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Being who we are, even if FOO is different and doesn't like it
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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 672780" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>I cannot write much today. I have much to do to make our new life. The two things I want to focus on are the scotch and my sister (again)I see today that I am trying to find a place to stand, of love, that does not define myself as the weaker or more vulnerable one. Which is what I have felt my sister wanted. She wanted me at a disadvantage, to carry the shame.</p><p></p><p>I keep trying to find a way to dodge this. It seems that any reaching out to her, is still in my mind associated with her rising in capacity to pin the tail on my donkey.</p><p></p><p>Today I am thinking this: It is the right thing to do to reach out to her. Not just my mother, but I, want me to do the right thing. I do love her. She may not understand this, but she does not have anybody else in her life who will love her selflessly. I do. That is the way I love. That is why I get so angry and afraid when I feel vulnerability. There is no ulterior motive to shield me.</p><p></p><p>So the place to stand is: I love you.</p><p></p><p>(And if she thinks or writes back: The why did you not love me for 50 years? Or why did you make Mama turn against me?)</p><p></p><p>The answer is: I always loved you, Laurie. I always loved Mama. I loved you both. I love you still.</p><p></p><p>The answer can always just be love alone. Love does not need an excuse. It is the ultimate place to hide. It is always the answer. To any question.</p><p></p><p>So this will be where I will try to stand. Being here. Without qualification or defense.</p><p>Well, that is the life I want too. We want to go East, still. M's sister loves plants. And birds for that matter.(I have a very sad story about my relationship with a baby Macaw in Guatemala. Someday I will share it. It is very, very painful. Even 11 years later.) M's sister would care for them. Except she does not drive. I would not want to bring them to her house. There is a history there. M's tools were confiscated.</p><p>I thought you and D H drink scotch. What do you drink at Happy Hour? I love single malt, but not blended scotch. I bought a branding snifter at the thrift store to savor it. Alas my stomach does not permit me to drink. And M no longer drinks so liquor is not part of our lives together. I have liquor for those who visit and for the ceremony of it. Because I like the idea of having a bar.</p><p></p><p>In reality, I have no need for expensive scotch. It was the idea. Of quality. The library with leaded glass.</p><p></p><p>M's family drinks Tequilla or Beer. Beer, my stomach can tolerate. When M's family comes, I drink beer (Michelob or Budweiser.) Wine, no more.</p><p></p><p>I love liquor. I love the ceremony of it. Like tea. </p><p></p><p>My mother every night drank a beer. Michelob. Even when she was only drinking Ensure and not eating, she had her beer. In the late afternoon. The Western sun streaming into her kitchen.</p><p></p><p>I miss my mother.</p><p></p><p>COPA</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 672780, member: 18958"] I cannot write much today. I have much to do to make our new life. The two things I want to focus on are the scotch and my sister (again)I see today that I am trying to find a place to stand, of love, that does not define myself as the weaker or more vulnerable one. Which is what I have felt my sister wanted. She wanted me at a disadvantage, to carry the shame. I keep trying to find a way to dodge this. It seems that any reaching out to her, is still in my mind associated with her rising in capacity to pin the tail on my donkey. Today I am thinking this: It is the right thing to do to reach out to her. Not just my mother, but I, want me to do the right thing. I do love her. She may not understand this, but she does not have anybody else in her life who will love her selflessly. I do. That is the way I love. That is why I get so angry and afraid when I feel vulnerability. There is no ulterior motive to shield me. So the place to stand is: I love you. (And if she thinks or writes back: The why did you not love me for 50 years? Or why did you make Mama turn against me?) The answer is: I always loved you, Laurie. I always loved Mama. I loved you both. I love you still. The answer can always just be love alone. Love does not need an excuse. It is the ultimate place to hide. It is always the answer. To any question. So this will be where I will try to stand. Being here. Without qualification or defense. Well, that is the life I want too. We want to go East, still. M's sister loves plants. And birds for that matter.(I have a very sad story about my relationship with a baby Macaw in Guatemala. Someday I will share it. It is very, very painful. Even 11 years later.) M's sister would care for them. Except she does not drive. I would not want to bring them to her house. There is a history there. M's tools were confiscated. I thought you and D H drink scotch. What do you drink at Happy Hour? I love single malt, but not blended scotch. I bought a branding snifter at the thrift store to savor it. Alas my stomach does not permit me to drink. And M no longer drinks so liquor is not part of our lives together. I have liquor for those who visit and for the ceremony of it. Because I like the idea of having a bar. In reality, I have no need for expensive scotch. It was the idea. Of quality. The library with leaded glass. M's family drinks Tequilla or Beer. Beer, my stomach can tolerate. When M's family comes, I drink beer (Michelob or Budweiser.) Wine, no more. I love liquor. I love the ceremony of it. Like tea. My mother every night drank a beer. Michelob. Even when she was only drinking Ensure and not eating, she had her beer. In the late afternoon. The Western sun streaming into her kitchen. I miss my mother. COPA [/QUOTE]
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