Dance With Me
Current mood: flirty
Have you been at a wedding...or a club and seen a couple dancing and you wished that you moved that well?They seem to anticipate each other's moves. They almost seem to be the same person. Ha. Welcome to my life. As a card carrying member of KLUTZ anonymous I've spent the better part of my life 1. Avoiding dancing with a partner and 2. Trying NOT to cripple any partner that I would have.
During my early marriage there was dancing...and..it was NOT pretty. It was really more like creative leaning. You know? He was a pretty good dancer, but...I never really learned how to follow. Kind of the theme of our life together. I never really learned how to follow. hmmmm.
Anyway. Sometime early in my courtship with bachelor #2 we were attending a wedding. I was terrified. I knew that dancing would be involved and I had NO idea how it was going to go over. Plus, most klutzes(myself included) try to avoid high heels at all costs. Too dangerous. I was in heels. "This should be interesting." I thought.
When it came time for the reception....the big moment arrived. He just grabbed me and headed to the dance floor. It was a big band-type swing number. HORRORS. He started turning me and twirling me and before I even knew what happened. I was following. It may have been classified as a miracle...I'm not sure. I need to check with the Vatican on that.
When he moved, I moved. When he swayed, I swayed. It was like...we anticipated each others moves. We were like one really graceful person. I have never danced with anyone like that in my life. If I dance with another person in my lifetime, I'm not sure I would "fit".
At some time during the dance, I had stopped thinking about it, and simply moved with him. "Don't think, just move" He whispered. Instead of fighting it. I did.
Now, theres something to think about. Next time you see two people together and they don't seem to "fit". You just have to consider. "Maybe, they know each other's moves."
Sunday, July 26, 2009
I Love you more 9/21/07
I love you more
Current mood: calm
There is a game that I play with my children. This game began when they were babies. Days old. It began at four a.m. Some twenty years ago with my daughter. How did you guess? Yes..it was feeding time. She was a party animal. She would wake up at three a.m. for a feeding and in her world, it was morning.
She would laugh, she would coo. I would be grumpy and tired, but eventually, all the giggling and cooing would win me over and I would just look at her. I couldn't help but grin and coo and laugh back at her. There in the light of the nightlight in that darkened room. In her infantile way she was saying, "You are the most important person in my world right now...and I love you because you have the food."
I would look down at her little face and say "I love you more". Usually, she would fall back to sleep in an hour, and I would stumble back to bed for two more hours of precious sleep. My arms still warm from where her little body had been snuggled moments before.
Then when she began to talk.....I would tell her I loved her. "lub you more" she would say. We would argue over who loved who more.
When my son was born, well..he was a difficult newborn. He was a screamer, at night anyway. During the day, he was mr. sunshine and grins. I definitely loved him more. That was just to make sure he survived. At least for the first few weeks. After that, he was pretty easy to love, too. He learned to scream at a lower decibel level. The game continues We also argue over who loves whom more.
I win. Mom always wins.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Fear
Saturday, September 15, 2007
FEAR
When I was a child my fears were simple. The monster under the bed. Getting a lump of coal for Christmas from Santa because of my misbehaviour during the year. Algebra.
As my maturity level and life changed, so did the things that I became afraid of. "Will he call me?" "Why did he call me?" "Should I have married this guy?" "if the stick is blue it means.....pregnant, right?" Before you could say "MOMMY" it all became about the children. How to keep them safe, protected, healthy and happy.
Oh, when they were young, they would be 'lost' occasionally....wander away..not tell me where they were going. More often than not, they knew where they were so, they assumed, I MUST know where they were. Right? I thought that part of my life was over. The "kids" are 20 and 14 now. The 20 year old has had her own life for quite some time and the 14 year old is very good about telling me which friends he is with at any given time.
Yesterday I learned what fear was. The 14 year old went over to the park to play with a friend and his dog. This was at 6:00pm. Now it isn't unusual for him and "the guys" to get a football game or a basketball game together so...I wasn't concerned that he wasn't home by 8pm. But he hadn't even had dinner yet, and at 9pm panic set in.
I walked around the neighborhood looking for him. nothing. I went to all of his known haunts. He wasn't there. It was fully dark now. I came back home and informed my husband. He was now officially concerned too. We got our neighbors together and began canvassing the neighborhood.
We knocked on doors. No one had seen him. I got back in the car and drove to the school, there had been a football game...maybe he went with some friends and didn't tell me. No. the game was over and the school deserted.
9:30 I passed a car accident and had a horrible thought, "what if he was struck by the car and he was the one in the ambulance?" I called home. He still hadn't shown up. This was completely unlike him. He could be kidnapped in any house and we'd never know..stuffed in a car trunk somewhere...awful scenarios were going through my head. I could see myself giving tearful, pleading interviews to local media. I prayed...I bargained...then I prayed again. "god, if you just let him be safe...I will never touch another oreo again...I'll think good thoughts, I won't criticize stupid drivers...anything."
When I got back...we and a group of the neighbors were discussing possible places he could be and if it was time to call the police when another neighbor overheard us. It was now 10 pm. He hadn't been seen for 4 hours. She called over to us "hey...what's going on?" I told her...tearfully...that my son was missing...She said..."no...he's with my son...he has been all night. They had pizza and he's been helping us pack up for the move."
I started crying....my son had told me that his friend had moved to live with his father, so it never occurred to me to check with that particular friend. He no longer lived there...right? My neighbor called her house and had her son bring my son out....I couldn't decide to hug him...or strangle him. I settled on the hug, but it was really tight. He got a very stern warning....and a very early curfew for the rest of the weekend.
I got about 10 years shaved off my life expectancy and a glimpse as to what can happen if you take things for granted
FEAR
When I was a child my fears were simple. The monster under the bed. Getting a lump of coal for Christmas from Santa because of my misbehaviour during the year. Algebra.
