Love > Hate

I just spent the last month visiting my mom at her home outside of Montgomery Alabama. We had planned a long stay so that we could do some remodeling in the RV as well as spend some quality time together. What I hadn't planned on was our visit coinciding with the release of the man who caused the automobile accident that killed my father and permanently injured my mother.

A still from the scene of the accident.

My parents car.

The driver's side of my parents car.

March 20th would have been my dad's 66th birthday if it hadn't been for that fateful day October 15, 2009. It was a day that found a man too much in a hurry, too irresponsible to have a driver's license...a man who would illegally pass another vehicle only to collide head-on into my parents car. My dad died a week later, my mom still has physical pain every single day. I miss my dad.

My mom and I made a trip to the Alabama National Cemetery in Montevallo to bring flowers to dad's grave on his birthday. The dreary grey skies soon turned blue as the sun broke through the clouds. As we walked to his marker my mom pointed out that he would have loved the view...his stone faces a pond. A bird skirted through the reeds and stopped to look at us for a long while. If I didn't know any better I'd say that maybe dad had sent that bird.

The view from his headstone.

We got a vase and set the yellow and orange mums at the base of his head stone. It still seems so surreal...even after all of these year.

His birthday fell on a Wednesday. Two days later we were in court to see, perhaps for the last time, the man who caused this heartache. The man who killed my dad and argued in court that 2 years in jail was too harsh of a penalty for what he had done. I didn't know what to expect...would I cry or break down or scream at him? Would he look at me and know that it was MY dad he killed?? Would he know that while he was going to be released the very next morning and be able to hug his family and live his life I would be longing for just 5 more minutes with my dad?

My dad clowning around at work.

When his name was called and he was brought out of the holding cell my mom and I approached the bench. He never made eye contact but he saw us. He was noticeably nervous. I stared at him trying to read his thoughts...willing him to just turn to us and apologize. Just 3 simple words..."I am sorry".

They never came. I felt numb. My mind wanted me to scream and an image of me losing control and being dragged off of this man flashed behind my eyes. And then a warm calmness seemed to embrace me. Here's what I wrote that day:

  Today I got to stand next to the man who killed my father 3 years ago. He served a 2 year sentence and is being released from jail tomorrow. I felt nothing but pity for this man. I feel that he does not grasp the enormity of his responsibility for his actions and his words, some how it's always someone else's fault or circumstances beyond his control. He, like all of us, is a product of every decision he has made throughout his life. If he wants forgiveness and perhaps even a happy and fulfilling life he can start by understanding that every decision, every action, every thought, every word spoken creates the person we become and life that we live. Although he is not the victim (although he truly believes he is in one way or another) I pity him for the life he took (my dad's) as well as the one he is throwing out the window, his own.

 Trust me...I wanted to hate him. I wanted him to die a slow and agonizing death or have someone dear to him be taken away. I wanted to belittle him, yell and make him feel like he would be better off dead. But what I really wanted was my dad to not be dead...and nothing anyone did could make that happen. So, the next best thing was to not allow this man to take any more life from me, to shift the focus off of him (because he doesn't deserve it anyway) and place it on the love I have in my life...the love I feel is even stronger now that this tragedy has taken place.

I can't explain this shift that occurred. Perhaps it was beyond my control. I'd like to think my dad somehow had something to do with it...I know I dream about him more often now. Certainly getting older has played a part in this new perspective but I think my yoga practice and meditation has also been a factor. I find myself less reactive and more introspective...less willing to allow others to destroy my inner peace and more willing to find empathy. Some might mistakenly believe this is a weakness, that I am being a push over, but its not and I'm not. It takes a certain kind of strength to be responsible for one's feelings and emotions and to forgive those we think we should hate...and in most worlds, have the 'right' to hate.

But fear not...I am far from perfect and I still get into silly "arguments"  with complete strangers on Facebook. I still have 'buttons' that can be pushed and I have yet to really learn how to take a compliment. All of life is a lesson and we are constantly learning. And yoga and meditation are called 'practices' for a reason...seldom, if ever, does anyone attain perfect enlightenment. But it's a journey we all take and we can choose how that road is paved. We can be victims or survivors, we can stay stuck in the mire or persevere until we reach firm ground, we can blame everyone else or take credit for who we are, we can feed the hate or feed the love...for that which we feed grows and what we starve dies.

