Thankful

I Am Thankful

11/21/12

Maybe it seems impossible to have gratitude,

Since my fairy tale life didn’t turn out quite right.

I’ve had to rewrite my little fairytale story

Like I’m doing tonight.

I am thankful for my Daddy,

Who must be the mom too.

He showed me unconditional love

Is the only love that’s true.

My Daddy links me to the love I’m most thankful for,

Though I cannot say I’ve always understood.

God and Jesus having eternal love for me,

No matter if I’m bad or good.

The Long Island Medium

I’m not a TV watcher, but I watch The Long Island Medium, Theresa Caputo. It’s a toss up if I am most captivated by her conversations with the dead or her style. All bound together, she is true to herself, her 80’s self, and she doesn’t care if anyone gets her or not.

          As a Christian, surrounded by other Christians, mediums are controversial. The Bible says no. Therefore, I have spent time focusing and thinking, something I already do too much of in the first place.

          At any rate, she is on tour and was in Atlanta on Oct 24, so I bought tickets the day before, called a lifelong friend and off we went. Last minute, just the way I like it. I went with no intention of “being read,” because I have been fortunate enough to have dreams from the other side. I’ve received messages I needed to move forward and understand to the best of my ability, that which cannot be understood; Death. However, over time I have learned something about the controversial part as far as "connecting" with people who have died. More on that later ...

I went because I see/feel things in people here. The best way to describe it is dark, hot and bad or bright, warm and good. I wanted to be in her physical presence just to see what happened. I was one in an audience of 4,700, but she stood 2 people down from me and read the lady and her daughter beside me as well as a mother/daughter 2 rows behind me. My guess is she noticed me, especially my gladiator style bracelet because that’s just what I imagine she would notice.

          Point in case, what to believe.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

I never enjoyed homework when I was in school, much less essays. Sad to say, I typically still do not enjoy helping my kids with homework. A few nights ago, my youngest daughter had to write an essay about her summer reading. It was over a book she read, The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton. (FYI: S.E. Hinton wrote it in HIGH SCHOOL, second seller only to Charlotte's Web.)

          I have known virtually every word to the movie since I was a child, thanks to my older sister loving it. Not to mention, many heartthrobs starred in it. They were babies, but still wonderful. The cast consists of Tom Cruise, Matt Dillon, Ralph Macchio, Rob Lowe (yummy,) Emilio Estevez, C. Thomas Howell, Leif Garrett, Diane Lane … and of course, my all time favorite, Patrick Swayze … “Darry.”

          The homework assignment was to explain Robert Frost’s poem, Nothing Gold Can Stay, along with Johnny’s words about what he thought Robert Frost meant. My daughter was stumped, thinking it was contradictory, talking about the colors green and gold and that life is more valuable when you are a kid. That’s where it all began …

         

The poem:

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

       I remembered this poem, along with Johnny’s last words before he died, “Stay gold Ponyboy, stay gold.”

However, considering the cutie patootie cast, I suppose I didn’t give it as much thought as I should. Now I have.

          We dissected each line …

Babies Growing Up ... Mommies Growing Up

I haven’t written in awhile, too many thoughts in my head. I wonder, who am I writing this TO/FOR? I see posts on Facebook directed to A person; yet they are posted on a public site? Does the posting person want to allow everyone in on a private comment, that is no longer private? I don’t get it. Then, I look at myself and wonder who I am speaking to when I write this blog. It is an outlet to place something deep within myself into a bottle and throw it out to sea.












My blogs are messages in bottles … No idea what shoreline they will wash upon or who will open the bottle, or if that person will even understand my message. I still throw it anyway …      

The truth is, time is passing too quickly for me and I am attempting to freeze moments. I look at things longer now … I look at my children longer. I hug them tighter and for just a few more seconds. I smile at them more. I kiss them more. One day, I know I will have to rely on this reservoir of memories, so I am stockpiling them. I look happy because I am happy, but I am scared, really scared, and I cry a lot. Not necessarily because I’m sad, I just seem to need to cry.

Creative writing exercise: A Place You Loved-Destroyed.

Dreams to nightmares. That would best describe my once loved place.
      I put my all into it. Time, energy, invested money, current money, sweat and tears. Some blood was most likely shed there too. Just scissor cuts, but all the same, I shed blood.

