No, I’m not writing a letter to the school to have my child dismissed early or explain an absence. I’m not writing Best Buy because I need to explain why my computer, IPod or camera should be fixed under warranty and, I’m not writing to Verizon to thank them for upgrading my cell phone early. Those letters, all of which I have written in the past, would have been addressed to someone in particular. “To Whom It May Concern” is all I’m left with as you haven’t provided me your name…
I have been receiving what can only be described as vicious, series of ‘anonymous’ emails lately. The first was received on February 5th and the most recent (four in total) Thursday, April 21st. It occurred to me now that I’ve had a few days to think about them (again), that when someone is in the firing line of hate-for-your-own-good; I’ll-teach-you-a lesson, it can be really difficult to know what to say or how to make it stop; Especially when you don’t know who it is that wants to teach you that lesson or for that matter, what the lesson is.
I haven’t replied to any of these emails (I wanted to initially but now refuse to – why engage with someone who not only can’t write in complete sentences, use words in the correct context but also apparently doesn’t have a spell check button?) I have shared them with my fiancé and a select few others who I believe I can trust. What I really need to do is stop letting people get under my skin and wasting precious time and energy thinking about it. That said, this the only one time I will comment on them. Perhaps I should also send this post up in a smoke signal or via the Ouija board in the hope my E-Mailer will see it?
The funny thing is, these emails offer all sorts of tips and insights into my life and who I (to him?/her?) apparently am. Hmm.. I wonder why someone who feels such an obligation to let me know these things wouldn’t well, just let me know. Why the anonymous forum? I also wonder why this person, feels the moral obligation to “straighten me out” and judge me? Here’s a tip for you, Anonymous E-Mailer, if you don’t like me and you don’t like reading my blog or my Facebook page notes and posts… don’t. It really IS as simple as that. No, really, it is.
I can’t think of a single person (this includes myself) who couldn’t spend some time asking themselves whether or not they, themselves, have a moral obligation to avoid damaging another person with their words or actions. Haven’t we all done this at one time or another? Blurted out things rolling around in our heads only to find our foot, half a leg even or both feet, in our mouths? I have. However, creating a fake email account or Facebook profile and setting out to intentionally destroy someone is a completely different matter all-together which takes things to a different level and a whole other playing field. This game is now in its seventh week and as I am unsure how the scoring system works, I have no idea if it will end any time soon.
Maybe it’s the Cancer in my birth chart. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m over forty years old now. Maybe it’s because I have a daughter watching me and making me walk my talk. Maybe it’s because unity, harmony, and integrity are theme words that I wish were more prevalent. Whatever the reason, to me the definition of integrity is “doing the right thing, because it’s the right thing to do” not because someone told you “It’s The Law and therefore you MUST do the right thing whether you like it or not.” Integrity is simply self-governing, self-discipline, self-monitoring, and of course self-awareness. Integrity is those decisions we make when nobody is around to see us. (Such as sending anonymous e-mails). Integrity is the choices you make and how you conduct yourself when you are absolutely certain you won’t get caught. (Are you certain Anonymous E-Mailer?) Integrity is the authentic real you. Integrity is your real code of ethics that you pick and choose minute by minute of each and every day. We cannot live to achieve our highest good, if we are not keenly aware of integrity and the truth of who and what we are.
So I suppose then, I owe you a “thank you” Anonymous E-Mailer, for cluing me in to who and what I am. I never would have become aware of the self-centered, jealous, acquisitive, “fugly” (your word Anonymous E-Mailer. See, I was paying attention :) person I am without your keen insight. I would however, suggest in future communications you might kindly consider another form of advice for me. Please DO let me know how I can achieve your righteousness and perfection of the human species. Instead of advising me on my faults, I respectfully request you let me know how it is that I can change to benefit not only myself but those around me and perhaps become more like you.
