new perspective to where our children might be most vulnerable.

Reality: Pediatric cancer is the #1 disease related killer of children in the United States.

Reality: Only 1 drug has been approved by the FDA in the last 30 years to fight pediatric cancer. In comparison to the 50 medications approved for adult cancers in the same time span, we are looking at a truly crippled treatment process for children.

Harsher Reality: Childhood cancer research is not only underfunded, but funding has declined.

WHY?

Really, really crappy reality: It's a numbers game. With children cancer comprising only 5% of all cancer diagnoses annually, pharmaceutical companies don't see a business case to fund treatment research.

No family should hear the words, there is no known cure.

For any disease.

Sadly, too many parents will have to hear those words in our lifetime if we don't mobilize.

Journey 4 a Cure is dedicated to seeing beyond the business case and working to build a case around the lives of families that need the research, that are praying for their children, and who are bravely fighting the odds to keep their journey going.

This post is a request to help Journey 4 a Cure to meet their goals. Ways you can help:

1) Vote for Journey 4 A Cure every day on the Vivint project page. Vivent will be giving 1.25 million dollars to worthwhile causes, and we are trying to win our regional grand prize of $250,000 - 100% of the proceeds will go towards pediatric cancer research if we win.

2) Did I mention voting EVERY day? Oh yeah. I think so. Please keep it going until August 27th.

3) If you are a blogger, can you repost one of the badges from the Vivint site in honor of Journey 4 a Cure? Would you ask other bloggers to support the cause?

4) Would you post the project in your facebook status? I cannot stress how much winning this money would do towards the fight against pediatric cancer.

5) Hug your kids. Love them. And pray that they never have to face cancer or any other disease that can rob them of the youth they all so deserve.

6) Beyond praying, please join us in our journey. Every vote counts.

PS from Lisa: In order to vote, you are going to have to allow Vivint to access your Facebook information. Yes, it's kind of annoying to allow one more company access to your info...but it's so little effort for a very good cause.

Reason will not reach a solution I will end up lost in confusion

I need a lot of external validation.

This may come as a surprise to you.

I know exactly where this comes from, thanks to thousands of dollars in not-covered-by-insurance therapy. But blaming your dead dad is a cheap shot.

But it's just a fact. I know when I do good work, and I know when I've produced something I really like. But I also know that when it's something creative, like textiles or writing...I need the opinion of others. Preferably the positive opinion, although I prefer honesty over blind positivity.

Ever since my friend Sam told me that LG stopped being entertaining when I got married, I've periodically wondered whether I should keep writing here, or if I'm just boring the crap out of people.

I feel like weird, funny things used to happen to me all the time. And then I stopped going on Internet dates.

I still work in a crazy factory of sorts. But you know, the boss whose office I wanted to put the bugs in left a long time ago, and for a while things have been pretty normal there as well.

So I wondered if it's that odd things no longer happen to me? Or is it that I'm so occupied with work/kid/life that I don't notice?

And while I don't blog for praise or for the good of humanity, I do like the interactive aspect of it. I'm deliberately writing in public, right?

If I think I'm boring you, I'm going to beat myself up over it. Which is why, periodically, I also get all dramatic, back of hand to forehead, swoon on the divan, I should just give up right now! I have nothing further to say!

And then I'll realize I have a story I want to tell. Or I'll see my mom's neighbor, Martha, who I adore, who tells me that she loves LG. Doesn't just like it, loves it.

Or I'll hear someone call my name in Target, and turn to see an attractive blonde woman wheeling a baby in a cart towards me, saying, "I just want to tell you I love your blog! You said you like it when you meet people who read, and I saw you a couple aisles away and I've been stalking you!"

So I beamed and thanked her and said hi to her baby, and I refrained from spontaneously hugging her. I really have to pat myself on the back; I've seriously reduced my hugging of unsuspecting strangers.

Let me clarify that. I don't sneak up to people in the produce aisle and give them furtive hugs. But I do have a penchant for hugging people I barely know.

Boy, did this make my day. And then she walked away and another woman in the aisle turned to me and said, "I bet that really made you feel good!"

I beamed at her as well. (No hugging.) "It did! It really did!"

Happy weekend, all!