As my maturity level and life changed, so did the things that I became afraid of. "Will he call me?" "Why did he call me?" "Should I have married this guy?" "if the stick is blue it means.....pregnant, right?" Before you could say "MOMMY" it all became about the children. How to keep them safe, protected, healthy and happy.
Oh, when they were young, they would be 'lost' occasionally....wander away..not tell me where they were going. More often than not, they knew where they were so, they assumed, I MUST know where they were. Right? I thought that part of my life was over. The "kids" are 20 and 14 now. The 20 year old has had her own life for quite some time and the 14 year old is very good about telling me which friends he is with at any given time.
Yesterday I learned what fear was. The 14 year old went over to the park to play with a friend and his dog. This was at 6:00pm. Now it isn't unusual for him and "the guys" to get a football game or a basketball game together so...I wasn't concerned that he wasn't home by 8pm. But he hadn't even had dinner yet, and at 9pm panic set in.
I walked around the neighborhood looking for him. nothing. I went to all of his known haunts. He wasn't there. It was fully dark now. I came back home and informed my husband. He was now officially concerned too. We got our neighbors together and began canvassing the neighborhood.
We knocked on doors. No one had seen him. I got back in the car and drove to the school, there had been a football game...maybe he went with some friends and didn't tell me. No. the game was over and the school deserted.
9:30 I passed a car accident and had a horrible thought, "what if he was struck by the car and he was the one in the ambulance?" I called home. He still hadn't shown up. This was completely unlike him. He could be kidnapped in any house and we'd never know..stuffed in a car trunk somewhere...awful scenarios were going through my head. I could see myself giving tearful, pleading interviews to local media. I prayed...I bargained...then I prayed again. "god, if you just let him be safe...I will never touch another oreo again...I'll think good thoughts, I won't criticize stupid drivers...anything."
When I got back...we and a group of the neighbors were discussing possible places he could be and if it was time to call the police when another neighbor overheard us. It was now 10 pm. He hadn't been seen for 4 hours. She called over to us "hey...what's going on?" I told her...tearfully...that my son was missing...She said..."no...he's with my son...he has been all night. They had pizza and he's been helping us pack up for the move."
I started crying....my son had told me that his friend had moved to live with his father, so it never occurred to me to check with that particular friend. He no longer lived there...right? My neighbor called her house and had her son bring my son out....I couldn't decide to hug him...or strangle him. I settled on the hug, but it was really tight. He got a very stern warning....and a very early curfew for the rest of the weekend.
I got about 10 years shaved off my life expectancy and a glimpse as to what can happen if you take things for granted
When the Rain comes down.
Monday, August 27, 2007
When The Rain Comes Down
He was easy to love on the sunny days. When everything goes his way and the world belongs to him. He could make her laugh or make her cry more than any person on the planet. This included those alive as well as dead. When he shines, he is a charmer. Able to talk the skin from a snake or an eskimo from her igloo. He could convince anyone of anything. He could convince even himself. He had done it for a long time.
She was the only one that he couldn't quite convince. Though he never stopped trying. And when the rains came and the clouds opened up and his despair was like a shroud around him, it was she who stayed by his side. When all the others he had previously charmed and convinced turned from him in scorn, it was she who somehow summoned the will to try to help. To make him fight. To make him laugh again.
She didn't know if she had enough strength. she had to. If not...he would be lost forever. The rain would win.
When The Rain Comes Down
He was easy to love on the sunny days. When everything goes his way and the world belongs to him. He could make her laugh or make her cry more than any person on the planet. This included those alive as well as dead. When he shines, he is a charmer. Able to talk the skin from a snake or an eskimo from her igloo. He could convince anyone of anything. He could convince even himself. He had done it for a long time.
She was the only one that he couldn't quite convince. Though he never stopped trying. And when the rains came and the clouds opened up and his despair was like a shroud around him, it was she who stayed by his side. When all the others he had previously charmed and convinced turned from him in scorn, it was she who somehow summoned the will to try to help. To make him fight. To make him laugh again.
She didn't know if she had enough strength. she had to. If not...he would be lost forever. The rain would win.
If There be Dragons
If There Be Dragons
8/19/07
She had been through a lot, she had many dragons in her past. As any maiden of her particular age would have. When she met him, she thought he would be another in a long line of villains to thwart her dreams and crush her heart.
He insisted that he was no villain, that he was a knight. That he would help her with the dragons that inhabited her past and slay the dragons that lay across the path to her future. He proved his worth time and time again. slowly he worked and toiled and eventually, she found him in her heart. He told her, "you need someone to care for you, be a partner to you. You are no longer alone." She believed him.
Even if he did prove to be yet another villain, she had given him a piece of herself she would never get back. It was too late. She could not save herself.
It was then that she found that even the knight had dragons of his own. But these were dragons that even she could not slay. These fierce beasts played havoc with his mind and took him to dark evil places places within himself that even he could not come back from. He grew from a sweet, friendly, caring knight into a surly, withdrawn, selfish man. His only wish was to stay in his castle and never see the light of day.
She tried, many times, always hoping that the warmth and light of her love would somehow save the knight from his many dark demons. Too late, she learned that the only person whom she could truly count on to care for her, looked at her from her own mirror.
The knight would only be saved when he sought help or learned to save himself.
Sometimes, the dragons we fight so hard against are the ones we carry with us.
8/19/07
She had been through a lot, she had many dragons in her past. As any maiden of her particular age would have. When she met him, she thought he would be another in a long line of villains to thwart her dreams and crush her heart.
He insisted that he was no villain, that he was a knight. That he would help her with the dragons that inhabited her past and slay the dragons that lay across the path to her future. He proved his worth time and time again. slowly he worked and toiled and eventually, she found him in her heart. He told her, "you need someone to care for you, be a partner to you. You are no longer alone." She believed him.
Even if he did prove to be yet another villain, she had given him a piece of herself she would never get back. It was too late. She could not save herself.