My thoughts: Anonymous E-Mailer, you obviously have the perfect set of morals/values and have an immense need and dare I say, obligation to pass these along. You obviously have the ideal set of friends, family; I assume Anonymous E-Mailer, that you have a flawless home which is utterly spotless, career and relationship that is overwhelmingly satisfying and vehicle which is a model which well, models your achieved status in life; I’m guessing you probably give blood, are an organ donor, volunteer your time to various charities, go to church on a regularly scheduled basis; I’m sure you whip up the most wonderful meals while still finding time to save the planet, walk your dog (if you have one, he/she was surely adopted from a rescue shelter along with a kitten or two), recycle and oh yes, email me. Probably all while baking cupcakes and whistling while you work. Am I close?
Anonymous E-Mailer, I’m pretty sure you are completely lost in the ideological maze that is sarcasm as your attempts at it in your e-mails fall short. (Whoops, there I go again being less than amiable). Though I have, on more than one occasion of reading your e-mails, overestimated your innate capability of intelligent thought, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and expect that it is the former possibility. If I am wrong, well, don’t fret; sarcasm is an intellectually challenging mode of communication and I am sure that somewhere out there, there is an intellectually and technologically savvy short bus more than willing to shuttle you to and from wherever it is you need to go while saving poor souls such as myself if your car ever breaks down.
Anonymous E-Mailer, I would rather have a real enemy than a fake friend any day so please either stop the e-mails or expose yourself for the enemy or fake friend you are.
Sincerely,
A “Fugly” (yet Sarcastic) Bitch (damn, there I go again.. )
86 The Bullshit readers and tell me your thoughts on Anonymous E-Mailer and more importantly, integrity. Is it okay to create a fake email address and let someone “have it”? Talk to me…
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Waltz of the Angel
Yesterday afternoon I received a telephone call. The woman on the other end of the connection informed me of the passing of a woman I have referred to previously in another post. I was instantly saddened to hear this news. Although I was not in her immediate circle of friends, fond memories of this woman, her kind nature and beauty have been filling my thoughts and heart throughout the evening last night and today. Just two short weeks ago I had sent a card… Just a few months ago I was in her home at her yearly Christmas party… Just last summer I was at her home for her yearly pool party… Just a few years ago I watched her compete at what was then The Boston Dance Revolution (in her words) “One last time” as she did a beautiful waltz…
Waltz… my absolute favorite dance. When people think of waltz these days, most think of “Dancing With The Stars” or “So You Think You Can Dance?”. When I think of waltz, I think of the ‘Old Dance Hall’ and country music. Boots and dance shoes gliding effortlessly across the floor; Twinkle lights and the old strobe lighting; Smiling women in the arms of their male leads for those two or three minutes, feeling like princesses while country music plays in the background.
Many people think that country music is just folks whining about their divorce, the death of their dog or that their truck broke down – again. In reality, country music is about life experiences. The ‘Old Dance Hall’ where I met the woman I am writing about, allowed people of all ages to be free and spend time with those they cared about, called friends, relieve stress and have fun. I recall many a night danced away there. Each Saturday night I walked through the door, there she was: in that same seat next to her husband offering a gracious hello, a smile and a hug. Always a hug. What a wonderful life experience to have been left with myself for having known this gracious lady. I see in my mind’s eye her broad smile, the jeans with dance boots and long flow-y skirts she seemed so fond of. Her warm laughter still tickles my ears and I can still see her dancing gently across the floor to that waltz.
As your earthly physical pain has now passed, I hope you dance in Heaven as you did on Earth. This waltz is for you…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-DNUMZPeLX0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-DNUMZPeLX0
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Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Happy Birthday to my 'Super Man'
Dear Birthday Boy,
Like most girls, when I was little I used to play make believe and pretend games. I always imagined one day I would grow up and there would be a man who was brave and strong and handsome and would love me and make me feel special and safe.. “no matter what”.
It was a dream back in the days when I still believed in fairy tales and princes and “Happily Ever After’s”; the longings of a little girl who loved and believed in romance. Then I grew up and all of those things seemed so silly and far-fetched.
I also can’t help but think of all the things I didn’t dream of in that man…
I didn’t dream of a man who would put a tic tac toe board on my mirror or an oil change sticker in my truck with “I Luv U” written in it.
I didn’t dream of a man who would never leave the house or the office without kissing me good-bye. Ever.
I didn’t dream of a man who would face his own personal battle (think business struggle) and show me what a victor looks like.
I didn’t dream of a man who would pack up and zip lock bag MY lunches for the week.
