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 |  My Blog....Pearls of wisdom and/or foolish mutterings.....You be the judge.... |
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A little of this, a dash of that......epic mood swings.......A LOT of foolish mutterings and occasionally a few words of wisdom. It's a crapshoot. You never know what you'll find in here... |
| I've been doing a little Spring cleaning lately - and when I say "a little", I mean that quite literally. I'm no Martha Stewart - there, I've said it. Now you all know one of my deep, dark secrets. I've never been a house-cleaning whiz, but after I had a maid for the two years we lived in Venezuela, my chance of ever becoming a great housekeeper went down the toilet--pun intended. I would be perfectly happy to never lift a finger cleaning house again. And if I never had to cook dinner again, well, that would be okay too. But, since I do live in the real world and couldn't smuggle my maid back from Venezuela with me, I am forced to do all of those heinous tasks. Which brings me back to my original point. I was doing a bit of Spring cleaning recently. While sorting through a box of things, I came across my very first published short story. That's right--you heard me correctly--I was published in a national magazine. Oh, yeah. The short story was entitled "Sunny Sam", I was nine-years-old and the magazine that published my story was The Golden Magazine. My third grade teacher, Mrs. Hazlewood, thought my story was good enough to send in to the magazine; she did and they published it. I found that magazine and came out of the room waving it at my hubby. I told him, "Look at this, if I can be published once, I can be published again. I'm keeping this out so I can look at it every day and remember it can happen." Finding that magazine reminded me that I've always loved words. I'm addicted to stringing them together in just the right sequence to make my thoughts come alive on a page. Sentence diagramming was one of my favorite activities in school. Does anyone remember sentence diagrams? And I've always been a stickler for spelling. Ask any of my children and they will tell you the story of the business in Odessa that had a semi-trailer painted with their name on both sides--one side was spelled correctly, the other side said, in bright gold five-foot letters--GOLDEN SPRINIKLER SALES. The story is legend in our household of how crazy it made me every time I drove past that trailer. It stayed that way for years, they never had it repainted! Mrs. Hazlewood would have been aghast. |
| Sunday is Father's Day. My dad has been gone for a little over three years, leaving us on February 16, 2005, just a month shy of his 66th birthday. It still seems like yesterday and the grief hasn't abated much. I miss him every day and would give anything for just one more day with him, one more conversation, one more time to tell him I love him. In honor of my dad, I want to share with you two chapters from the memoir I am writing, Finding Normal. Please understand that this is not a "feel good" piece and some of you may find it hard to read. In my mind, as a child, I had a "good daddy" and a "bad daddy." I still struggle to understand the demons my dad wrestled with all of his life. I don't know what made him do some of the things he did, but I know that I lived for the good times. And that I loved him with all my heart. I still do.
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| .......How about The Shining? Now I am not one to make a habit of watching horror flicks. As a matter of fact, I generally avoid them like the plague. But I am a HUGE Jack Nicholson fan, so when The Shining debuted starring Jack, I had to make an exception to my "No Horror Films" rule. The movie was riveting. I watched it on HBO years ago in the middle of the day, bright sunshine streaming through the windows as I sat glued to my ugly, early-marriage-style brown "plush" (more like teddy-bear fur material) couch. I couldn't take my eyes off the screen of my Sears 19" color television, which, by the way, had been our first purchase as a couple after Hubby and I were married. On credit, of course. The TV, not the marriage. I was so proud of myself for watching the movie all the way through without even covering my eyes once. This won't seem like much of an accomplishment unless you know that I once fled the movie theater during the showing of The Fury escaping to the deserted lobby where I was the only living creature around. The snack bar was closed, the lights in the lobby were dimmed, and no employees were in sight as I sat down outside the theater on a stone bench to wait for my friends to finish the movie. Suddenly, the door at the other end of the lobby opened and in came one of the most menacing-looking men I had ever seen. He was in full biker-attire (sorry, Monk), with a bandanna tied around his filthy hair which hung like so many snakes around his shoulders. He spotted me on the bench and made a beeline for me, all the while flexing his leather-gloved hands in a way that had me envisioning those gloved hands tightening around my throat. My eyes darted from the theater door to my fast-approaching killer-rapist-mangler-kidnapper (I couldn't decide what fate I was about to meet at his hands) and back again. My heart pounded in my chest so loudly I was sure it was audible in the still lobby. The stranger was halfway across the lobby. I had to make a decision--back to the movie or face my attacker--what was it to be? I remembered the scene that made me flee the movie and decided to take my chances with the menacing stranger. I stared straight into his eyes and waited. I thought about screaming, but decided against it. What if he wasn't going to kill, rape, mangle or kidnap me, but was just going to the restroom? I would be terribly embarrassed if I screamed and his only intention was to use the facilities. (Did I happen to mention that I was very well-mannered as a teenager?) Obviously since I am here to tell the story, he didn't kill, rape, mangle or kidnap me. He came within three feet of me, made a sharp right turn and entered the men's restroom. A few minutes later, the movie was over and a sea of people came pouring out of the theater, my friends among them. I was never so glad to see them as I was at that moment. So, in the context of knowing that I would risk almost certain death and dismemberment to avoid a scary movie, the fact that I sat all the way through The Shining BY MYSELF and never even covered my eyes once should have a little more import now. That night when Hubby came home, I told him I had watched a great movie and it was on again at 11:00. We absolutely must watch it, I told him. We did. I don't know why or how, but I can tell you that The Shining was exponentially more frightening during the dark with no sunshine streaming through the windows and the prospect of sleep after the movie than it had been earlier in the day. I was FREAKED OUT! It's still a great movie, but that REDRUM scene almost did me in. |