It was then that she found that even the knight had dragons of his own. But these were dragons that even she could not slay. These fierce beasts played havoc with his mind and took him to dark evil places places within himself that even he could not come back from. He grew from a sweet, friendly, caring knight into a surly, withdrawn, selfish man. His only wish was to stay in his castle and never see the light of day.
She tried, many times, always hoping that the warmth and light of her love would somehow save the knight from his many dark demons. Too late, she learned that the only person whom she could truly count on to care for her, looked at her from her own mirror.
The knight would only be saved when he sought help or learned to save himself.
Sometimes, the dragons we fight so hard against are the ones we carry with us.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Family Trip reprinted from Alton Telegraph 8/00
Family Trip- Previously published- August 2000- Alton Telegraph
Family Trip. Two words that can strike terror into even the stoutest of parental hearts.
Who among us has not, at some point, packed the kids, the car, the luggage and struck off for parts unknown while uttering the phrase, "Come on, gang, we're going on a trip" ?
What blind fools we are. We set off with high hopes and lofty dreams of how wonderful it will be to "get away from it all." Little do we know what true agonies await us. It is one of life's cruelest jokes that, in order to truly enjoy a getaway, one must go through sheer hell to get there. I know you understand what I am talking about.
I recall our family vacations as a child. There was the "If anyone says one more word I am going to pull this car over and the beatings will commence." trip to Disney World. The "Do I really have to go back there?" trip to Gettysburg. Last, but certainly not least, was the "Does anyone else have to use the restroom?" trip to Washington D.C.
Don't get me wrong, I love a vacation as much, if not more than the next human being. I just dread all the stuff that happens before you actually get to your destination. I know how I was as a child, so I expect nothing less from my own offspring. Before you set off on your next outing, may I offer a few suggestions?
Remember how many children you are taking with you. This is necessary so that you pack the appropriate number of snacks, drinks, pillows, etc. It also prevents this phrase,"but mom, he got one. Why can 't I have one?"
Count on being asked at least three times per every hour of your journey,"Are we there yet?" and "Is there a rest area nearby?"
Remember all the fun you had terrorizing your siblings on family vacations? Paybacks are a pain, trust me on this one.
If at all possible, stay somewhere with a pool. That way, after you get to your destination, you can lapse into a coma on a chaise lounge while your progeny are happily swimming laps and practicing their current belly flop technique.
Finally, please remember and never forget , these are the memories that your children will haunt you with for the rest of both of your natural lives. Make them really good ones.
Ok, I think I've done my duty now. I can go pack for my family's annual trek to Missouri for our "family float trip" down the scenic Current River. Let's see, do I have everything? Extra pillows? Check. Clothing? Check. Food? Check. Kids? Double check. Extra Strength Tylenol?(That's for me, by the way). Check and underline.
Oh yes, one last thing. Recite this to yourself every time you feel yourself close to the edge. Please grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the will to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Happy traveling.
Family Trip. Two words that can strike terror into even the stoutest of parental hearts.
Who among us has not, at some point, packed the kids, the car, the luggage and struck off for parts unknown while uttering the phrase, "Come on, gang, we're going on a trip" ?
What blind fools we are. We set off with high hopes and lofty dreams of how wonderful it will be to "get away from it all." Little do we know what true agonies await us. It is one of life's cruelest jokes that, in order to truly enjoy a getaway, one must go through sheer hell to get there. I know you understand what I am talking about.
I recall our family vacations as a child. There was the "If anyone says one more word I am going to pull this car over and the beatings will commence." trip to Disney World. The "Do I really have to go back there?" trip to Gettysburg. Last, but certainly not least, was the "Does anyone else have to use the restroom?" trip to Washington D.C.
Don't get me wrong, I love a vacation as much, if not more than the next human being. I just dread all the stuff that happens before you actually get to your destination. I know how I was as a child, so I expect nothing less from my own offspring. Before you set off on your next outing, may I offer a few suggestions?
Remember how many children you are taking with you. This is necessary so that you pack the appropriate number of snacks, drinks, pillows, etc. It also prevents this phrase,"but mom, he got one. Why can 't I have one?"
Count on being asked at least three times per every hour of your journey,"Are we there yet?" and "Is there a rest area nearby?"
Remember all the fun you had terrorizing your siblings on family vacations? Paybacks are a pain, trust me on this one.
If at all possible, stay somewhere with a pool. That way, after you get to your destination, you can lapse into a coma on a chaise lounge while your progeny are happily swimming laps and practicing their current belly flop technique.
Finally, please remember and never forget , these are the memories that your children will haunt you with for the rest of both of your natural lives. Make them really good ones.
Ok, I think I've done my duty now. I can go pack for my family's annual trek to Missouri for our "family float trip" down the scenic Current River. Let's see, do I have everything? Extra pillows? Check. Clothing? Check. Food? Check. Kids? Double check. Extra Strength Tylenol?(That's for me, by the way). Check and underline.
Oh yes, one last thing. Recite this to yourself every time you feel yourself close to the edge. Please grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the will to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Happy traveling.
Scarred and Scared 8/3/07
Scarred and Scared
I'm a klutz. No. Seriously. I have scars to prove it. These on my right knuckle, well, that was from a bicycle race that I lost. I was on a borrowed bike and my cousin failed to mention that the rear brakes didn't work. When I tried to stop the front brakes engaged and I flew over the handlebars and slid for 6 feet. On asphalt. In a tube top. At the age of 12. I was devastated to learn that I wouldn't be able to wear my training bra until my chest healed. Oh...Yeah...I scraped everything that I had been training, off. Lesson learned: Ask the important questions. Example: "Do the brakes work?"
Left hand, this scar by my thumb? Oh that was from baking cookies and my two year old went to touch the hot pan....in smacking her hand away from the heat...I hit the top of the oven with my own hand. Lesson learned: Sometimes in saving someone else, you can get hurt yourself. Its always worth trying.