I also didn’t dream of the man who would always get his alignment not just ‘in the green’ but “damn near perfect.” (See honey, I do pay attention! *wink*)
We have had our ups and downs, our struggles and power-struggles; We’ve had our share of heart ache and heart break on both sides; We’ve yelled and we’ve screamed and we’ve cried and we’ve hurt each other at various times. We’ve also loved, made love and held each other tight; We’ve supported and encouraged the other when in doubt; We’ve talked and compromised; We’ve forgiven and let go. This time last year, I was with my mom in Framingham buying you new dance boots. I remember our conversation and how I cried in your lap when I came home. To steal a phrase: “We’ve come a long way baby!”
Today, you turn 58 years old. Today marks 6 years and 5 months that we have been together although I have known you for more than ten years now – I’m not quite sure how my life would be right now had I not met you or had we not made it through last spring but I am so happy and grateful for both.
More than anything I want you to know that I love you more than I ever dreamed I would – more than that little girl ever dreamed she would. You are a man among men. You stand out as a businessman, a father, a son, a brother, a friend, a boyfriend… a lover. You are a man who lives up to expectations when so many others fail.
If I dream nothing else this year, if I dream nothing else ever in this lifetime, I want for YOU to get YOUR wishes and YOUR dreams. No man I know deserves them more and I am grateful every day for the amazing man of MY dreams, the man I dreamed of as that little girl – who is not just a dream any more…
Happy Birthday to my Super Man, I love you.
Always,
Me
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
It's my fault that Barry Manilow is a big, fat, orange cat.
“Go Go Jason Waderful..” What? “That’s what I thought the lyrics were when I was a kid” she says to me nonchalantly. Of course, I burst out laughing and so does she. We are playing cribbage and listening to (both) our favorite radio station, 93.7 Mike FM: “We play everything”. And they do… everything from the 60’s through today, everything from Rock to Pop to Soul to Country. TLC’s Waterfalls is playing on the radio at this time.
My daughter and I spend Sunday evenings together. Not every Sunday evening, but most. We cook together and have dinner or we may play a game or watch a movie; sometimes we just sit and ‘catch up’. It’s our time together and often we have to make the time for one another as we both lead very busy lives. I have to say, I think it’s wonderful, I am amazed that at 22, my daughter still actually wants to spend time with me.
My daughter was born in 1988. She missed disco, she missed ‘Friday Night Video’s and the birth of MTV; She has no idea what a rotary telephone is, she never had to get up off the sofa to change the channel on the television; She has no idea what “Schoolhouse Rock” is, she doesn’t understand at all the impact of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” and she certainly never played a record (yes, those big, shiny, round vinyl things) or a cassette tape in her life. Heck, her very first ‘grown up’ CD was Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn”. She does however, know the lyrics to Buddy Holly’s “Peggy Sue”, Billy Joel’s “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant", Steve Miller’s “The Joker” and Don McLean’s “American Pie” (and what the song is about I might add.)
We continue playing and she’s skunking me as usual when she asks me, between counting her enormous crib and singing the lyrics to Jim Croce’s “Time In A Bottle”, “Mum, how do I know this song?” (Insert big smirk on my face here.) She tells me about how when she is with her friends in her car and they are channel surfing the radio, her friends are always amazed at how many songs she wants to stop at and that she actually knows the lyrics, singing along. She might not know the artist, but she knows the lyrics. This leads to a conversation and a reminiscing session about summer camping.