We leave Alabama tomorrow and I'm really going to miss my mom. It's been great having all of this time with her. She's the sweetest, most loving person you could ever meet...and I'm not just saying that. I'm thankful that out of this pain our relationship has grown stronger and our love deeper. She's an amazing woman and I'm a very lucky daughter.

My mom and I at my wedding (she did my flowers).

Don't Call It a Comeback...

I've had quite a long (unplanned) hiatus from my blogs (I also write at Tales From the Mutiny). I partially blame our travels...we hit the road October 3, 2012 in our 32-foot RV, The Mutiny, which left us without internet much of the time. But part of it has been sheer laziness. I know I'm not the only one who finds that they can fill their days with plenty of busy work to avoid doing other things...like writing. I don't want to call this a comeback because I really didn't leave my blog or abandon my writing...it's always there in my thoughts...every day. I just got really, really shall we say...sidetracked.

via Pinterest

Although writing is one of my passions I still have mini panic attacks when I write, publish posts or submit articles for Elephant Journal. I'm always afraid that no one will care, my article will be rejected or that failure in some form or another is just around the corner. I also have a problem with keeping a journal to jot down all of the brilliant ideas and thoughts I have throughout the day...the ones I'm sure would make a fabulous entry. Then, when I sit at the computer my mind seems as blank as the screen. And I want to kill that flashing cursor.

via Pinterest

One of my sewing projects, making reusable shopping bags out of old t-shirts.

So, I have been occupying my time with this busy work...yoga, reading articles and books, organizing the RV, remodeling the RV interior and sewing, which is totally new to me. The yoga part isn't really busy work...it's a life line and it has helped me build some confidence. I did a month long yoga challenge (#yogaeverydamnday) and saw so much improvement that I became addicted. I took some time to work on a few balance poses which really helped me understand the concept of beginner mind. We can't start out as pro's in everything we do...there is always a learning curve.

In Mobile, Alabama

White Sands National Monument

I'm still trying to figure out this life balance. Sometimes the full-time RVing seems like a full-time job but then I realize how luck I am to be able to do this at my age. It's not fair to complain. And I know that I tend to procrastinate. I can only beat myself up about this so many times...

I am exploring and working hard at figuring out how to make this all work...the need to write, finding the inspiration and direction, staying creative, keeping positive and being fearless. I am experimenting with new passions and creative endeavors and am thankful for some new friends (and old) who help inspire me. I've also got a new gadget (Karma) which I am hoping will give me more reliable internet once we resume our travels.

I'm also trying to learn that life isn't always go...go...go. But that sometimes there is nothing wrong with taking a nap, laying in the sun, reading a book or doing a whole lot of nothing.

By the way, I am also on Instagram at lynnbonelli (isn't everyone??) and would love to follow you back so leave your user name in the comments!

Lies My Red Cup Told Me...

I'm in green...obviously thrilled to have my picture taken.
Japan circa 1972

Living on the road has certainly brought some much needed perspective to my life. I grew up in what I felt was a middle class home...my dad was in the Air Force and my mom often worked as a florist where ever we happened to be stationed at the time. At some point during my childhood my dad went to Officer Training School and was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant which seemed to bring in a little extra money (we got a second car shortly after). But there were always money struggles...and arguments between my parents and fights that ended up with credit cards being cut into tiny pieces. Of course, I also remember standing next to my mom a few days later at the register at JC Penney while she rattled off the credit card number {from memory} to the sales clerk.



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We didn't have fancy things...not like my friend Heidi whose mom didn't have to work. They had a formal living room and granola cereal in those skinny little boxes (aka expensive). Obviously I loved to go to Heidi's to spend the night so I could get a taste of the good life. In retrospect I don't think they were much better off than we were...they just had different priorities.

And that's what I'm finding out again...living in this RV on a retirees income, it's about priorities. I've always worked, often times being the bread-winner or having no other income to supplement my own. So this is a new (and uncomfortable) situation for me. I feel guilty about the expensive of some of my necessities {good God, my contact lens solution is how much?!} even though the hubs has no issue with it.