The ones on my knees are from roller skating and falling various places in my life. It seems I've fallen every where I have ever been in my life. The lesson here is simple. Watch where you are going, it hurts when you fall, but the journey can be fun.
The internal scars are a little tougher to see. This one? on my heart. That was when I overheard my parents talking in the kitchen. I was 17 and "grown up". Or so I thought. I heard the words "separation" and "divorce". My parents never knew that the air vent that leads to the kitchen...also went through my room. I learned all kinds of stuff that way. Lesson learned: parents are people who are just doing the best they can and you never really are "grown up".
Oh yes, there are various pieces of my spirit missing. That sounds strange, I know. But I really do believe we give pieces of our spirt or parts of ourselves to the people we love and care for. Those people benefit from them when they need them and don't even realize it is there when they don't. The lesson here?
Care anyway, Love anyway. Someone needs you.
I'm a klutz. No. Seriously. I have scars to prove it. These on my right knuckle, well, that was from a bicycle race that I lost. I was on a borrowed bike and my cousin failed to mention that the rear brakes didn't work. When I tried to stop the front brakes engaged and I flew over the handlebars and slid for 6 feet. On asphalt. In a tube top. At the age of 12. I was devastated to learn that I wouldn't be able to wear my training bra until my chest healed. Oh...Yeah...I scraped everything that I had been training, off. Lesson learned: Ask the important questions. Example: "Do the brakes work?"
Left hand, this scar by my thumb? Oh that was from baking cookies and my two year old went to touch the hot pan....in smacking her hand away from the heat...I hit the top of the oven with my own hand. Lesson learned: Sometimes in saving someone else, you can get hurt yourself. Its always worth trying.
The ones on my knees are from roller skating and falling various places in my life. It seems I've fallen every where I have ever been in my life. The lesson here is simple. Watch where you are going, it hurts when you fall, but the journey can be fun.
The internal scars are a little tougher to see. This one? on my heart. That was when I overheard my parents talking in the kitchen. I was 17 and "grown up". Or so I thought. I heard the words "separation" and "divorce". My parents never knew that the air vent that leads to the kitchen...also went through my room. I learned all kinds of stuff that way. Lesson learned: parents are people who are just doing the best they can and you never really are "grown up".
Oh yes, there are various pieces of my spirit missing. That sounds strange, I know. But I really do believe we give pieces of our spirt or parts of ourselves to the people we love and care for. Those people benefit from them when they need them and don't even realize it is there when they don't. The lesson here?
Care anyway, Love anyway. Someone needs you.
The Heart 7/07
Saturday, July 28, 2007
The "Heart" Current mood: contemplative
The "Heart" Current mood: contemplative
The minor league baseball season ended for me last week. Yes. I am a baseball mom. My son came to me in late May and informed me that he wanted to play baseball in the same league with a bunch of his friends. This was great news! He hadn't played little league baseball in 3 years. He has a natural ability but hadn't quite decided to embrace it. Until today. Wa-freakin-hoo. The baseball season was due to start in June. I did what every other mother in that situation would do. I panicked.
Mr. Vixen, being the trouper that he was, did the research, found out where to register him and we got him on a team. Due to Curt's birthdate he was placed on a roster of a team of 14, 15, and 16 year olds. We didn't know this until he showed up for practice and we saw how much BIGGER all the other kids were. Curt panicked.
I talked him into staying at practice and things worked out very well. This was the best team ever. All the guys welcomed him. They were encouraging and helpful. It was an absolute wonderful experience.
Right before their first game I talked to the coach. He told me how much he just loved having curt on the team. "Why?" I asked."He's good, but NOT the best player or the biggest kid on the team. What's his contribution?" He looked me straight in the eye and told me that "He's the heart of the team. He's got such enthusiasm and love for the game."
Imagine that. My kid. Heart of the team. I loved it. The team had many talented players on it, but none more promising than our pitcher. He's got it. We're gonna hear things about him. I know NOTHING of the game of baseball, least of all pitching but to watch J pitch is to watch a masterpiece in the making. His curveball rival's Botticelli's "VENUS" as a thing of beauty. NO ONE could hit it.
Imagine that. My kid. Heart of the team. I loved it. The team had many talented players on it, but none more promising than our pitcher. He's got it. We're gonna hear things about him. I know NOTHING of the game of baseball, least of all pitching but to watch J pitch is to watch a masterpiece in the making. His curveball rival's Botticelli's "VENUS" as a thing of beauty. NO ONE could hit it.
The team won first place in their division. Curt got his very first hit in one of the last few games. It was beautiful. Unfortunately it was a pop up that went right to the centerfielder. He got called out. but he got the hit. When he got back to the dugout afterward, he was hoisted aloft by several of the players, even the team parents were thrilled for him.
The father of J told me" I just love curt. If we were to have another kid, Curtis would be his name. J just loves it when he's having trouble on the mound and he hears Curt chattering encouragement at him from left field or right field."
I give my kid a lot of credit. He faced down pitchers and basemen that were huge compared to his still-growing size. He took some major setbacks and learned from them. Best of all, he wants to do the whole thing next year.
That kid has "heart".
Seeing Red 7/07
Seeing Red
Current mood: creative
Vermilion, crimson, candy apple, torrid, call it by any name....it's still red. The color of love and passion. To be extremely angry is to "see red".I was never the kind of woman to wear red.
It's too bold, it draws the eye to the wearer. Black, brown, blue, green, white....the colors of earth and sky are more my style. I blend. I don't stand out. Until I saw that dress....Red. Definitely a bold statement. NOT for the timid, nor the shy.
Like water the layers of chiffon and silk glide over my skin. Skimming the curves that my life has been spent hiding.. It is perfect. A low sweetheart neckline like a dress from a 1940's musical.
The deep color of the forbidden shade makes my skin seem almost luminous. Yes.
I will wear this dress and I will dance. The skirt will float around my legs and the sleeves will shimmer along my arms.
