A Matter of Time
I don’t feel 42 and perhaps that’s why I don’t accept it very easily. Heck, I was just beginning to get comfortable with being 41, and now it’s gone! While there’s many things I’d like to do over again there’s not all that many. I’m still going to watch MTV- yes, I like it but not the way I did 25 years ago. But everything changes. Yes, I’m still going to gasp when I calculate just how long ago it was that I graduated High School, but that’s a big ‘something-I’ d-not-do-over’ again. I’m going to continue to look in the mirror and wonder just who the hell that is staring back at me (but I’ve got a hunch this mystery is only going to deepen, much like the lines in my forehead, as time goes by). But when all is said and done, it’s OK. I like who I am. I like where I’m at.
Thanks to all of you who wished me Happy Birthday. You’re all very dear and special in your own way and I thank you for taking the time to extend your greetings.
The day started out pretty crappy, the hubby and I just woke up in foul moods. Put both of them together and it’s pretty smelly! But I’m happy to report that the afternoon and evening were mah-vel-ous! The formerly foul hubby bought me 3 wonderful gifts, a new scrapbook/picture album just for Bailey! Some lovely sterling silver hoops, and a new mp3 player-which I’ve spent most of the day hunting down music for!
All in all it was a good day. Getting old sucks, but you know it’s not really all that bad
Memory Lane Part Deux
No one seemed to mind when I posted the first repeat, and since this post seems to go along with a few of my last ones ("Crazy Women and The Men That Love Them" and others of the like depicting the strange state of affairs our world is in right now), I decided to treat you to the second in a series of...well until I get tired of reading them! Enjoy.
The Things We Do For Love
I heard the 10cc song; The Things We Do For Love today, I love that song. I loved it when I was a little girl. Do you ever hear songs on the radio that takes you back to your childhood? This is one of those songs. I used to hear it on my Mom's radio, this was of course before she got sucked into listening to country music. Today as I listened to it, I really listened to the lyrics and that got me started thinking. I started thinking of all the silly things we do for love.
I won't bore you with all outrageous things I've done in the name of love, but here's the most insane thing I ever did. Shortly after husband #1 delivered the news that he didn't want to be married anymore he came to pick up our daughter for a visit. I was 25 years old and thought I was madly in love with him. I suppose I was but I think more than anything I was terrified of being alone. He had come to get her and refused to come in what was our house. Ok, I'm thinking he can just be that way, but deep inside it broke my heart. As I gathered her stuff I began to cry. I finally composed myself, put on my sunglasses to disguise the red puffy eyes. When I went outside he scooped her up and told me he'd be back Sunday at 6 p.m. I was devastated that he didn't even want to talk to me. He couldn't just erase me that quickly, could he? I'm not sure what kind of alien force took over my body but before I knew it I was running after his car! Reaching it I threw myself on the hood of it, spread eagle, void of any self respect whatsoever! I'm not sure who was more shocked, me or him. He stopped the car got out and pryed my hands from the car and told me how juvenile I was being. At this point all my hurt had turned to anger. I was angry at myself, angry at him for not loving me anymore, hell I was just plain angry.
Now I can look back and laugh at that and be thankful he didn't hit the gas and throw me off the car. Today I realized that we all do some really asinine things in the name of love.
In The Dark
By the time I reached 8th grade I was some sort of a legend in this competition, few could hold a candle to me in the Haiku division. I rawked at that because I saw it as a big challenge (exhibit A of my Monica-esque gene. You know Monica on ‘Friends’ who always wins). I could do ordinary poetry too, you know the rhyming stanza’s and of course short stories. With that said, I never wanted to pursue poetry unless there was some type of reward at stake so after I moved on to High School I completely forgot about writing poetry.
As I mosey around these poetry blogs I realize it’s not the old-school kind of stuff that comes to mind when I see ‘poetry’. The stuff I see today is really depressing and hard edged. There’s not a whole lot of rhyming going on and not one Haiku to be found. Much of the stuff goes like this:
The gray above my head
can’t compare to the hue of my heart.
Pale. Stark. Bare.
You. You plunged your stake into my soul.
Unforgiven.
Blue.
Gray.
What the Hell? That took me all of 45 seconds to throw together and it shows…big time! Is that really poetry? Ummm to me it’s just a bunch of random thoughts thrown together, which, since I’m no literary expert, might be the norm. But I for one just don’t get it. Do you?
