Agree to disagree

Hi Dad,

I've read a lot of interesting arguments about the tilma. The church has never authorized a scientific study to be released, but there are plenty of well-researched arguments that this is a copy of a traditional painting made by a converted Aztec who would have been educated by the Spaniards who conquered Mexico in the 1500's. Certainly it is one of the most important images ever made, just like the Sistine ceiling or Guernica, and it helped the church thrive because its beauty equated with a miracle in the eyes of peasants who had never seen European artistry. I don't think the paranormal explanations are believable or necessary, but at that time they would have easily convinced the uneducated Indians to convert to Christianity (just like the Pagans in Rome and the Celtic people in Ireland etc). In fact, I read that there was already a shrine dedicated to a pagan goddess on that spot, so it would be likely that the story of the cloak was used to unite the old beliefs and the new. Even her features are said to reflect those of indigenous Mexican people, rather than a Jewish woman which Mary was. Most people today don't realize that humans were very sophisticated by this time, and with God's intervention, they were finally able to share knowledge far and wide, there were enormous triumphs in music and art and science...just look at any art or engineering that came out of Italy during this time. Italians painted on wood panels and linen, but the tilma is said to be blended with hemp which is one of the most durable fibers, and possibly preserved by the minerals on the surface (calcium and magnesium resist oxidizing of natural fibers). The colors are indeed earth pigments that are probably unique to that region, so couldn't be explained by European scientists. One of my co-workers from Oppenheimer uses an ancient technique of mixing egg yolk with found mineral deposits...red and yellow pigments from South Dakota and lapis lazuli from Turkey--to create some of the most exquisite, colorful paintings of molecular structures, and no brush strokes are visible-plus the minerals all have different opacity and reflectivity properties that can be layered for different subtle effects...if that's a miracle then I know plenty of miracle workers. It's a skill some artists have, an ability to manipulate materials in ways most of us wouldn't imagine. The fun in looking at art is not only seeing and interpreting the end product, but imagining the layers and reading into the construction. I'd hate to crush anyone's belief in miracles (I still haven't told Zoe that the tooth fairy is made up, just that she is unreliable lately?!) but I like what one person wrote, which was "the miracle of the tilma exists in the hearts of those who believe." Thankfully there is no harm in it, no one is starting a jihad because of this. My landlord and her family just drove across the border to the Baja region where they'll be living for the next few months. I'll be interested in hearing about her travels there, maybe it will convince me to visit someday.

Love
Sus

It's bad, that's all.

Disconnected. I'm looking at the most stunning sunrise I've ever seen and wishing I could sublime into the clouds. It was dark before the dawn. It remains dark even as I shield my eyes from the burning rays. I'm trying to focus on the rock that soars from the mountain's edge, saluting and absorbing the sun's warmth on its blade. Casting a lavender shadow on the mountain's bushy green brow. Too much beauty and I'm on the verge of succumbing.

These dips make everything that is good-fade into a haze. My heart, my spirit, my whole being is shattered, pieces floating in a soup of garbage. Lacking even the courage to cry. Dreaming of hell. Bloated purple bodies and brown, oil-stained memories of meaningless rituals and empty praises. Confounded at how an infusion of undivided free time in an unspoiled land can feel so confining. Stomach in knots. Fearful that I won't ever touch the earth again, or the sea, or even the air. I'm nowhere, dissipating/disappearing into the space between everything.

I'm lost in a maze of chemicals. Slashing at everything and not even sure why. I'm slashing at the pills that are supposed to free me from this, to which I owed my life at one point. A regimen that once pulled me out of despair is now trapping me inside its walls. I want less. And I want more. I feel nothing but it hurts so much. Even crying hurts. Loneliness hurts, and companionship hurts. Hairs dropping from my scalp. I'm traumatized down to my pores, and completely numb.