The soft breeze making the fabric move as I move. As if the very dress itself were joining in on the dance. Never again hiding. Not afraid. I will draw all eyes and they will stare....and then laugh.
Watching the woman who dances with such great abandon...in the beautiful red dress...in the rain
Current mood: creative
Vermilion, crimson, candy apple, torrid, call it by any name....it's still red. The color of love and passion. To be extremely angry is to "see red".I was never the kind of woman to wear red.
It's too bold, it draws the eye to the wearer. Black, brown, blue, green, white....the colors of earth and sky are more my style. I blend. I don't stand out. Until I saw that dress....Red. Definitely a bold statement. NOT for the timid, nor the shy.
Like water the layers of chiffon and silk glide over my skin. Skimming the curves that my life has been spent hiding.. It is perfect. A low sweetheart neckline like a dress from a 1940's musical.
The deep color of the forbidden shade makes my skin seem almost luminous. Yes.
I will wear this dress and I will dance. The skirt will float around my legs and the sleeves will shimmer along my arms.
The soft breeze making the fabric move as I move. As if the very dress itself were joining in on the dance. Never again hiding. Not afraid. I will draw all eyes and they will stare....and then laugh.
Watching the woman who dances with such great abandon...in the beautiful red dress...in the rain
7/07 Colorful
Being colorful. Being unique. I recently heard a song by an artist by the name of Rocco De Luca. In his song "COLORFUL" he talks about someone being the most "colorful" thing that he has seen.
To be honest, that is quite a compliment. Don't we all strive to be unique? Are we not all trying to be the best version of ourselves? To be accepted for who we are and what we are? I know I am.
In fact, I look forward to a day when we are all considered 'colorful'. We are all considered beautiful and we revel in our differences as much as we enjoy our similarities.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Sober 6/16/07
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Sober
It's not a secret that I am a mother of two children. I have an amazing 20 year old daughter and a (soon to be) 14 year old son. Let's talk about my girl for a moment. She's beautiful and intelligent and funny and stronger than even she knows.
To have had any part in bringing her up to be the person that she is right now is a huge source of pride to me. She has her own opinions(on EVERYTHING *grin) and she's not afraid to stand up for herself or a friend if need be. She's going through something recently that only she can go through.
As a parent, its very hard to watch your kids be sad or hurt, but you have to do it, because in life the lessons you learn often come with the pain of learning them. When the lesson is over, you come out stronger than you ever thought you were, and better than you knew you could be.
She's NOT a drunk by the way..*laugh* I just like these words and SOBER can just mean serious or thoughtful... These lyrics are by Kelly Clarkson. This song really touched me, and I thought they could apply here.
Sober- Kelly Clarkson
and I don't know, this could break my heart or save me
Nothing's real until you let go completely. So here I go, with all my thoughts I've been saving,
so here I go with all my fears weighing on me.
Three months and I'm still sober, picked all my weeds forget the flowers.
and I don't know....I could crash and burn, but maybe at the end of this road I might catch a glimpse of me
Three months and I'm still breathing, been a long road since those hands I left my tears in, but I know its never really over...noooo
three months and i'm still standing here...three months and I'm getting over you...three months , three months I hurt...three months and I'm still breathing...three months and I'm still remembering...three months and wait....oh
three months and I'm still sober....picked all my weeds but kept the flowers
Sober
It's not a secret that I am a mother of two children. I have an amazing 20 year old daughter and a (soon to be) 14 year old son. Let's talk about my girl for a moment. She's beautiful and intelligent and funny and stronger than even she knows.
To have had any part in bringing her up to be the person that she is right now is a huge source of pride to me. She has her own opinions(on EVERYTHING *grin) and she's not afraid to stand up for herself or a friend if need be. She's going through something recently that only she can go through.
As a parent, its very hard to watch your kids be sad or hurt, but you have to do it, because in life the lessons you learn often come with the pain of learning them. When the lesson is over, you come out stronger than you ever thought you were, and better than you knew you could be.
She's NOT a drunk by the way..*laugh* I just like these words and SOBER can just mean serious or thoughtful... These lyrics are by Kelly Clarkson. This song really touched me, and I thought they could apply here.
Sober- Kelly Clarkson
and I don't know, this could break my heart or save me
Nothing's real until you let go completely. So here I go, with all my thoughts I've been saving,
so here I go with all my fears weighing on me.
Three months and I'm still sober, picked all my weeds forget the flowers.
and I don't know....I could crash and burn, but maybe at the end of this road I might catch a glimpse of me
Three months and I'm still breathing, been a long road since those hands I left my tears in, but I know its never really over...noooo
three months and i'm still standing here...three months and I'm getting over you...three months , three months I hurt...three months and I'm still breathing...three months and I'm still remembering...three months and wait....oh
three months and I'm still sober....picked all my weeds but kept the flowers
The Bike 5/19/07
Saturday, May 19, 2007
The bike
One thing you don't know about me....I LOVE to ride motorcycles. I know what you're thinking. DANGEROUS. You're right. They can be, in the hands of a careless driver. However, there is nothing more wonderful then riding down the Great River Road along the mississippi river on the night of the full moon in the Autumn. mmmmm.. I LOVE that.
My dad recently bought a new Honda Goldwing. I know...I know..its SO not a Harley. It is however a sleek, beautiful machine. One day I will learn to drive it. I will learn to be the driver of a motorcycle.
I won't be the passenger, I will be the driver. He won't let me drive his while he's alive. "It's too much for you to handle, your step-brother is getting it when I'm gone."
That could be true, but I don't think so. Someday, hopefully, far in the future. When dad is gone, I will go to my step-brother and make one request.
Dad's bike. For a trip. Just me....the bike, my digital camera and my laptop. For a week. My way of saying goodbye to dad. MY way of letting go. My way of making dad proud. I will document the journey and write an article about it. It will be published. Dad would love that.