Memory Lane I
I've been reading my archives for the last few days. Some of the posts I remember but many I don't. I'd been toying with the idea of re-posting some of them here, not because of 'writers block' or anything, but just because I thought some of them were entertaining. The following post I remember vividly. I remember typing it, I remember breaking down half-way through it, I remember never reconciling the situation. I cried today when I read it but felt like it was worthy of the first intallment of 'Memory Lane'.
Mother
My Mother has never known anything but worry in her life. Much of which she made worse than it really was. I've said over and over that my Mother lives in the land of 'what if'. I figured out many years ago that kind of attitude would get you nowhere and quick. It's hard to escape the genetic make-up I have, and it's a daily struggle not to become consumed with paranoia like she has. She was born an only child to a 16 year old Mother. Her Father worshipped her, which only strained her already fragile relationship with her Mother. I will be the first to say my Grandmother is mean. She's not mean all the time, but when provoked she's a grade A, first class bitch. This is not disrespect, it's just the truth. I do all my Grandmother's shopping, I clean her apartment and do most all of her errands for her. I love her but much of the time I don't like her. The stories my Mother have told her childhood are very believable to me. I'm sorry my Mother doesn't have happy memories of being a child. She did for the most part give those to me.
My Mother was the epitome of 'over-protective'. And that trait was put to the ultimate test when my youngest sister was diagnosed with a brain tumor at 10. Our entire family was thrust into a life we could not comprehend when this happened. My sister spent 3 solid months at Vanderbilt University after the majority of the tumor was removed followed by radiation treatments. I spent about 75% of that time with my Mother helping her. I never fully appreciated what kind of sacrifices she made until I had children of my own. I'm happy to say my sister is still with us, but with many physical handicaps. My Mother always hovered over her and now as she's aged I see all those years of worry catching up with her. Wondering if Laurie would live used to be her biggest concern, now she worries constantly about who will take care of Laurie if something happens to her.
I can't say my relationship with my Mother has been a good one. It would hurt her deeply if she knew I felt that way. She's never verbally expressed her love for me, yet I know she does. I don't feel like I've ever done anything to suit her. I stopped trying to please her years ago, but the need to is always in the back of my mind. I think I've only seen her cry once. She loved her Father more than anything, but my Grandmother tells of his funeral and how she didn't shed a tear. She is an incredibly strong woman. Yet an incredibly cold one as well. Today she was so vulnerable. I've never thought of my Mother as vulnerable. I've always thought of her as styrofoam, 100 years after it's thrown in a landfill it will still be relatively the same! She's not like styrofoam. She's getting old and fragile. While I don't mind at all having to take care of her, it's extremely hard to see her needing help.
Today I felt the incredible need to tell her I loved her, but I didn't. I don't know why it's so hard. I tell my children I love them 5 or 6 times a day, literally. I tell my husband I love him. Why can't I tell her? I do love her. I know how much I will miss her when she's not here. Deep down inside I'm afraid she'll cry if I tell her I love her and I can't stand the thought of that. For 40 years this woman has been an tremendous, driving force in my life, be it good or bad. Suddenly I'm terrified she's slipping away, and I don't know how to stop it. I'm sad and I'm afraid.
HandiCapable!
Well I was more than apprehensive because I’ve been in a leg immobilizer since Friday—more knee probs landed me at the Ortho office where I was told yet again how much arthritis I had in both joints. No surprise there. Anyhoo the Dr. suggested that I have the fluid drained off the knee and a cortisone injection. He felt like that was the best course of action right now. I’d had a cortisone injection in the same knee a little over two years ago that damn near killed me. Long story short it was improperly given and that coupled with me taking the blood thinners resulted in a major bleed in the joint. Outside of labor this is one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced. You can imagine my apprehension when faced with that possibility again. The PA had a boat-load of bedside manner and was just an all around very likeable guy, I immediately felt a little more at ease. Immediately after plunging the needle into my knee he says, “hmmm”— never a really good sign. As it turns out there was already a bleed in the joint, from either an injury I didn’t realized had happened or as a side effect to the Coumadin. He continued to switch out syringes until he was satisfied with the amount he’d retrieved. He then got the Dr. and told me that they couldn’t give me the cortisone until my INR had been checked and my Internist cleared me for the steroids. They put me in this death-trap innocently called an immoblizer, so I could give the knee a ‘rest’ for a week, sent me home with a script for Lortabs and booked my next appointment. Presently my family is calling me ‘Peg’ short for peg-leg!