When the kids were little (grade, middle and high school) my best friend, her children, myself, my daughter and her best friend (my ‘other daughter’: “Pumpkin II” – “I want to be a Pumpkin too!”, “Okay, you’re a Pumpkin..II”) spent many weekends camping all over New England but mostly Vermont and Maine. After long days filled with swimming, tubing, hiking, exploring and capturing all sorts of small creatures that had to be kept as “pets” for the weekend before being released on Sundays; After evenings filled with campfires, ghost stories, games, hot dogs on sticks and s’mores; the children were put to bed snug in their sleeping bags, dogs in the tents with them so that the Mommies could now have some ‘down time’. (Of course, the boys tent and the girls tents were next to each other and you could always see the flashlights and hear window zippers going down, the whispers and muffled laughter between the two long after they were supposed to be sleeping – but that’s okay, it’s how it’s supposed to be)
Us Mommies, wearier still from listening to “Ba wit a ba, da bangy bang diggy diggy” (That’s Kid Rock in case you didn’t know oh, and speaking of Kid Rock, don’t forget “Up jumped the Boogie”, another set of lyrics that were not heard correctly and well gosh, the word “Boogie” is absolutely hysterical if you’re ten) got our down time at night. Songs such as “Last Resort” (Papa Roach), “Don’t Turn Around” (Ace of Base) and God help us all, “Getting’ Jiggy Wit It” (Will Smith) lingering in our brains as we sat down at the newly stoked fire to enjoy some wine, Gin-Rummy and our music.
Our CD’s included: Linda Ronstadt’s Greatest Hits, Volume II , Marvin Gaye, Barry White, Simon & Garfunkle, Elton John, Steve Miller, Pink Floyd, Queen - all their Greatest Hits Albums; Bruce Springsteen, Born in the USA; Prince, Purple Rain; Billy Joel, The Stranger; Robert Plant, Principle of Moments; as well as Neil Diamond (Sweet Caroline!) and James Taylor’s Greatest Hits; The Doors, The Cranberries, The Black Crowes, The Mama's and The Papa's. What? “Quiet Time” does start at 9pm at most Campgrounds.
As the years went by and the children got older, the rules changed a little bit. They were allowed to stay up later but at a certain time, they had to play their own games so that we could play ours, and the CD player (at that time there was still no such thing as an IPOD and personal CD Players with headphones were too expensive - we were both ‘Single Mom’s’) was to be turned over to us. Gone was Tool, Korn, Alice in Chains, Nirvana and God help us again, Big Butts (Sir Mix A Lot). Their CD books were closed and ours were unzipped and opened. Say hello to Neil Diamond, Neil Young and yes, Barry Manilow’s Greatest Hits. *Gulp*, we were and are Fanilow’s (I can admit that now, sorta, *gulp* - Did I just say that out loud? ) Music has always swept me away, something I could always live inside and has lived inside me. Don’t forget that “Quiet Time” begins at all campgrounds at 9pm too…
The funny thing is, just as my daughter now loves a plethora of music from all different generations and genres, I too love the music that was ‘hers’ and my IPOD now has everything on it from Bush, Green Day and Rage Against The Machine to Jimmy Buffet, Johnny Cash and Tim McGraw; Everything from Nirvana, Bare Naked Ladies, and Everclear to Cat Stevens, The Temptations and The Rolling Stones. And so does hers. Amazing isn’t it?
So when she was given the chance to adopt a kitten named Barry, it’s no wonder she expanded Barry to Barry Manilow. So you see, it is my fault that Barry Manilow is a big, fat orange cat.
My daughter and I spend Sunday evenings together. Not every Sunday evening, but most. We cook together and have dinner or we may play a game or watch a movie; sometimes we just sit and ‘catch up’. It’s our time together and often we have to make the time for one another as we both lead very busy lives. I have to say, I think it’s wonderful, I am amazed that at 22, my daughter still actually wants to spend time with me.
My daughter was born in 1988. She missed disco, she missed ‘Friday Night Video’s and the birth of MTV; She has no idea what a rotary telephone is, she never had to get up off the sofa to change the channel on the television; She has no idea what “Schoolhouse Rock” is, she doesn’t understand at all the impact of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” and she certainly never played a record (yes, those big, shiny, round vinyl things) or a cassette tape in her life. Heck, her very first ‘grown up’ CD was Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn”. She does however, know the lyrics to Buddy Holly’s “Peggy Sue”, Billy Joel’s “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant", Steve Miller’s “The Joker” and Don McLean’s “American Pie” (and what the song is about I might add.)
We continue playing and she’s skunking me as usual when she asks me, between counting her enormous crib and singing the lyrics to Jim Croce’s “Time In A Bottle”, “Mum, how do I know this song?” (Insert big smirk on my face here.) She tells me about how when she is with her friends in her car and they are channel surfing the radio, her friends are always amazed at how many songs she wants to stop at and that she actually knows the lyrics, singing along. She might not know the artist, but she knows the lyrics. This leads to a conversation and a reminiscing session about summer camping.