(Author's note....I'm taking a motorcycle class in October 2009- at the end of the 3 day session..I will have my motorcycle license)
The bike
One thing you don't know about me....I LOVE to ride motorcycles. I know what you're thinking. DANGEROUS. You're right. They can be, in the hands of a careless driver. However, there is nothing more wonderful then riding down the Great River Road along the mississippi river on the night of the full moon in the Autumn. mmmmm.. I LOVE that.
My dad recently bought a new Honda Goldwing. I know...I know..its SO not a Harley. It is however a sleek, beautiful machine. One day I will learn to drive it. I will learn to be the driver of a motorcycle.
I won't be the passenger, I will be the driver. He won't let me drive his while he's alive. "It's too much for you to handle, your step-brother is getting it when I'm gone."
That could be true, but I don't think so. Someday, hopefully, far in the future. When dad is gone, I will go to my step-brother and make one request.
Dad's bike. For a trip. Just me....the bike, my digital camera and my laptop. For a week. My way of saying goodbye to dad. MY way of letting go. My way of making dad proud. I will document the journey and write an article about it. It will be published. Dad would love that.
(Author's note....I'm taking a motorcycle class in October 2009- at the end of the 3 day session..I will have my motorcycle license)
Fighter 5/8/07
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Her fist connects with the vinyl of the padded bag, the sweat and tears pour down her face. She "dances" around the apparatus. Right cross, left jab, right kick, left kick. With each solid hit, she feels stronger, the frustrations that led her to this place seem further and further away.
The "guys" laughed at her when she first started, they made fun of her extra weight and the fact that her hair and makeup were still on as she began to work out.
After the second week, they stopped laughing.
Gone were the makeup from the face and the style to the hair. In their places were sweat and toil. She would teach"them" she thought. She would teach "him".
She would become strong.
With each hit and each punch and each kick she gains strength, confidence and peace. She is getting stronger, and each time she thinks she can't hit harder or she can't kick higher, she does.
With every tear that falls, she hits harder and she kicks with more strength.
Maybe someday she won't feel the need to any more, but today, she will because she isn't quite strong enough, just yet.
Her fist connects with the vinyl of the padded bag, the sweat and tears pour down her face. She "dances" around the apparatus. Right cross, left jab, right kick, left kick. With each solid hit, she feels stronger, the frustrations that led her to this place seem further and further away.
The "guys" laughed at her when she first started, they made fun of her extra weight and the fact that her hair and makeup were still on as she began to work out.
After the second week, they stopped laughing.
Gone were the makeup from the face and the style to the hair. In their places were sweat and toil. She would teach"them" she thought. She would teach "him".
She would become strong.
With each hit and each punch and each kick she gains strength, confidence and peace. She is getting stronger, and each time she thinks she can't hit harder or she can't kick higher, she does.
With every tear that falls, she hits harder and she kicks with more strength.
Maybe someday she won't feel the need to any more, but today, she will because she isn't quite strong enough, just yet.
Birthdays and Wisdom- Alton Telegraph 8/01
Prev. published August 2001- Alton Telegraph
I remember it very clearly. It was the October that I turned 12 years old. That was the perfect birthday. My parents had (grudgingly) given their permission for me to have my very first slumber party. What began as a simple slumber party with three of my closest friends became a bash to end all bashes!
I invited the aforementioned three closest friends, and word got out about the party, and before I knew it, every girl in the entire sixth grade class knew about it. I had 15 girls show up, all with sleeping bags. Thank goodness I went to a really small school, things could have been MUCH worse.
My mother was not a happy camper. That woman made ten homemade pizzas that night(remember, this was way before Domino's delivered in 30 minutes or less). We drank gallons of soda, had cake and ice cream and generally destroyed our newly renovated basement. I was the most popular girl in my school for weeks after that.
Needless to say, this was the last of my slumber parties. It wasn't the party that made it such a great age. The world and all it's possibilities lay ahead. You don't have a job yet, and anytime you want something, all you have to do is attempt to "guilt" your parents into it. Ah, if only everything in life were that easy anymore.
My children are still in those perfect ages for birthdays. My daughter turned 14 in May and my son just reached the age of 8 this week. Have you noticed that as we grow older the birthday itself takes on much more meaning. We become aware of how many years we have left as opposed to how many years we've been on this earth. My boyfriend recently turned 40, and I will soon be facing my own 37th birthday in October. YIKES!!
I have to say he handled his birthday fairly well. I am not so sure I will do the same. It's a running joke in my family that I have chameleon-like hair. I've been covering the gray with so many different shades of brown, burgundy-brown, and cinnamon-brown that my real mahogany shade has been lost to time forever.
The average person lives to be roughly eighty-something years old, with subtractions
or additions for lifestyle factors. How do you stack up? A great place to find out is this great website I found. Check it out yourself at www.beeson.org/Livingto100/quiz.htm.
According to this site, I should live to be 85.6 years old. That gives me roughly 48.6 years to accomplish everything I was put on this earth to do. Now, if I would give up my coffee in the morning, exercise daily instead of monthly, and eat less fried foods and more fruits and vegetables, I would be able to add a few more years to my life expectancy. OK, so I would live to be 90, but I'd die of boredom because I would be too perfect.
The point is that we, as humans, put way too much stock in the number of years that we've lived and not enough in the experiences we've had to get us there. We forget that life is a journey, not a destination. We shouldn't wait for life to happen to us, we should go out and live it now.
What is on your life's "to do" list? Do you want to climb a mountain? Do you want to travel to foreign lands or simply explore more of your own country? Do you want to get in better shape? Do you want to finish your education or change your career path? The only person standing in your way is you.
Don't wait for a miraculous sign from the heavens that will never come. Just remember that your life is now. What you do with it is the only legacy you will ever leave behind.
I remember it very clearly. It was the October that I turned 12 years old. That was the perfect birthday. My parents had (grudgingly) given their permission for me to have my very first slumber party. What began as a simple slumber party with three of my closest friends became a bash to end all bashes!
