Tired, sluggish and uninspired today.

The energy required to memorialize something (rant or rave) eludes me today.

So, a little potpourri before I bow out of the Center Ring of the Big Top this evening:

My mother.

A controversial figure. Well, at least I have made her out to be. I hope, however, that in detailing her shortcomings here and elsewhere in my life, while I may have been ungrateful, that I was not spiteful and led people to believe that I ever thought that any of the things she has ever done with me she has not done with my best interests at heart. Wrong she may have been, but she has always acted in a manner where, even (or especially) when I didn't deserve it, she put trying to attend to my interests far before her own. As a word, "selfless" doesn't even begin to give my mother her due. "Generous" is a start, but is devoid of the depth of emotion required for an apt description. I guess, "mother" is probably the only fair word. With all of the good and all of the bad that it might connote, it is a word attached to many, but a mantle firmly secured by a proud few. She is not perfect, and she has screwed up a lot, but my mother has always tried and never, ever given up. In the end, it is hard to ask for more than that. You can, but, in doing so, you ignore how far ahead of the game you are.

It seems to me parenting is supposed to be an act defined by its selflessness. To be a parent is to define yourself exclusively by others. And a lot of times those others are a handful. In other words, it is a thankless job that goes on for the rest of your life and requires a complete divestment of ego. In other words, it is a true labor of love, in ever sense of the word. There are a lot of people out there, however, who have selfish parents. Who are more concerned about how they are perceived as parents to the rest of the world, than tending to the charges they have brought into this world. Living with that is difficult.

But my point here, as roundabout as it is, is that, as much as I may complain about my mom, sometimes, oftentimes, she does have a point. For instance, I have long complained of not having "any hand-eye coordination." My mother's response, "Of course you have hand-eye coordination, otherwise everytime you went to eat something, you would miss your mouth and stick your fork in your eye." (Can you see where I get this tendency towards vivid imagery/flair for the absurd?) Anyway, I have long cited that quote of my mother's, if only because I think that "sticking your fork in your eye" imagery is funny. (Call me macabre...) However, in a recent conversation with my mother, it comes to light that once again, she was teaching without really telling.

I have always been so literal, so hyper-sensitive, I have required detailed and explicit explanation of the meanings of everything, as well as any underlying intentions. Otherwise I just don't get it. I see the trees. But never the forest. Anyway, I was telling her about my recent troubles: How I have been feeling; How I just want to run away; Lamenting the lack of a blooming money tree to make it all happen. It was mostly about venting out loud because my mom is not so good with dealing with feelings. They make her nervous. She laughs. Laughs a lot. At the most inappropriate times. That is how she deals. But if you don't know her, it seems, well, odd. She didn't laugh this time, so that was good. She did launch into cliches (which is also normal), she's got a number of all-time greatest hits that make their way into any conversation: "Everything in excess is bad" is one, and "Cuando la vida te da limones, hace limonada" (When life gives you lemons, make lemonade) is another. Formalities having been exchanged, those were clearly thrown out, and thus we were on to the main event. Upon my concluding rant that "I would be alone forever" and that it was good she has four other children so that they can provide her with grandchildren someday, my mom says, oh so originally: "You can't love someone else till you love yourself." (Did I mention she loves Dr. Laura, and maybe Dr. Phil. All of those first-name only professionals really speak to her). I then respond that, "I am incapable of loving myself. So what do I do then? Does that mean there is no hope for me?" A pause. (Not really what you want to hear from anyone after such a question. Hesitation as a response there is never good. But it is especially bad when it comes from your own mother. D'oh!). Clearly, I was hanging on a precipice - adult pain and childhood insecurities potentially coming together to swirl into a psychiatric Perfect Storm. But then, at the last minute, my mother, mi mama, pulled it out. "You are capable of loving yourself. You do. You love yourself enough to get up in the morning and brush your teeth. You love yourself enough to walk on the sidewalk and not into traffic. You love yourself enough to put clothes on to keep warm and not get sick." And there it is, my mother's "you don't stick a fork in your eye" wisdom reemerging after all these years. This time around, surprisingly enough given how hysterical I have been lately, I actually heard her though: You do love yourself, at least a little.... And that is something. It is someplace to start. She's not really all that articulate, but if you listen, apparently, my mom does have something to say.