We spent several weeks living/camping in places that were fairly remote with only a small local general store or gas station in which to stock the fridge. I've had to suffer through instant coffee (and struggled with my french press for a week) since these stores tend to not carry K-cups which was, quite possibly, worse than being without Internet and cell phone service for 2 weeks straight! Now, when we are back in 'civilization' we hardly have any restraint when it comes to stocking up in the good stuff {K-cups, goat cheese rolled in exotic spices we've never heard of, handmade crackers, fancy fruits I've never eaten and probably won't like, etc.}.

And Starbucks.

The Holy Grail!

I got a Starbucks Gingerbread Soy Latte yesterday because I had to have it...and I deserved it...and it's delicousness is only available for a limited time only! It's in a red cup for criminy sake and I haven't had a Starbucks in weeks (come on, some people get one every day...or twice a day...don't judge). That first sip was like heaven...the 7th sip was okay...and by the time we got done grocery shopping my lukewarm nectar from the gods was just something else I had to carry (I couldn't throw it away after the big production I made about getting to have a Starbucks, finally).

I did eventually throw it away later that day, dumping the remaining 3/4 of it down the drain and tossing that damned red cup into the trash. Such a waste...a waste of money, time, non-recyclables. But still, a lesson learned. I don't need Starbucks. And I don't need handmade fancy crackers. It's all really a mind and marketing game. Going without for so long we feel like we deserve that stuff. But so far, none of it has really done anything for us that has been so spectacular that we could never live without it again. Of all of the beauty and peace and comfort and happiness that life can bring, especially when out in nature (at least for me), paying for over-priced coffee has proven to be something I can live without {I think}.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to enjoy this day...sans Starbucks. Wish me luck!

Nothing the See Here...Move Along {via the Past}...

Out in the middle of nowhere {okay, it was Coulterville, California~population 201} somewhere during the first few weeks of our grand RV escape, longing for a TV to watch Giants Baseball or even a little NFL, desperate for free wi-fi {who am I kidding, we would have PAID for it} we headed to the nearest town and parked next to this truck.

 

 

There were names of soldiers, some POW but mostly KIA, covering nearly every inch of this truck. Very somber to say the least. However, what I saw, right outside of our Jeep's passenger window, where I sat when we pulled next to this truck, literally took my breath away.

 

 

PFC. Rachel Bosveld was my sister-in-law (my sister is married to her brother) and I was shocked to not only find her name on this truck, thousands of miles from her home state of Wisconsin, but that her name was one of the first I saw. Tears instantly filled my eyes. Rachel was killed during a mortar attack on the Abu Ghraib Police Station in Iraq. She was just 19 years old. She and I did the music for our siblings' wedding in Alaska just 2 years earlier.

Rachel

It was such a surreal moment, seeing her name on that truck, one that still twists my gut and dampens my eyes. It makes me wonder what it's all about...this life. Sometimes we think we have so much time that we put things off or take them for granted...always promising (if even just to ourselves) that we will get around to doing {fill in the blank} another day. But we are not promised another day.

Emerald Pool above Vernal Falls rests on a solid sheet of polished granite.

Hiking through Yosemite this past week, feeling overwhelmed by the smallness of our existence while walking across a gigantic slab of granite polished by a glacier some 100 million years ago, I had moments of clarity...that in the grand scheme of things probably 90% of what occupies my mind {worry, fear, longing, blame, past hurts, resentment, regrets, etc.) add no benefit to my life. Not only that, but these thoughts are robbing me of my present life.

I lost count of the number of stairs we climbed up to the top of the falls...but they almost broke us, however our spirit (and ego) pushed us forward.

Our second day in Yosemite, Clark and I climbed to the top of Vernal Falls via the Mist Trail. It's about 1.5 miles one way but has a 1000 foot gain as well. I had misread the guide and was under the impression this was marked an "easy" hike. It was far from easy and at one point we contemplated quitting and turning back. However, once we completed the climb and the equally, if not more, gruelling decent the pain and suffering seemed to evaporate as we celebrated our accomplishment.

A little toast to surviving the hike at Camp Curry.