I invited the aforementioned three closest friends, and word got out about the party, and before I knew it, every girl in the entire sixth grade class knew about it. I had 15 girls show up, all with sleeping bags. Thank goodness I went to a really small school, things could have been MUCH worse.
My mother was not a happy camper. That woman made ten homemade pizzas that night(remember, this was way before Domino's delivered in 30 minutes or less). We drank gallons of soda, had cake and ice cream and generally destroyed our newly renovated basement. I was the most popular girl in my school for weeks after that.
Needless to say, this was the last of my slumber parties. It wasn't the party that made it such a great age. The world and all it's possibilities lay ahead. You don't have a job yet, and anytime you want something, all you have to do is attempt to "guilt" your parents into it. Ah, if only everything in life were that easy anymore.
My children are still in those perfect ages for birthdays. My daughter turned 14 in May and my son just reached the age of 8 this week. Have you noticed that as we grow older the birthday itself takes on much more meaning. We become aware of how many years we have left as opposed to how many years we've been on this earth. My boyfriend recently turned 40, and I will soon be facing my own 37th birthday in October. YIKES!!
I have to say he handled his birthday fairly well. I am not so sure I will do the same. It's a running joke in my family that I have chameleon-like hair. I've been covering the gray with so many different shades of brown, burgundy-brown, and cinnamon-brown that my real mahogany shade has been lost to time forever.
The average person lives to be roughly eighty-something years old, with subtractions
or additions for lifestyle factors. How do you stack up? A great place to find out is this great website I found. Check it out yourself at www.beeson.org/Livingto100/quiz.htm.
According to this site, I should live to be 85.6 years old. That gives me roughly 48.6 years to accomplish everything I was put on this earth to do. Now, if I would give up my coffee in the morning, exercise daily instead of monthly, and eat less fried foods and more fruits and vegetables, I would be able to add a few more years to my life expectancy. OK, so I would live to be 90, but I'd die of boredom because I would be too perfect.
The point is that we, as humans, put way too much stock in the number of years that we've lived and not enough in the experiences we've had to get us there. We forget that life is a journey, not a destination. We shouldn't wait for life to happen to us, we should go out and live it now.
What is on your life's "to do" list? Do you want to climb a mountain? Do you want to travel to foreign lands or simply explore more of your own country? Do you want to get in better shape? Do you want to finish your education or change your career path? The only person standing in your way is you.
Don't wait for a miraculous sign from the heavens that will never come. Just remember that your life is now. What you do with it is the only legacy you will ever leave behind.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
The Tattoo Story
Current mood: creative
You might wonder why a woman of my age would choose to mark her body with permanent ink. I cannot tell you why another woman would do it, but I can tell you why I did. It was about ten years ago and I was finished with the childbearing part of my life. I had lost some weight and I was proud of my accomplishment..
When a milestone in your life comes along...you want to mark the occasion. So,I did.
I wanted to remember that I was a person who still had dreams, that I was more than someone's wife or someone's mother or someone's daughter.
I had strength and will and grace(hence the dagger)but there was the promise of beauty within my soul(hence..the rose). So now a dagger with a pink rose wrapped round it graces my left shoulderblade.
I walked into the "parlor" and a scary guy with more piercings and tattoos than I've ever seen visible in my entire lifetime, designed what would be my tattoo. It took a good chunk of my birthday money to buy myself my "gift" that year. He explained the process to me...and then he set to work.
We talked about our lives and I learned that the big "scary" guy was a college graduate and just loved his work. He was also a very gifted artist and photographer.I learned a valuable lesson, NEVER judge a book by the cover.
As the needles pierced my skin and the colors were transformed into a design that I would wear forevermore, I realized the full impact of what I had done. Pain. Not quite the pain of childbirth, but pain, nonetheless.
The thing about pain is, it teaches us that life hurts, but when the painful part is over something beautiful is left behind
You might wonder why a woman of my age would choose to mark her body with permanent ink. I cannot tell you why another woman would do it, but I can tell you why I did. It was about ten years ago and I was finished with the childbearing part of my life. I had lost some weight and I was proud of my accomplishment..
When a milestone in your life comes along...you want to mark the occasion. So,I did.
I wanted to remember that I was a person who still had dreams, that I was more than someone's wife or someone's mother or someone's daughter.
I had strength and will and grace(hence the dagger)but there was the promise of beauty within my soul(hence..the rose). So now a dagger with a pink rose wrapped round it graces my left shoulderblade.
I walked into the "parlor" and a scary guy with more piercings and tattoos than I've ever seen visible in my entire lifetime, designed what would be my tattoo. It took a good chunk of my birthday money to buy myself my "gift" that year. He explained the process to me...and then he set to work.
We talked about our lives and I learned that the big "scary" guy was a college graduate and just loved his work. He was also a very gifted artist and photographer.I learned a valuable lesson, NEVER judge a book by the cover.
As the needles pierced my skin and the colors were transformed into a design that I would wear forevermore, I realized the full impact of what I had done. Pain. Not quite the pain of childbirth, but pain, nonetheless.
The thing about pain is, it teaches us that life hurts, but when the painful part is over something beautiful is left behind
Thanksgiving article- previously published November 2000 - Alton Telegraph
Thanksgiving that almost wasn't
Turkey-sitting: Verb. The act of sitting/lounging in the kitchen or living room waiting for the turkey to finish it's roasting. This act usually occurs the third week of November and then again in late December at Christmas. The previous is my definition and not something you will find in Webster's dictionary.
Credit must be given to those pilgrims. Thanksgiving is an absolutely wonderful day. At what other time of the year are you allowed, even encouraged , to eat with such reckless abandon, and then nap and watch football? In my time on this planet I have experienced some very interesting Thanksgiving holidays, that is for certain. Memorable? Oh you better believe it.