When the kids were little (grade, middle and high school) my best friend, her children, myself, my daughter and her best friend (my ‘other daughter’: “Pumpkin II” – “I want to be a Pumpkin too!”, “Okay, you’re a Pumpkin..II”) spent many weekends camping all over New England but mostly Vermont and Maine. After long days filled with swimming, tubing, hiking, exploring and capturing all sorts of small creatures that had to be kept as “pets” for the weekend before being released on Sundays; After evenings filled with campfires, ghost stories, games, hot dogs on sticks and s’mores; the children were put to bed snug in their sleeping bags, dogs in the tents with them so that the Mommies could now have some ‘down time’. (Of course, the boys tent and the girls tents were next to each other and you could always see the flashlights and hear window zippers going down, the whispers and muffled laughter between the two long after they were supposed to be sleeping – but that’s okay, it’s how it’s supposed to be)
Us Mommies, wearier still from listening to “Ba wit a ba, da bangy bang diggy diggy” (That’s Kid Rock in case you didn’t know oh, and speaking of Kid Rock, don’t forget “Up jumped the Boogie”, another set of lyrics that were not heard correctly and well gosh, the word “Boogie” is absolutely hysterical if you’re ten) got our down time at night. Songs such as “Last Resort” (Papa Roach), “Don’t Turn Around” (Ace of Base) and God help us all, “Getting’ Jiggy Wit It” (Will Smith) lingering in our brains as we sat down at the newly stoked fire to enjoy some wine, Gin-Rummy and our music.
Our CD’s included: Linda Ronstadt’s Greatest Hits, Volume II , Marvin Gaye, Barry White, Simon & Garfunkle, Elton John, Steve Miller, Pink Floyd, Queen - all their Greatest Hits Albums; Bruce Springsteen, Born in the USA; Prince, Purple Rain; Billy Joel, The Stranger; Robert Plant, Principle of Moments; as well as Neil Diamond (Sweet Caroline!) and James Taylor’s Greatest Hits; The Doors, The Cranberries, The Black Crowes, The Mama's and The Papa's. What? “Quiet Time” does start at 9pm at most Campgrounds.
As the years went by and the children got older, the rules changed a little bit. They were allowed to stay up later but at a certain time, they had to play their own games so that we could play ours, and the CD player (at that time there was still no such thing as an IPOD and personal CD Players with headphones were too expensive - we were both ‘Single Mom’s’) was to be turned over to us. Gone was Tool, Korn, Alice in Chains, Nirvana and God help us again, Big Butts (Sir Mix A Lot). Their CD books were closed and ours were unzipped and opened. Say hello to Neil Diamond, Neil Young and yes, Barry Manilow’s Greatest Hits. *Gulp*, we were and are Fanilow’s (I can admit that now, sorta, *gulp* - Did I just say that out loud? ) Music has always swept me away, something I could always live inside and has lived inside me. Don’t forget that “Quiet Time” begins at all campgrounds at 9pm too…
The funny thing is, just as my daughter now loves a plethora of music from all different generations and genres, I too love the music that was ‘hers’ and my IPOD now has everything on it from Bush, Green Day and Rage Against The Machine to Jimmy Buffet, Johnny Cash and Tim McGraw; Everything from Nirvana, Bare Naked Ladies, and Everclear to Cat Stevens, The Temptations and The Rolling Stones. And so does hers. Amazing isn’t it?
So when she was given the chance to adopt a kitten named Barry, it’s no wonder she expanded Barry to Barry Manilow. So you see, it is my fault that Barry Manilow is a big, fat orange cat.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Spring Cleaning
Old Man Winter, I love you, truly I do.. what, with your snowy hillsides ready for sledding and skiing; your frozen ponds and lakes teeming with ice skaters and fishermen; your bare trees covered in a thin layer of freshly fallen powdery snow glistening on naked branches and all. However, there comes a time when we must part and go our separate ways for yet another year before being reunited once again. Your silver white snowcapped mountains must at some point, melt into spring’s flowing brooks.