Back to the mundane shopping…
My daughter had picked out some nursery furniture and really wanted me to see it, i.e. she had a few items she wanted to hit Mom up for! I told them before leaving that ‘Peg’ really wasn’t up for shopping but my husband had a plan. When we got to the shopping center he says, “Ok I know you’re gonna pitch a fit but you really need to do this.” “Do, what?” I replied. “You’re gonna ride around in one of the little motorized carts, and that’s that.” He’s tried several times to get me to use them when my A-Fib would be acting up, but too prideful to admit I needed help, never would consent to doing it. Tonight I knew I had little choice and I figured the hideously ugly immobilizer would say to the world, “I’m hurt”. And I wanted to spend time with my daughter, so…yes I used it. And you know what? I LOVED it! I mean I’d hate to have to depend on it all the time, but it was so handy! In fact as I cruised around the aisles I realized how lucky I was to even have this option and when the time comes that I can’t motor on my own I’ll not hesitate to use it!
Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.
Better it is to be of an humble spirit with the lowly, than to divide the spoil with the proud.
& nbsp; Proverbs 16: 18-19 (KJV)
We had a wonderful evening and I only knocked down one display!
On a lighter note the daughter and her husband have picked a name:
Lucas Bailey
He’s to be called ‘Bailey’-his great-great Grandfather’s name. ‘Nanny’ most definitely approves 
& nbsp;
Sometimes, misery loves it's own company!
In my nearly 42 years I seem to have become the poster child for The Power of Positive Thinking. Why, you ask? I could play coy and declare it’s simply because “that’s just the kind of person I am” *insert fake smile here* but it’s not that. For me it’s become a matter of survival. It’s a conscious choice that I make most everyday of my life and it’s been like that for as long as I can remember. It’s second nature primarily because I can’t imagine any quality of life otherwise.
I just read a post by a woman who is going through what I can only imagine to be a tremendously stressful time in her life. Before that I read a post by a man who I feel like battles each and every day to maintain just a degree of sanity, but he does it. And before that I visited a site who’s author has quite possibly survived one of life’s cruelest hands, and continues to do so. What common thread that bonds all of these people together is the fact that no matter how hard their own personal lives are, they persevere and complain very little. No amount of words I can connect would be able to convey my admiration.
Why is it then, some people who seem to have so little going for them have the very best attitudes? Does misery really love company? Could we all not constantly piss and moan about the horrible things that have happened to us in the past and most likely the ones yet to come? Absolutely. Why do some people see nothing but the negative? I know people in my ‘real’ life who fit this description—I feel sad for them. Sure I feel sympathy for their lot in life but more so I feel sad because they seem to have no desire to change things. Excuse after pathetic excuse. Why would anyone choose to live like that?
Sympathy, maybe? Maybe not. Do these people actually feel better thinking we pity them? On the surface I do pity them. But peel back the layers and I find anger lays close behind. Why, does this person that I love and care about act this way? Why does this person think that no one else can possibly imagine the pain they’re going through? Why do these people think that there is absolutely no hope for anything better? I find it hard to believe that any human being could exhaust every single possibility. No, to me it’s the easy way out. I suppose that sounds harsh to some and maybe it is, but life, no matter how crappy is a precious thing. We’re all going to have our ups and downs, we’re all going to face obstacles. And we’re all going to have those days when we simply cannot cope. But whether to stay in that frame of mind is a choice. No one ever asked me if I would mind that I be stricken in the prime of life with an incurable disease. It’s NOT FAIR, but then again, no one ever said it would be. I consider myself lucky because I am a fighter and I know that I have been blessed with the strength to take the unfair blows life seems to dish out. But I’m not made of armor. I have the same kind of days anyone else does, when I want to give up. Just recoil and stop. And some days I do. But with each new day there’s new hope. Hope that this new day will be easier than the one before.
I fear self-pity even though I know I’ve had ample reason to wallow in it. I don’t want any accolades or pats on the back. I just want the courage to face that next crappy day and to start over knowing that there are a whole lot more people out there who have it tougher than I do. And the ability to see that there is always hope. I just wish that some of the people closest to me could see that too.
As I read over this post I think to myself, “Geez, you make it seem so simple. Just keep on keeping on. Think positively. Never give up hope.” I almost feel as though I’m making light of my very own tribulations. But honestly, it is that simple. I choose to live by the mantra of positive thinking. God help me if there ever comes a day that I don’t.