There was the great Thanksgiving flu epidemic of 1974. I was about 10, my sister was 5, and we had a house full of relatives for the holiday who were all planning to stay till Sunday. Fourteen people(three of whom were sick children) and one bathroom. Need I say more? This was the year we all gave thanks for the invention of antibiotics. Shortly thereafter, my parents decided to remodel the master bedroom. They ripped out a small closet and added a second bathroom to the house. Coincidence? I think not.
Then there was "the Thanksgiving that almost wasn't" circa 1976. The usual suspects were all in attendance(see flu epidemic of 1974). It was my grandmother's duty and privilege to put the turkey into the oven to roast. She got up at 4 a.m. that fateful Thursday morning and pre-heated the oven, never knowing what disaster was about to befall her. She placed the bird in the aforementioned pre-heated oven and went back to bed. The oven was pronounced dead around 8 a.m. The turkey inside it was pronounced inedible two seconds later.
Let's recap the situation. No turkey and about thirteen to fifteen guests in the house expecting dinner at some time that afternoon or evening. Oh, and let us not forget, NO OVEN. My dad immediately got on the phone to the proprietor of the local market, who was only too glad to open the store and let dad grab the largest turkey in the store. We got a twelve pound turkey and a ten pound ham. The ham was cooked in the oven of our camper, and the turkey took up residence in the kitchen of the Dad's club Ladies Auxiliary.
After several hours and many trips out into the snow(oh...I didn't mention the BLIZZARD, did I? Oh yeah, worst ice storm in ten years and it had to happen the night before Thanksgiving) we all sat down to a delicious meal. At this point I am not so sure it was delicious. I think we were all just starving. That year marked the end of our out of town guests for the holiday. Apparently, they got the impression that we were under some kind of curse. Where they got that idea, I'll never know.
Since that time, things have been rather tame at my house for holidays. Of course, it helps that I don't actually have Thanksgiving dinner at my house. My sister and I and our respective families now descend on dear old dad and "help" him cook the meal. Usually, after a few minor emergencies in the kitchen, we all sit down and have a lovely meal. We take the time to give thanks that we have our health, a roof over our heads, the love of family and friends, and warm food to eat. Which is as it should be.
Turkey-sitting: Verb. The act of sitting/lounging in the kitchen or living room waiting for the turkey to finish it's roasting. This act usually occurs the third week of November and then again in late December at Christmas. The previous is my definition and not something you will find in Webster's dictionary.
Credit must be given to those pilgrims. Thanksgiving is an absolutely wonderful day. At what other time of the year are you allowed, even encouraged , to eat with such reckless abandon, and then nap and watch football? In my time on this planet I have experienced some very interesting Thanksgiving holidays, that is for certain. Memorable? Oh you better believe it.
There was the great Thanksgiving flu epidemic of 1974. I was about 10, my sister was 5, and we had a house full of relatives for the holiday who were all planning to stay till Sunday. Fourteen people(three of whom were sick children) and one bathroom. Need I say more? This was the year we all gave thanks for the invention of antibiotics. Shortly thereafter, my parents decided to remodel the master bedroom. They ripped out a small closet and added a second bathroom to the house. Coincidence? I think not.
Then there was "the Thanksgiving that almost wasn't" circa 1976. The usual suspects were all in attendance(see flu epidemic of 1974). It was my grandmother's duty and privilege to put the turkey into the oven to roast. She got up at 4 a.m. that fateful Thursday morning and pre-heated the oven, never knowing what disaster was about to befall her. She placed the bird in the aforementioned pre-heated oven and went back to bed. The oven was pronounced dead around 8 a.m. The turkey inside it was pronounced inedible two seconds later.
Let's recap the situation. No turkey and about thirteen to fifteen guests in the house expecting dinner at some time that afternoon or evening. Oh, and let us not forget, NO OVEN. My dad immediately got on the phone to the proprietor of the local market, who was only too glad to open the store and let dad grab the largest turkey in the store. We got a twelve pound turkey and a ten pound ham. The ham was cooked in the oven of our camper, and the turkey took up residence in the kitchen of the Dad's club Ladies Auxiliary.
After several hours and many trips out into the snow(oh...I didn't mention the BLIZZARD, did I? Oh yeah, worst ice storm in ten years and it had to happen the night before Thanksgiving) we all sat down to a delicious meal. At this point I am not so sure it was delicious. I think we were all just starving. That year marked the end of our out of town guests for the holiday. Apparently, they got the impression that we were under some kind of curse. Where they got that idea, I'll never know.
Since that time, things have been rather tame at my house for holidays. Of course, it helps that I don't actually have Thanksgiving dinner at my house. My sister and I and our respective families now descend on dear old dad and "help" him cook the meal. Usually, after a few minor emergencies in the kitchen, we all sit down and have a lovely meal. We take the time to give thanks that we have our health, a roof over our heads, the love of family and friends, and warm food to eat. Which is as it should be.
Thursday, January 11, 2007- why am I here
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Why am I here??
Current mood: contemplative
Sometimes I wonder about the big questions in life....why does chocolate taste so good? Why are all the cute clothes in a size 6? Why did god in his infinite wisdom give me "childbearing" hips.
Then I think...why am I here? but why are any of us "here"? perhaps to find mr. or Ms. right...(or at least "right now") or maybe...we're just here to reach out to the global community...to prove that even the smallest gesture a smile..or a wink or an encouraging word can touch another life...
well..that's why I'm here, anyway. What's your reason? Don't have one? Maybe that, in itself,is the problem
Why am I here??
Current mood: contemplative
Sometimes I wonder about the big questions in life....why does chocolate taste so good? Why are all the cute clothes in a size 6? Why did god in his infinite wisdom give me "childbearing" hips.
Then I think...why am I here? but why are any of us "here"? perhaps to find mr. or Ms. right...(or at least "right now") or maybe...we're just here to reach out to the global community...to prove that even the smallest gesture a smile..or a wink or an encouraging word can touch another life...
well..that's why I'm here, anyway. What's your reason? Don't have one? Maybe that, in itself,is the problem
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)