Ah Spring.. that exciting time of year when patches of snow are replaced by greening grass and splashes of wonderful colors as the flower buds begin to sprout and awaken; When the world seems anew.
I feel lighter anticipating the comfortable, airy clothing that Spring brings. The ability to wear flip flops or most often at home, no shoes at all. Walking barefoot across the grass; sitting on the deck in shorts and a tee; inhaling the luscious odors that warm breezes bring; watching the birds return, build their nests and beginning their families.
While Spring Cleaning may not be at the top of the “List of Favorites” for some, it’s always (secretly) been on the top of mine. No, I’m not plagued with a compulsion for cleanliness - no, that’s a lie, I most definitely am. The thing is, I feel less stressed in a clean, neat and organized home. My home is a haven from stress, a treasured retreat from ‘Real Life’, a place I can relax, unwind and be at peace. All the things I like (candles, music, the newly discovered ChocoVine, exotic cheeses, fruits and crackers to name but a few), are always on hand; I can quickly turn my bathroom into a spa, my Library into a home gym and my bedroom is a great place for meditation, reflection and writing – among other things. I can (usually) find whatever I’m looking for within a matter of minutes.
It's about clean, clean, clean. To me, it doesn't matter if you will ever find it again, whether you can reach it, whether you really liked it or not, it's about what you can't see but what should be noticed. A time to take inventory and get rid of the things you don’t need.
I scour thoughts places others may have never considered purging cleaning; Sometimes with a mop, sometimes with a rag and sometimes with a toothbrush. Picture this; a woman on her knees, spray bottle in one hand, worn toothbrush in the other-scrubbing. Her whole body joined in as she sprays and scrubs and sprays and scrubs. Such resolve.
Resolve. Resolution to wipe theslate house clean; Resolution to start over begin the season with open heart, mind windows; Resolution to forget organized and take inventory stock of all the items in my life home. Each day season is a new beginning, the opportunity to start fresh.
Resolve. Resolution to wipe the
The laundry room is a great place to start next. After all, dirty laundry needs some airing cleaning does it not? I begin by leaning over my washer with Q-tips, scrubbing the mold off the inside, the little pockets underneath the lid. “Who does this?” my daughter asks. I wonder if she sees the lesson in a good cleaning? And that is not all. I scoured the top of my stove until it shined. I thought the brown gook was a permanent fixture, but apparently not – gotta love Soft Scrub with bleach. And the teapot, it too is scoured and shining as is the shelf over the stove and the exhaust hood. (More Q-tips, got to put that on my list, get more Q-tips.)
I move furniture, rearrange whole rooms, buy new bedding, iron curtains, hang them; I fluff pillows, dust, mop floors, vacuum, bake cookies, wash dishes, clean a window or two, make beds, bath my dog, feed my cat and change the litter box. I am grateful to see these things done, no longer taunting me, tasks calling out to me to be completed.
The top of the refrigerator is scrutinized and scoured. The refrigerator is then opened, content and expiration dates checked, shelves are washed, food returned, a fresh box of Arm and Hammer is opened and placed on the bottom shelf. Lemons are cut up and run through the garbage disposal. Knick-Knacks are removed and shelves are dusted, trash is hauled to the truck bed, stairs are swept and washed. It feels good to look around and see these things done instead of simply visualizing them as done. Oh how this house is really coming together now, I can see the progress and fruits of my labor.
So I sit here now in an empty house (Well, Prince and The BurgerMeister Meisterburger are here so it’s not really empty – my daughter is off for some pet sitting). Instead of a subtle-urine scent (I did mention that I changed the cat box), my basement hallway now smells like lemon Pine Sol, my bathroom smells of bleach and Dove soap. The meticulously ironed curtains, hang with pride. The pillows on the couch sit clean, dry, fluffed and lovely. The whole house is buzzing with clean. I can almost see it smiling with its new found look and smell, no longer criticizing me for its former state.
A few candles burn as the day gives way to dusk, filling the room with the scent of Sandlewood. The only light other than the candles is from my computer screen. The television is off (as usual) replaced instead by the music playing softly from my radio. My dog lays at the side of my bed, steadfast and loyal to me as ever. The cat is curled around my right ankle, purring and kneading away at the comforter cover and I am at peace in this perfectly clean moment.