The days when I feel lonely are few and far between, and for that I am grateful but I can almost promise you the next time I do feel that way the last person I’m inviting over for a ‘café au lait’ and some stimulating conversation will be misery.
Happy Anniversary!
The passion that is me,
The whole of which I am a part,
My peace, my ecstasy.
You are my future, present, past,
My ship, my sail, my ocean,
The wind that brings me home again,
The home for every motion.
You live within me, yet I am
Without you all alone.
With you I am full of light;
Without you I am stone.
Is this foolish? Yes, perhaps,
But also it is true.
I think of life as something I
Can spend with only you.
Ah, my love! Love longs for such
Sweet celebrants as this!
Love is a burden and a joy,
Slavery and bliss.
This day of love come love with me,
Come sing with me my song.
Come be my Valentine, and I
Will love you my life long, my love,
Will love you my life long.
Three years ago we stood before a minister, both our hearts pounding, my knees knocking and you sweating like a meatloaf--on that day before 4 of our 5 children, family and a few close friends we promised to love each other for the rest of our lives. I don't think either of us knew how difficult of a journey it was going to be, but I know for myself, when I look over at you sleeping I thank God that we're making the trip together. You've taught me how to accept life as it happens, to not sweat the small stuff and how much easier it is to laugh at a catastrophe than it is to be upset. You are truly heaven sent and I am so very happy to call you my friend, and my husband.
Happy Anniversary.
The Things We Do For Love
"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned / Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."
"The Mourning Bride" (1697) by William Congreve
I’ve been a scorned woman. It wasn’t pretty. I didn’t resort to gathering an arsenal of mallet’s and rubber tubing but I certainly did accost the woman in question. I’ll never forget the way my heart was pounding when I knocked on her front door, my best friend standing behind me. I felt like the whole thing was a dream sequence out of a movie. “BAM, BAM, BAM” I rapped on her door again, only with my fists this time. I knew she was in there, her car was in the carport, I could hear the television. “That bitch’s ignoring me” I said to my girlfriend. From this point on the whole scene was like an outer body experience. I can’t remember anything verbatim, rather just bits and pieces. When I got no response at the front door I moved to the back door, and from there to beating on her windows. I don’t know why she didn’t call the police on me, had I been in her shoes I certainly would have. Finally she opened her front door and invited us in. We sat for well over an hour discussing my husband…her new live-in boyfriend. For many weeks after that visit I’d dream about it over and over, only in my dreams I hit her, spat on her, and once I think I might have run her down in my car. I shocked myself repeatedly because of the rage and hatred I felt toward this virtual stranger.
So while most of us are able to contain ourselves in a moment of passionate rage, let us remember that there are those who can’t. Another sad testament to the society we live in. Larry King had several interviews with friends of Lisa Nowak last night, all of whom were completely shocked at her actions. One man said something to the effect that if he had to list 5 people he knew that might be capable of doing such a thing, Lisa Nowak would not be one of them. It’s pretty apparent that she’s a sick woman, I only hope that she’s able to get the medical attention no one ever knew she desperately needed.
Too many broken hearts have fallen in the river
Too many lonely souls have drifted out to sea
You lay your bets and then you pay the price
The things we do for love, the things we do for love
~10 CC
Lisa Nowak placed a bet she’s not going to be able to cover.
Ah yes, the things we do for love.
Did I Miss Something?
I watched the Superbowl. I didn't see a 'MVP' performance from Peyton Manning. Did you?
I just don't get it, I followed Peyton at the University of Tennesee. Living in this area you wouldn't have known there was any other player on the Volunteer squad besides Peyton and he had one of the most awesome offensive lines in the country. Yet, all you ever heard was Peyton, Peyton, Peyton.
I know many of the TN players resented Peyton and his sole media coverage while at UT, I just wonder if there's a few Colts feeling the same way tonight?
Numero Uno
In a few short years I won’t be doing the ‘Mother-thing&rsquo ; anymore—at least not like I’ve been doing it. I thought about this as I drove away from that childhood friend, I wondered who would become the center of my attention then? My husband? Well, he’s right up there now, not sure I should inflate his ego anymore than I already do. My Grandchildren? I’ve been told that these creatures are far and away the most wonderful gifts…ever. So they’ll have their own special place of importance. “So then what? What do I focus on once I don’t have kids in the house?” I questioned myself. And then it came to me, just as clear as the blue sky above…Me. Why not focus on me for a little while.
Yes, why not me?