It was the most beautiful salon I had ever seen, still to this day, all 7,000 sq ft. My heart and mind believed in it and it was my 3^rd child. Sadly, my first 2 children would attest that at one point it received more time and attention than they did. However, now, I can hardly stand the sight of it and will avoid traveling down its road if there is another way to get where I am going. Too many negative thoughts and feelings revisit me when I am near it.

After 2 years and 2 Martinis I drove there, just to make myself do it. It was the first time my car had been back in that parking lot. Could I make myself get out and walk to the double door entrance?

A teardrop fell on my hand that was cupped around my eyes as I peered through the glass.
  Still. My mind and body were still.
  It was all destroyed.
  Memories replayed what it once looked like; emotions replayed what it once felt like. I wished I could forget at least a few parts, (and hoped I had, but simply couldn’t remember.) Yet, I always want to remember …

I once was the owner with a key, but now was a passerby looking in a window through a blur of soft tears. 

Pictures

Pictures are worth a thousand words, or more. Sometimes they are my greatest allies, yet others they seem like a cruel enemy. The frozen moments in time that were once happy and now, they are gone.

          I am in the de-cluttering process, and yesterday I dove into the storage room, the room holding countless pictures stored in boxes; Pictures from the past. They portrayed the days before I had GRAY HAIR, (previous post, ha!) the days when I was a wife and had a family of four. I looked through the happiest days of my life, wondering how and why they could not have matured. Granted, I have many great pictures of the here and now, but still, it hurt. Words cannot explain the evolution of change when one loses such a part of herself. Maybe that explains why those pictures are hidden in boxes. (And why there are not photographers at divorce ceremonies or funerals ...) 

          I looked at the married me and began to see my identity. Have I changed? Am I still the girl in those pictures? Yes and no. Somehow I could relate to her, and in other ways she had the look of a stranger. I cannot help but wonder who am I now?

Gray Hair. The Honorable Crown of Righteousness

           "So, would you or would you not want a good friend to tell you if you had gray hair? Like do you want to know, IF you did, or not?"
          These words were spoken to me last week by one of my best friends from high school ... Hence, the start of this gray topic.
            Youth is all I have ever known. I've looked young, (because I am small,) and act young … but I don’t know why. I simply have never felt like a grown up.

          Things are changing. The evolution has begun …

In one way, it has been a slow fade; yet in another, I feel like I woke up from sleep one morning and noticed a stranger’s reflection in the mirror. For example, my grandmother died 14 years ago; yet, I see her when I look at my hands. HER hands are now on my body, complete with the brown spots delicately faded into thinning skin. All I’m missing are the purple bruises, similar to an apple or banana that fell to a hard surface or sat somewhere too long.

          I can’t help but think:

The skin on elbows, knees and necks … that is not pretty.

How can a wrinkle look like a scar? A scar of age, I suppose.

Jowls? What the h*** are jowls and how do they simply become part of me?

Where did my butt go? It’s like it fell.

20/20 vision, PLEASE come back! Small print is not my friend.

And gray hair?! Seriously?!

Sure, I had noticed a gray hair or two here and there. Not to mention, that is what I do all day and has been my profession for 23 years. I color gray hair. One would think I would be prepared since I am surrounded by its existence and it is a reality in my world.

No. Not the case … It caught me by surprise, somehow.

Hosea 7:9 Foreigners are using up your strength, but you don't realize it. You have become a grey-haired, old man, but you don't realize it.

I hear that. Makes sense to me now.

Last night I sat on my countertop until 1:30 am in an approximate 2 hour rendezvous that turned into an obsessive addiction. I plucked hairs until I had a white/gray bouquet of hair beside me, like a grandmother-looking wig. They were everywhere; shiny, white hairs … AKA: My “crown of righteousness.”

Proverbs 16:31 says, “Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life.”

Oh yay … I must be doing something right?

Proverbs 20:29 gets even better, “The glory of young men is their strength, gray hair the splendor of the old.”

"Splendor” and “Old.”

Isaiah 46:3-4, “I have cared for you since you were born. I will be your God throughout your lifetime – until your hair is white with age.”

So is He done with me? Am I on my own now that my hair is white with age?