*Note: credit on the bold imprinted and struck through sections is given to an article written by Laurie Tarter, from the KnowResolve-The Detour Project. I saw this list on their site and wrote it into my thoughts on spring cleaning.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
In This Moment
If I close my eyes and inhale deeply, I can still smell the lingering scent of the Sandlewood Woodwick candle we burned earlier while lounging all splayed in different directions on my bed together sharing, talking, and listening to one another; enjoying that bond that only mothers and daughters have. How wonderful to be ‘the middle’ and be both the mother and the daughter in this trio, experiencing the “Words Of Wisdom” that are offered from the generations both before and after me.
It has been a rainy day that started out with a fresh, warm breeze and grew cooler as the day waned on. It is now raining lightly, steadily and I find it soothing here on the porch in the wee hours of the morning before daybreak.
My hands stop for a moment which allows my busy yet tired mind the opportunity to catch up with my flying fingers, enjoying the quiet and stillness of it all, knowing this busy city will leave not a moment of this peace all too soon but for these few, dead of night hours. I am exhausted but at the same time, my mind is replete with the past few days as I enjoyed my time with the two most important women in my life. These times are much too rare and even rarer still that all three of us are able to be together at once.
I didn’t get to bed, to sleep, until after midnight. Unconcerned with of having to get up for work in the morning, I remain in the moment as I listen to the restful breathing from the other room. I slept quite soundly for about four and a half hours before I woke with words in my head, sentences about them both that would not remain still until I had enough rest to organize them at a later time. I am so fond of these two women; these inspirational, wonderful, caring, beautiful in every sense of the word, gentle women that I sit here with my Earl Gray at my keyboard in a silent house, fingers tap, tap, tapping in contrast to the rain as I reflect on the past three days.
I think back over the evening: dinner around the table, taking bites of shrimp, chicken and pasta laced with butter, garlic and white wine. We sat sipping our Liebfraumilch between bites of dinner and words. How our faces seemed so animated with conversation, the carefree laughter filling the room with a melody no radio could. Getting caught up with one another: The winter in Florida and the accident update, the Friday night and Sunday lunch from three weeks ago, the pressures and demands of being the Acting Manager and the passing of a dear pet. Reminiscing about ‘The Good Ole Days’: Christmas in July at the pond, the concert at the church which is ironically now around the corner – literally – from my house, ‘Grandy’ swinging on the hand-made swing and the lovely family dinner “ Up On The Hill” two summers ago when we, this trio, were together last.
Later, the kitchen having been tidied, dishwasher humming quietly along, coffee made and set to brew, we headed upstairs and eventually found our way to my bedroom. Lying on my bed, we likened ourselves to school girls having a slumber party; best friends sharing all our deep, dark secrets as well as a few stories and lessons. The image of three pint size ice cream containers comes to mind, lined up on an old dresser, carefully carved slits in the top of each one, construction paper taped over the labels: “Spend, Share, Save”.
Tomorrow (I guess really it’s today) will bring an end to this get together. Cars and my truck will be started to carry each of us in different directions, back to our “Every Day Lives.” I miss them already. I don’t know when our next time, the three of us, will be but they have each left behind yet another trace in my life, another memory for my heart. Their presence still felt – held in the quiet of this rainy moment, now nearing dawn.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Julia C
She refuses
to listen anymore
to tiny can't-ing voices
that force the lid
on what
Never
should have been
boxed
She refuses
to limit
any of it anymore
with recycled thoughts
of shoulds
and shouldn'ts
Silly little mind
you no longer get to
decide
Her insides are bursting, beaming
Screaming
Screaming
I'm ready!
Love says
follow me
every ray in her
whispers
Fly Now
You are Free
You are Free
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Once Upon A Time...
“Once Upon A Time”.. Don’t all great stories begin with that phrase? You just know the minute you hear or read that, the story also ends with “Happily Ever After”. Don’t you?