Started writing this on my personal web site, then cut and pasted

It's been an unbelievable 2 months since I turned the page on the longest chapter of my life.
I spent 42 years in Illinois. Half of those years I lived in Mount Prospect, in the  "Triangle" to be specific, a one square-ish mile of land that was the birthplace of the town. The land was settled by hard-working Germans along a direct train route between downtown Chicago and the Wisconsin border. I never questioned my purpose growing up in a town like that; I had the same goals as most other kids. Do well in school, attain a respectable job, marry a responsible person, and have a family of my own. Gender roles were changing in the 1970's, so one of the harder things to imagine was how I was supposed to be equal to my brothers, yet still be as dedicated to parenting as my own mother was. Throughout my teenage years I fought with the notion that I had an impossible task ahead of me.
I pushed through my adolescent years, mostly copying the friends I liked most. I blended in well enough in my 20's, making friends and trying new adventures like living on my own in the city, traveling to deserts and small towns to see what else the world had to offer. In my 30's I started "checking off" the same grown-up to-do list items that my older brother and friends had already accomplished. Marriage. Child birth. Day care. Schools. Doctor visits. Work anniversaries.
I was the first in my circle of friends to get divorced. For the first time, there was no one I could copy. This was a foreign land where I had no answers. I coped by seeking out others in my position, but no one had the same history or struggle that I had. My one comfort was living in a large city where I could sink into anonymity each day on the train. I could pretend to be just like everyone around me for a while, and let my guard down.
I gave up my anonymity when I moved back to my home town. I needed help with after school care for my daughter, and the only people I trusted were my parents. It was the path of least resistance, and I relished it. Asking for help has always been challenging for me. They didn't require me to ask for anything. In the course of those three years, I became so comfortable allowing others to choose for me, that I lost my ability to express what I wanted. During the short time I lived in parents' home, my mother and I got into a discussion about the course my life was taking. Frustrated at my inability to make a decision, she asked me "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" and I tearfully responded that I didn't know! I thought I knew but it all turned out to be wrong. I was paralyzed by fear and lack of confidence.

After a couple of years, I got back on my feet, bought a home nearby, and got the hang of being a working single mom again. I was dating again, but only on the weekends when Z was with her dad. It was the fall, and my boyfriend asked me if I could get away to attend a conference with him in Vienna. My parents had agreed to care for Z when I went away with him a couple of years earlier. But this time, when I asked for their help, my mother gave no explanation except that no, they could not do that. It broke my heart. It was obvious that they felt it was a frivolous trip, that the relationship itself was frivolous. So I turned him down.
It wasn't a complete disappointment. Deep down I knew I didn't want to leave Z a second time to go to Europe without her. But saying no was very hard for me. It carried the shame of giving in to my parents' wishes. But saying yes meant I would be succumbing to my boyfriend's wishes. Ultimately I began to realize that all of my choices culminated from my being controlled by others.
I did eventually get away on a trip. Not the Vienna trip, another one. To Italy. A real vacation, not a conference where I'd be a tag-along. That was exactly a year ago. Same week that my best friends in Mount Prospect packed up their car and moved to Colorado.
It came as a shock. They had talked and talked about moving there, for the wilderness and liberal way of life. But they just did it, got the kids in school, rented a house, boom. When I got back from Italy, my best friends were gone. I could barely get my head around it. How do you just decide one day that the comfort of family and friends and a nice home you've worked so hard for isn't good enough? I chewed on that question for months. But I got to see how happy this new life made them. New challenges, new rewards, new horizons, new everything. That's when I started to understand. That's when I replayed my mother asking me that question in my brain, years later, and this time, I knew the answer.

New friends

Entering our 7th week now in Colorado...it still feels like we are groping around in the dark, or in the blinding sunlight to be more accurate. Today is the day I enroll Z in school. I'd have done it yesterday, but the events of the day gave me some reason to pause and rethink my original plan. We moved here, to this most coveted and costly neighborhood, to be eligible to attend Whittier school, the oldest continuously operating school in Colorado. Zoe's friend Jordan is enrolled there, and his family loves it. For years we have felt like an extension of their family. We have traveled together, conquered fears, drunk our way through traumas and obstacles, and pulled close together during hot summers and cold, miserable winters. Now we hardly know them. They haven't visited us once in the time we have lived here. Our only time together was on their terms, their turf. It's no longer a mutually beneficial relationship. Even Z feels let down.

It was these friends who suggested we rent a studio from a nice couple who I happened to meet just as I was leaving a party back in May. If that was our parting gift, I am grateful. We did rent that studio, and in genius fashion, the homeowners rented their adjoining home to a delightful family of 5 from the east coast. Their daughter is my daughter's newest and sweetest friend. Their sons are a whirling dervish of grinning and mischief-making, and their dogs are a couple of geriatric piles of love. We're still getting to know them, but all signs point to us having a spectacular few months nestled into our mountain hideaway on a cushion of friendship as we grow new roots.

And as far as growing roots, this could mean shifting our original plans a bit so Z and her new friend can attend the same school. Nothing would please me more than to see Z with a partner in crime as she embarks on the 4th grade in a new city. Today I'm making the necessary calls and filling in the necessary paperwork to get the ball rolling.

Then it's time for me to settle into my own new routine! Living off of my savings this long was a frightening possibility, but now that my leg is healing...I need to push ahead.