But that's the key, in a sense...to release the pain so we can relish in our ability at having overcome the obstacle. Whether that pain is from something our parents did (or didn't do), something hurtful some guy said to us years ago, some misunderstanding we had with a friend or co-worker that got so blown out of proportion that our Ego won't 'let' us forgive or forget, a test we failed (or class for that matter), a relationship that didn't work (perhaps from our own indiscretions)...whatever the obstacle or challenge that we have had to deal with and lived through demands our celebration.

zensationalliving.com

At some point, after the pity party (which is hopefully short lived) and mourning, we need to let go so we can continue to live in the moment. The past has nothing to offer except the lessons we've already learned...and we need to rehash those about as much as we need to keep tracing our letters in cursive and practising our multiplication tables over and over {ahem, in other words it's time to move on}.

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Rachel was 19 when she died thousands of miles from home...almost 9 years ago to the day. As I sit here at my comfortable desk, sipping a lovely Petite Syrah, watching the San Francisco Giant clench their spot in the World Series I wonder what her life was like, and what would/could have been. I wonder if she had the chance to love someone with all of her heart, if she stopped and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her face or laughed when she got caught in a sudden downpour. I hope so...I hope she enjoyed every moment she was given, even the hard ones...and I hope you do too.






Silencing the Past

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I used to keep a journal. It was your basic composition book type journal (the old hard backed black and white notebook), which I felt was very Holden Caulfield-ny...someone I thought I'd rather be, especially when I was writing. Before the composition book when I was a young girl I remember having a real Diary, it even had a lock. Later, in high school, I kept a plain old college ruled spiral bound as a journal, until my father 'accidentally' mistook MY yellow spiral bound book of secrets as HIS yellow spiral bound book of work notes and read it...it was not good. It was then when he learned, at work, that I was no longer virgin.

Me, age 17 on a day pass from the hospital in Anchorage where I was 'recovering' from anorexia. My dad came down from Fairbanks to visit me during Christmas.

But, even as an adult...primarily when I was struggling with some love sickness, loneliness, undefined life plan, or...loneliness (yes, I know I said that already) I felt drawn to write in my hard backed comp book. I had learned of it's importance while hospitalized in Charter North for anorexia at age 16 (not long after the above incident), some 350 miles from our 'home' in Fairbanks Alaska. I had also learned that I could make people laugh and get high praise from my English Lit and Written Composition professors at University by writing about what seemed to me the mundaneness of my life.

When Bridget Jones' Diary hit the shelves my journaling took on a new life. I would be sure to write in it daily lest it miss me too much. It was a friend and confidant. It was a place I knew, in the back of my mind...even while the shit was hitting the fan...where I would go to write down all of the awful things that were happening to me at that instant. Somehow that made it all tolerable, although I would find myself weeping onto the pages as I relived my days...the pain of horrible breakups, empty promises, loneliness, disappointment, financial struggles, etc., etc., etc...

Maxx

I wrote about my horse, Maxx, and the devastating effect his death had on my life. I wrote about my old boyfriend, Adam, who would promise to come over and then never show up...for days or even weeks. I wrote about my disappointment over where my life was headed...no where. Wasted talent, wasted mind, wasted life. Always wrapped up in either a boyfriend or lack there of. Pages and pages of me reasoning with me. It's hard to be smart and logical yet always making the worst decisions possible.

Don't get me wrong, my journaling led to quite a bit of insight, especially when I would reread what I wrote. Often I would barely recognize the words as my own. Sometimes even the handwriting was different...me but not. Or maybe me just telling me in a different 'voice' how to get out of whatever situation I was in. I had no family around me, opting to live in Northern California, 3000+ miles from my parents, even when I was in my mid-20's. There would have been no shame in 'going home' at that age after a divorce and having only a $13 an hour job for income.

The best wine for my limited income.

Instead, I journaled. And watched a shit-ton of Friends and Seinfeld. Oh, and then Bridget Jones' Diary came out on video...so I watched that, over and over and over again. I developed my own break-up/pity-party basket...Gloria Gaynor's song I Will Survive, the movies "Singles", "Reality Bites" and later "Elizabeth", "Closer", and "Love Actually", microwave popcorn and 2 Buck Chuck for dinner. I worked a ridiculous amount (full time with as much OT as I could get at a car dealership and then part-time waitressing at night) just so I wouldn't have to be home...alone.