We grew up with story books and movies showing us that once you got to the wedding day, the story always ended with “and they all lived happily ever after.” The princess is always loved and adored by the prince and vice-versa, the guy always gets the girl in the end, the ‘bad guy’ always gets his just deserts and the heroes are always recognized and rewarded. This is real life. Unless you are Kate Middleton, you will not marry the prince and unless you live in “Fairy Tale Land” or are watching the LifeTime Movie of the Week, it’s just not the way it works. The truth is, “Happily Ever After” is actually very rare and not a very realistic expectation without work. It's not automatic just because you love someone and they love you.
How many of us stood at the alter reciting our wedding vows just knowing that we would live our "Happily Ever After?" For some of us (maybe most of us?), we also stood there knowing we would not be like our parents and other couples we know who’s marriages, for one reason or another did not work. We “would not get divorced!” When our marriages do not turn out quite like “Happily Ever After”, we have feelings of failure, guilt and tell ourselves either we are flawed or more often, that our partners were flawed and did not try hard enough, did not give us what we need.
I have seen true “Happily Ever After” in only two couples I know. Both couples are very similar and yet quite different from their respective spouses. Both couples are in their 60’s and both women are strong, independent and have charming personalities. Neither woman is would I would consider weak, docile or submissive by any stretch of the imagination; they both speak their minds openly and honestly but always with tact and diplomacy. Their husbands are both intelligent, equally charming, peace-loving gentle souls. Both of these men can see the humor in any situation, are successful and they have no air of arrogance about themselves. None of these four individuals seem needy, codependent, addicted to anything except perhaps their prospective spouses (in a good way) or abusive to each other in any way. From what I can see, they completely support one another and always ‘have each others back’. Both couples after 30 plus years of marriage will still tell you if you ask them, that they are madly in love with one another and still physically attracted to each other. So yes, it does and can happen – but I dare say it’s incredibly rare.
Why doesn’t it happen like this for the rest of us? The painful truth is that most of us are not as mentally healthy and emotionally stable as the two couples I just described. Regardless of whether our own parents/guardians role-modeled ‘happily ever after’ to us, we cannot blame them for our own marriages and relationships now can we? We all want to feel and be important. I can’t be important however to my significant other unless I make him feel important too. I can’t feel supported by my significant other unless I support him as well. I can’t feel love unless I give love. I can’t expect to be listened and comforted unless I also listen and comfort him as well. Do you see where I’m going with this? Personally, I believe that marriage/relationships are not a 50-50 partnership as so many people say; it’s 100-100. We can’t give half of what we are while our significant other gives half of what they are. Both have to give and accept all – 100%. For most, that is too much.
We also have to realize that real life happiness is different than happiness in movies and fairy tales although entertaining and uplifting as they may be. There are no golden sunsets, castles in the clouds or fairy godmothers – just you and your significant other and the life the two of you choose to build together.
So why then do so many of us think that if we find Mr. or Miss Right that we will be so happy; that we will feel so much unconditional love that we will just morph into better versions of ourselves? That Mr. or Miss Right will morph into exactly what we want? Why is it that we have to change who we are or change our significant other to be happy? If we have to change them, then are they really Mr. or Miss Right to begin with? Why do we stand at the alter reciting our vows believing that just by saying those words that it automatically creates “Happily Ever After?” While we should never have to work at finding the love between us, we do need to work at finding time for one another, we do need to support one another and we do need to be there for one another.
For the record, I can’t stand fairy tales or love stories, the typical “chick flicks”, they are just too 'rosy' for me and I lost my glasses a long time ago. Give me action, adventure, mystery, intrigue, or a psychological thriller any day. Maybe happily ever after isn’t so much a myth but a distortion because I’m certainly happy in my relationship, but it’s not a there’s-never-any-problem-everything’s-always-perfect-and-wonderful kind of happy. In my opinion, no relationship is. Every couple has their ups and downs, disagreements and one or both at one time or another will be hurt or offended by the other. It’s how you handle it, because of the love you have for one another, because your interest in the end lies in wanting that other person to be happy, that makes the difference.
My significant other is divorced and so am I so I am not blogging this to offer advice or tell anyone how their relationship should work. I’m merely expressing my own thoughts which may or may not differ from your own. Feel free to 86 the bullshit and tell me what you think.
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