| I was just wondering something. How many of you were scared spitless by the flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz? And the way the Witch's toes curled up in the beginning of the show when the house fell on her? I was so relieved when the Wicked Witch melted at the end when .... was it Dorothy? .... threw water on her. But it scared the bejeezus out of me, too. The way she was standing there melting away and saying I'm melting, I'm melting.... and her voice was melting away too. I mean, come on, that is the stuff nightmares are made of! As a matter of fact, I remember quite distinctly having nightmares every year about those stupid flying monkeys for weeks after we watched The Wizard of Oz. And we watched it every year, without fail. I was so freaked out by it that I never let my kids watch it when they were growing up. Not until they were much older and started asking to watch it. Even then, I had my reservations. Jeez, flying monkeys! Who thinks of these things,anyway? That's just wrong. I'll probably dream about those damn things tonight. |
I've been stuck lately. I have written three entries and deleted each of them because they just weren't right, somehow. I felt like my words were dammed up inside of me and I couldn't figure out what was blocking them. I finally figured it out. I had a story to tell and the words didn't come easy. Tonight I found the words. Please check it out and let me hear from you. It can be found at:
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| Okay, I know I'm your typical grandmother who thinks her grandchildren are the most adoable in the world. But, seriously, look at this picture of my grandson, Ray, and tell me, is he not the most precious baby you ever saw? I just love this picture! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| My brother's birthday was on the 20th of this month. While I have been here at my sister's house, she and I have been working on a scrapbook to give to our brother as a belated birthday present on the occasion of his 48th birthday. (OMG! We are all getting so old!) Mike is our baby brother! The scrapbook is a work of art - so much so, that we almost hate to part with it. We've considered making it a "shared" item...as in, Mike gets custody of the scrapbook for four months, then he turns it over to me for four months and I turn it over to Kathy and then the rotation starts over. I'm kidding....sort of. Kathy's grandchildren were here the other day while we were working on the scrapbook. Her nine-year old granddaughter, Jenna, was looking through the completed pages with her grandmother. Kathy showed her the page entitled "In the beginning..." which shows pictures of Mike and I as children, our mother and my step-dad (Mike's dad), as well as pictures of our grandparents and great-grandparents. I placed an empty frame on the page to represent Kathy since she didn't grow up with Mike and I. Jenna was very interested in knowing who everyone was, so Kathy was explaining to her how everyone on the page was related to her and then to Jenna. Jenna looked thoughtful for a moment and then asked, "Now when did you meet your mother?" Kathy told her, "Not until I was 24." Jenna was silent as she looked at the pictures and absorbed that bit of information. Turning to the next page, Jenna carefully studied the pictures of Mike, Kathy and I all together as adults. Below that picture, I had placed pictures of each one of us as children. Jenna looked confused as she turned to Kathy and asked her,"Grandma, when did you meet Kim and Mike?" Kathy explained to her that she didn't know her brother and sister until she was an adult. "Not until we were all grown up. I was 24, Kim was 25 and Mike was 23." Jenna stared at Kathy, then back at the page. Kathy said to her, "I know, it's kind of confusing, isn't it?" Jenna looked up from the scrapbook page with our childhood likenesses on it and said in a quiet voice, "No, it's just really sad, Grandma." Out of the mouths of babes... |
| Woke up this morning, rolled out of bed and started searching for my black flip flops. Guess what else I found while looking for my flip flops? It was pushed up under the bed, completely out of sight, covered with dust and almost unrecognizable. It was......... MY SENSE OF HUMOR! Yay! Cheers! Applause! Sighs of relief all around! As I tried pulling it out from under the bed, I could see that it was wrapped in a healthy layer of hormonal self-pity (make that UNhealthy) and tied up with some good old-fashioned woe is me attitude. So I pried it out of there, laid it on the floor and scraped off all the crap, then plumped it like a pillow and gave it a good scrubbing. I'm pretty sure I did a thorough job of cleaning it up, but to test it out, my sister told me some pretty darn funny stories about former pets of hers and I laughed until I almost wet my pants. So, my sense of humor seems to be intact, maybe a little soggy, but still intact - WHEW! Don't know if I've told you all this or not, but I ran away to my sister's house in Albuquerque. That's where I am now and will be until the end of May. I used to think I was pretty tough, but now, not so much. My husband packed me up and sent me to my sister's to de-stress. I think it's working. She is kind of sneaky, though. She keeps sneaking up behind me when I'm blogging and hissing at me, "You're not writing another depressing blog, are you?" She's actually my younger sister, but she's acting every bit like a big, bossy sister. Big as in older, she's actually quite small. And bossy as in bossy. But that's okay - I'm good with that for now. As long as I don't have to make any kind of decisions or have any responsibility, I'm good. Hope everyone is having a great weekend. |
