We All Want to Find a Beautiful Life

I've been reading Stephen King's new book 11/22/63. It's a fantastic story, but it's also really interesting in a sort of spiritual way. Not a religious way, but in a the-universe-balances-itself kind of way.

There's a repeated theme in the book that the world is what the main character calls "harmonic." That even when the past has been changed, the world finds a way to put the pieces together again, in a completely different but related way.

The idea is striking to me, especially as we're going through such life-altering changes in our house. I've been thinking a lot about why my husband lost his job now instead of six months from now or a year ago. The simple answer is that now is when his company needed to do lay-offs, but for some reason I've been feeling as though it's more than that. I think it's the universe putting the pieces back together in a different way.

Today was going to be The Beatles turn for a lyric-inspired post, but they'll have to wait, because even though we are getting by with a little help from my friends, one of those friends chose today's lyric-inspired post when she posted Chris Mann's song "Beautiful Life" on Facebook in my honor.

It's perfect. It's more than perfect. It's harmonic.



Maybe my husband losing his job now is the one more chance left out in my soul.

Now is when our son is in the hospital and will be making the difficult transition back to home and school soon. Six months from now that will be done, no matter how it works out. A year ago we couldn't even have imagined we'd be here.

Now is when we need my husband here. Now is when we need our lives to change. Now is the fifth time we fall.

And the fifth time I'm gonna find a beautiful life.

Give Up and Let It Go

I frequently frame things that happen in my life in song lyrics. And these past few months we've have seen a lot happening around here. The short version goes like this:

Our middle-size boy, who has Asperger's syndrome and a mood disorder, has had 3 inpatient hospitalizations far from home since September (and is still not home). I lost my biggest contract as a part of a huge reorganization layoff right before Thanksgiving.  We've been battling the school department to get appropriate accommodations for said middle-size boy and then, a week ago, my husband got laid off.

So, big stuff.  The lyrics that should spring to mind are probably Toad the Wet Sprocket's  Something's Always Wrong, but they're not. 

Instead, I keep hearing Francis Dunnery's  Give Up and Let It Go. The whole phrase is:

Give up and let it go, give up and let your life flow.

If you've never heard Francis Dunnery, you're missing out not only on some really wonderful music that tells masterful stories, but also on a man who tells masterful stories. I've been to two of his house concerts  at which I've had the pleasure of not only hearing Francis tell some hilarious stories, but also to speak with him afterwards about some really fascinating, thought-provoking and, again, hilarious things

Case in point: I have a great photo of  Francis, me and my husband which Mr. Dunnery captioned "Two Catholics and a Jew." Sounds a little off, but it was a great follow-up to a conversation about why Catholic men feel so at home dating and marrying Jewish women. But I digress...

Give up and let it go. Right.

Well, here's the thing:

I miss my son. I worry about what happens when comes home. Will he be happy? Will he fall apart again once he returns to school? Will everybody else see the really offbeat, fascinating, funny kid he is underneath his anxieties?

I truly don't know how we're going to pay our bills. For the first time in many years, we just don't know. The expenses associated with the hospitalizations and traveling accompanied with two layoffs have us flattened.

But those aren't the real thing.

The real thing is that I'm tired of being sad and angry and worried and panicked and all of those other emotions that have overtaken me in the past six months.

I miss my son and I don't know how we're going to pay our bills, but all the negative emotions in the world won't change that. They're changing me, though, and I don't recognize myself anymore. But when I woke up the other day, Francis Dunnery was in my head.

I think it's time to give up and let it go, give up and let my life flow. Tomorrow I'll tell you how I'll get by With a Little Help From My Friends.

Wait, Have You Heard This One Already?

Image via WikipediaOkay, I've decided to give this blogging thing another attempt. It's not that I don't like to blog, it's that with trying to work with a new little guy in the house and all the crazy in our lives in the past few years (more on that later) I stopped because I wasn't sure if I had the energy to blog or if I was able to blog without just whining.

Plus with me writing for other websites, I wasn't sure I had anything new to say. I'm pretty sure I do, though, because sometimes people won't pay me to write what I'm thinking. For example, as I've dealt with the schools in relation to my son's recent diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome, I have some ideas percolating in my head about who really put the "ass" in Asperger's syndrome, but I'll tackle that another time.

When I brought up the re-blogging attempt with my husband, (who will be referred to as my husband because I refuse to revert to the standard-of-use DH, it's both too cutesy and too campy for me), he said he thought it was a great idea.

He's always wanted to start a blog, but said he doesn't have anything to say that anyone would want to hear. Of course, dutiful wife that I am (*snort*), I protested. It's true, though, he's kind of interesting and has a great snarky sense of humor.

He does tend to repeat his stories, though. To the point where even our kids feel comfortable jumping in and saying "You've told this one already!" at the dinner table. Well, our teenager revels in saying it and our middle-sized boy falls out of his chair laughing while he says it.

Which brings me to today's punchline. If I'm going to start blogging again about how tough it is to aspire to ordinariness, maybe my husband should start a blog to tell his stories. He could call it "Wait, Have You Heard This One Already?"