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But my journal...that's what kept me sane (or somewhat sane because I literally thought my life was spiraling into oblivion and happiness would either never be mine or only found in a pill). In desperation I tried that pill which was called Paxil...only to find out it didn't bring happiness, it brought blase...a non-committal to any kind of emotion happy or sad. And as painful as my life seemed to be I knew that I would rather feel that pain to full extent if that was the only way to be able to recognize the joy that I knew I deserved. I got rid of the pills, focused on my journaling and started meditating.

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Many years have passed and I find myself reading Joyce Maynard's At Home in the World: A Memoir right now (thanks to a post by Michele at Yoga Freedom Blog). Joyce, as well as her mother, kept all of their letters over the years...and even made carbon copies of the one's they sent. Writing on a topic which happened 26 earlier, Ms. Maynard has at her finger-tips, not only an exquisite memory but years and years of correspondence with her family as well as author J.D. Salinger (whom she ended up having a relationship with when she was 18 and he was 53). Being inspired yet again to journal I recall, with mixed emotion, that I have destroyed ALL of my old ones.

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Gone...each and every one of them. Not long ago I came across one (which has since been destroyed) read a few pages and experienced a visceral response (something like embarassment) to the pain and struggle I went through. I felt I had changed so much that I couldn't (or maybe didn't want to) relate to that person who wrote those words...that they came from a moment (or year) of weakness. A weak person, unhappy and confused, whose words were not worth saving. What could I possibly learn from those words and why would I want to reread them anyway?? By destroying those journals I felt I was silencing the past...but the lessons have still been learned.

There are lost moments, realizations, and insights to be sure. But I won't be dwelling on them. Instead, I have my not-so-good memory and those of my closest and oldest friends and sister. It's not that I want to relive my past or dwell there for some sentimental reason. I'm happy right here in the present, while occasionally venturing out to plan some amazing adventures in the near future. Perhaps destroying those journals was the right thing to do...I will never know because there is no other option. Perhaps, for me, that act of writing down my feelings and battling them out on paper was all I needed.

But now, with computers and internet and 'free' blogging sites I find myself enjoying the process even though I know it can be a more permanent record...perhaps not so easily destroyed as those old composition books. As I grow older (and hopefully wiser) I understand that all of those moments...even my weakest ones, are what helped to form who am I right now. And for that, there is no shame or embarassment.

Still learning...

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This past week I hit a road block in my training (and eating).  I know, I know...it's so early into the new training schedule to fall off the wagon now but I 'kinda' have a good excuse (and if not, I DID learn something).  The BF and I had a HUGE yard sale this past weekend and much of the week leading up to it was spent preparing for the big day.  A lot of purging, organizing, agonizing (what to keep, what to sell, how much to sell it for), and time spent on our feet lead to much less time running or P90Xing.


While I did manage to get a few runs in I am still a little behind on my desired mileage.  I am also almost a week behind on P90X workouts.  What I found is that it is much easier for me to workout on the days I also work (or more precisely, the days the BF and I both work and don't really have any time together).  When the BF and I are off together I can't seem to manage my time very well, opting to spend most of it with him even if we aren't really doing anything (ie. watching movies, catching up on TV shows we recorded, etc.).  This does not say much for my training ethics.  After all, I proclaim that my training is very important to me.

These bitchz be crazy...but like a train wreck, I can't stop watching!!

{Seriously, I might need a 12 step program to stop watching the Real Housewives...I went for YEARS without TV...I was one of those "Kill Your TV" people...but now that I live with the BF, who has EVERY channel imaginable, I find myself almost hypnotized.  I am so ashamed!!}


As I have always told myself, once you identify the problem then finding the solution is easy (and expected).   I can do this.  I want to do this...so I will make it happen.  I'm not going to beat myself up over this past week...and honestly, there were 2 days I was on my feet so much that I don't feel bad for missing a workout...but I am going to take more time planning my workouts and getting up early if need be to stay on track.

Balance
{from my trip to Death Valley}

So, while I learn the all important aspects of balancing work, friends, blogging, running, weight training, boyfriend time, relaxation, house keeping, and everything else life has to offer I have figured out that every once in a while I just need to do a self-check.  If I am venturing too far off path I can redirect my efforts or re-evaluate my goals and steer myself to the most worthwhile areas of my life.

Does anyone have any tips on fitting it 'all' in?  I recently started using Google Calendar to set reminders, are there any other tools you would recommend?