| You people are amazing - absolutely amazing. This morning when I sat on a bed in my sister's guest room and wrote what, in retrospect, I consider to be one of the most depressing and defeated blogs I have ever read, let alone written, I knew I would receive support and compassion. I knew that the people I have come to depend on would be there for me. And indeed you were - with such wise and insightful comments. I felt the hugs, the warmth, the love and above all, I felt incredibly blessed to be a part of this community. So, first of all, let me say THANK YOU to each of you. You all have incredible wisdom and great big hearts. I wrote a blog several days ago about having a broken heart. Nothing can break a mother's heart worse than knowing that one of her children is in pain. I can deal with my own pain, but knowing that my child is hurting is altogether different. At that time, I chose not to divulge any details for many different reasons. Consequently, I was unable to write much of what has been on my heart. I need to write about this, to put words to it, to examine it and make sense of it in the cold, hard light of day. I trusted you, my friends, with my deepest emotions today. Now I must go a step further and trust you with the story behind the struggle that has been so painful that it brought me to the point I was at this morning. My son, Eli, who has described himself on this site as a "wild-child" has been in self-destruct mode for a very long time. For the past fifteen months, he has been on a road that has brought him very close to disaster many times. I won't go into all the details, but his actions and proclivity for pushing the envelope finally culminated last week in the very real possibility that his fate would be determined not by his parents, not by himself, but by a court system that has tired of young people who believe that personal responsibility is a trait that is only necessary as a last resort and that second, third, even fourth chances are a right and not a privilege. Drinking and drugs hold such grand appeal to young men (and young women) nowadays. So many of today's young people view these activities as harmless fun, so much so that in their frenzy to "party", they are not even aware when it takes over their lives. They become so adept at "dodging a bullet", whether the bullet is a DWI, a drug charge, or, God forbid, the death of one of their own who pushed the limits too far, that they falsely believe they control the drugs and alcohol, when it is actually the other way around. Ultimately, this lifestyle will catch up to all of them sooner or later. For my son, that time came last week. Faced with the very real possibility that he could go to state jail, he was forced to take a moral inventory of himself. I am proud to say that he made some hard choices and I believe that God had mercy on him when he faced the judge. He did not end up in jail. He did check himself into a Men's Recovery Home with a six-month minimum stay. I pray that he truly does recognize what he is facing and that he will remain faithful to the task. I am proud of all of my children and love them fiercely. I am ashamed to say that in my furious efforts to pull Eli from the path of self-destruction, I have been neglectful of my other three children. They all seem to have found their way into adulthood and my mistake was in believing that they did not need me as much as their brother did. I was wrong. My other children needed me to be there for them and Eli needed for me to stop rescuing him. I had to get out of the way for God to get Eli's attention. I received a note from a dear friend today that I want to quote here. The words rang true in my heart, as did the heartfelt sentiments expressed by so many of you today. My friend told me: "You may be experiencing some depression and that is normal. I think there is a very technical term, actually it's medical, it's called "MOM." You are feeling and acting exactly the way a mom should feel and act. It's the way God protects his children by putting them in the care of a loving MOM. So let it be what it is because through it you will find healing and strength. You are watching your son make some good decisions that are tough but fair and will bring the healing all you guys want for him. Of course you should feel the way you do because you love him. Praise God for a mom that loves her son. I think you may not even know you are getting better until one day soon you'll just realize how much better you are. You're going to be ok and Eli is going to be great." I choose to believe that. Because of the encouragement I received from so many today, I choose to lean on the strength of others offered so unselfishly. All of you are my rainbow. And I choose to walk toward the rainbow. Thank you, dear friends. |
| Have any of you ever been in a place where your life just becomes too much for you? I already know the answer to that. Of course you have, we all have. That's where I am now. I don't want to be there. I want so much to be my usual happy-go-lucky self, the one who is always ready with a snappy comeback, who finds humor in every situation. But I seem to have misplaced the map to find my way there. I've wandered into a place that's foreign to me; nothing is familiar, everything is ill-fitting, and words and deftly-turned phrases (always my faithful companions before) fail me. I feel as if I'm wandering through a bleached-out landscape, the colors are gone and there are no familiar landmarks to show me the way out of this desolate place. Tears flow too easily and the urge to sit down and become a part of this lonely oblivion is almost overwhelming. I don't want to be here, but I don't have the energy to find my way out of here. Sadness drapes around me like a heavy blanket. I want to throw it off my shoulders and turn my face to the sun; but wait, no, I want to grip the blanket around me and tuck my head inside it. I want to laugh but all I can do is cry. I want to engage in sparkling conversation but I remain silent. I want to find my way out of here but even if I could find the map, my eyes are too blurred by tears to make sense of it. I need to find the rainbow. |
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I'm so far right the Tea Party looks like a bunch of hippies!