Yes, last night is when I officially crossed over into adulthood. I am a grown up and have reached acceptance on a newfound level. I thought I was grown when I graduated high school. Then again when

Pads+Tampons+Handsome Men at the Grocery Store=Awkward

Having a house full of girls is like a fun sleepover most days, but there is one problem … Cycles synchronize among close females. PMS rules the roost for about a week out of every month. Super fun.

          About 2 months ago, my youngest daughter and I were doing the dreaded grocery shopping. We came to the feminine product aisle and realized we needed to make a purchase. Though I am not an extreme coupon-er, I am trying to be more aware, shop wisely and be more frugal with my money. If I find a non perishable item that is on sale and we use it, I stock up. Between all of us and the numerous female friends who seem to be at our house, we basically need the entire variety spectrum of girly goods. That means an assortment of tampons and pads, several of each. (Hate to use those detailed descriptions, but it is what it is.)

          Anyway, all of the above were on sale. Considering the fact that I hate going to the store and don’t particularly like buying these types of things, I stocked up on all of them. Quite the array was in my Kroger basket. It was like a collection, only not art or coins, but Kotex, Playtex, Tampax, Always, Carefree and so on …

          We made our way to the checkout line and I strategically chose a female checkout-er. Maybe that was for my own sake, maybe it was to spare a guy, maybe both? I would rather wait in a longer line to get a girl. If I just had one little box or pack it would be different, but I could be mistaken for a distributor who may be stocking up to resale.

As I neared the line, the cutie patootie manager was walking by.

Cocktails in Heaven

 “The Lord is with you right now.

You are not alone,” she says to me.

I sobbingly reply, “I understand that He is,

But I desperately need someone I can see.

I need someone with skin,

And a soft, gentle touch.

I need someone with a shoulder to cry on

When the burden becomes too much.”

Sometimes I wonder

 If it is worth the effort to even try.

There are days when my only accomplishment

Is to sit down and have a good cry.

Will my children ever understand?

Do I really want them to?

Will their memories whisper that I was a good mom?

Or will they reflect on all I couldn’t or didn’t do?

I selfishly want the easy road.

A path paved in shining gold.

A life that went smooth and happy

And my body would never grow old.

Prodigal Son … Prodigal Parent

          The title sounds like I am going to do a sermon. Set the bar low if that’s an expectation.

          In short, if you do not know me and do not follow my blog, I will quickly catch you up to speed so this will make sense:

          I am a single mom with 2 girls. I was married about 14 years and now I am not. Da baby daddy is not quite as involved as he was when we were married. He’s no longer the family man I once knew … or thought I knew.

I never expected divorce or any other thing to change how equally 110% involved we both were as parents. From the week to week, day to day standpoint … I do 90-95% solo. That’s how it feels to me. There have been many surges of resentment as to how I am now primarily responsible for what we entered together. Maybe it’s my insecurities and I would feel more confident in guiding the lives of 2 little humans with an ally, or maybe I am selfish and tired.

Regardless, it’s been this way for about 5 years now …

On with the catching up to speed … I am in a 6 month-ish long women’s weekly study group. A couple of months ago, the instructor read the parable from Luke (15: 11-32) about the prodigal son. Even though she changed the sons to daughters so we could identify better, the story didn’t seem to apply to me on a very personal level, yet … it did.

I mean, I got it, but now I GET IT.

The Cliff Notes/Spark Notes version of the Prodigal Son parable:

Poem about saying Goodbye

I wrote this poem over 4 years ago. It is still ringing in my ears to this very day. Goodbye is so difficult, but a painful reality in life that cannot be escaped.

It’s funny how it will hold one meaning to a person, yet another meaning to another. None of which most likely match mine …

 How Do You Say Goodbye?

December 11, 2007

 “Goodbye” is said throughout our lives

Many times from day to day.

We seldom put a lot of thought into it.

It is simply something that we say.

If you take a moment to think about “good-bye,”

It IS a contradictory word.

Who placed “good” with “bye?”

That concept is absurd.

It is okay,

When you know it’s only for awhile.

You will see the person again,

And with that comes the smile. J

Then there is: “GOODBYE.”

Is that worse to hear or say?

It is a thief in the night …

Taking someone special away.

Short Story #2

At the age of 18, I worked in a men’s clothing store, the ideal job for a single female. It was called His Place, owned by Merry Go Round. (The Buckle/Hollister/Abercrombie of the 90's.) 

My manager told me we would be participating in a fashion show at a local club, to promote sales of our clothing, and I was in charge of orchestrating it. I would be working with the club manager.

My first reaction was dread as I assumed I would be paired with a perverted older man, the description of a club manager that first came to mind. I agreed and tried to mentally prepare for his ickyness, simply focusing on getting the models in place.

The evening of the show, my manager escorted me to the back of the club for the meet and greet with the man I would be working with that night. To my surprise, out walked a GORGEOUS man with long hair … my favorite preference. (My 1^st car date was a keyboard player with long hair.) For some reason, though I am not a musician, I was always intrigued by the rocker musician bad boys with long hair.

The club’s manager man was in his twenties and had the most striking eyes, smile and utterly sexy voice. He knew how to carry himself with no lack of confidence and had the mature, handsome five o’clock shadow facial stubble. It kept a rugged, edgy look attached to his business look, and both looked quite nice together. He had a raspy singer’s voice, was medium build and had the same length hair as me.

His opening line first words were, “Well, hello. You married?”

          I replied (most likely starry eyed,) “No.”

          Without hesitation, his response was, “Do you want to be?”

         

It was one of those, “You had me at hello” moments. The man was stunning. He and I got to work and proceeded with details of the show as I tried not to drool over him when he threw a flirt my way. A few days after, he came by the store to return the clothes. His casual wear looked as perfect on him as the GQ suit he was initially wearing. What a way that man had about him. 

Las Vegas

     

On a whim, (my favorite way to do most things,) I took a quick trip across the country to Las Vegas. 2 days and 1 night for $200, who could resist?

My sister and I left the airport at 6am Nashville time and landed a little before 11am Sin City time. We mapped out our agenda ever so carefully and hit the ground running, cramming four days worth into 1 ½. Our main objective ended up being to see 2, possibly 3 shows that night. We found a $100 special for all, so we narrowed it down to:

·        Criss Angel (an illusion master/magician)

·        Menopause (the musical) and of course,

·        THUNDER FROM DOWN UNDER. (For the unaware: Hot Australian men who dance to music and wear Velcro clothing. They seem to be very nice young men.)

Due to our lack of time and the show times, we could not see Menopause. Criss Angel was at 7pm and the Thunder boys at 9pm. After securing our tickets, we began covering some serious ground. There was shopping to be done and sights to be seen.

For the record, I simply canNOT comprehend the statement, “I don’t like Vegas.”

Cleaning Out Closets

          Though I am a deep thinker, my mind is quite simplistic. This week, I had a revelation. It is regarding relationships, healthy and unhealthy ones, along with an uncanny similarity to them and the clothes/items in my closet.

          My closet is a cluttered mess. There are things in there that I have not used in years and even things I do not like. Yet, I keep them securely nestled in an area I visit daily. Why?

          I suppose there is some emotional attachment. Some things may hold memories to places I went because I wore them on the day I visited. Others may have had a larger price tag and I feel I am throwing away good money. Some things “once fit” and I think they may fit again one day. Then, there are things that have been in there so long they have become part of my closet in my mind.

          The reality is:

Silent Love

Pa Pa was a quiet man.

Very few words did he say.

He sat silently in his chair,

Each and every day.

Pa Pa’s hearing was impaired

From years of a jack hammer’s use.

However, we knew that this was occasionally

Merely a convenient excuse.

It was funny how there were exceptions

When he could and couldn’t hear.

Somehow his ability coincidentally returned

Like when a small animal or child was near.

Time for New Year Resolutions…Let the Games Begin

Today officially begins the thrusting effort to dive into the completion of my novel. It is time for the re-write to commence.

As I have been allowing my labor of love to sit and marinate following it’s editing last summer, a repetitive question has been asked many times. “What’s going on with the book?”

          My pre-recorded response; “Nothing lately. I will get it back out at the end of the year or first of next year.”

          Well, here we are … it is the first of next year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wonder about resolutions. Having never been one to participate in making New Year’s resolutions, I decided to join in the festivities and make this book my NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION.

Possibly, the reason some of us are shy to such a declaration is fear. That chance of next December approaching and the scales still displaying the same weight, the unused gym membership access card evolving into a cruel reminder of our un-toned body, the bank account balance becoming smaller or debt accruing greater than it was in January, and so on. Who wants to look in those mirrors??