Who, Me?

When I was a small child, I found out there was no Santa Claus.
I found this out right about the same time I found out I was adopted.  It was a crushing blow to my small heart.
I remember laying up under the Christmas tree and wanting to just disappear. I even wrote a letter to an address I found on an old envelope asking my biological father what I had done to deserve being abandoned at birth.  Tough things to undertake at such a young age.

When I see parents waiting in line with tender faces, I see so much hope stored up in that one memory. I think the nostalgia we feel puts a heavy burden on the next generation and there is so much stress from the past, we fail to enjoy the present.
As I walked around the gardens with my grand daughter, the one thing that made me smile was hearing her react to the lights and seeing her laugh at other children.  She laughs at so much. It is almost like a private joke going on in her little 14 month old head.  She finds things amusing that most adults do and she is shrewd.  I hope she never loses that edge.  It will get her far in life.

I had to administer a dose of tough love to one of my "adopted" kids this week.  I got a frantic call from him Saturday morning telling me his mother had tried to kill herself. He was raised by his grandparents and now his mother was living with said grandparents.
After the hospital involuntarily committed his mother, I had to tell him to just walk away. He should call and check on her but to not go see her. He tried to see her shortly after she was taken to the hospital by ambulance for an overdose of pills and she proceeded to blame him for every short coming she has ever had.  She killed his spirit and stomped on his love.
This was nothing new and completely within her selfish character.
He is a great kid and he has a new family. He does not need her tainting his new family or his new life. Giving someone permission to do what they know is logical is really simple when you have nothing personal invested in it.  This child became my family the minute he sat at my table night after night and ate dinner with us. He became family the minute he told us he felt safe in our house.  He is the reason my children all attended the college they did and I made good on my promise to dance at his wedding.
Sometimes people just need pure love.  I think that all my "adopted" kids know that they are endearing to me as if they were my very own. It is just my nature. Having a house full of chatter and chaos is a great sound.
I wish his mother appreciated him the way he deserves.

I ended up decorating my own Christmas tree primarily by myself.  Usually this makes me sad. I see all the ornaments from the past and I start to miss my kids. I see things on the tree that make me miss loved ones that have passed.  I attach a memory to each one.  I had to stop feeling sorry for myself long enough to go check the mail.

Inside the mailbox was a Christmas card from an old friend who had been suffering after a divorce.  We met for coffee a few months back.  He had been struggling through one relationship after another trying to get a foothold into what he once had.  I could tell he was looking to fill the void. Both of his children were away at college. He was forced to sell his nice house on the lake and downsize. The divorce was orchestrated by his ex wife who had just remarried.  At this particular coffee date, I felt the need to tell him something that everyone else was afraid to tell him.  I told him that he did not have the perfect marriage when he had been married. If it was perfect, he would not have been over-drinking or working himself to death traveling 24/7. I told him what he was mourning for had been a figment of his imagination and he needed to find what ever it was now that was HIS heart's desire.  I told him to stop looking to reinvent his heart and to let it lead him forward instead of looking to the past.
He has a new girlfriend now and the minute I met her, I knew she was going to be good for him.  His smile has not stopped since they have been together.  His card said that he valued my friendship and that at the time he thought I was crazy with the words I told him but in actuality I had been very wise.  I had to laugh at the thought of me being wise about anything.

In going back to work on decorating my tree alone, I realized how much love and care I have been given over the years. Each ornament is an heirloom of heartstrings.
Suddenly I don't feel so alone.  I feel very blessed and content.  
And isn't that what makes life beautiful?

Copy, Paste & Delete A Life

With the push of a few buttons, I can create-share-delete a life. If it were only easy to do the same with a memory, that would be bliss.  I gave this post a full hour to come to a rambling life.
Here we go:

I have often shared my lifetime of experiences with some who cared to hear. I am one of those "helpful" people who think that no one should struggle when someone can either ease the burden or at least have someone else learn from my same mistakes but I have no idea how to save myself.
Ironic, isn't it?
I take time out of my life…out of my family's life….to save someone who really could care less.  Do I make a difference? That isn't for me to say.
Moving on…..

I (somehow) completely forgot about meeting one of my cousins who was coming in to town. Thankfully she called before she arrived so I was able to meet up with her. It has been over 40 years since I saw her last.  (I know…I was just a baby when she left;-) We have recently reconnected via the internet and we share the common bond of family but in essence, we are strangers. Her laugh is one I could recognize out of millions.  It is funny how memories can be sparked by sounds, scents and places.  The world scatters us amongst it's corners but we still have that connection.

I was named after most of my female cousins. A feat I have no idea how my mother came up with but she was the youngest girl of 9 children and she was resourceful. We take so much for granted but our stepping stones of the past are the stock of which we are made.  Like pieces of a puzzle that fit nicely together.  Holiday's cement the nostalgia and create memories for future generations.  I have recipes that have been handed down for years. Nothing ever really changes.

This Thanksgiving, my Momma did not make it down to the dinner table for dinner.  She was not able to prepare the meal but she wanted it to be at her house….for one last time.  She knew we would need that memory.  Hospice provided a huge portion of the meal.  To them, I am grateful.  They allowed her to keep her dignity because any Southern woman who is not able to cook in her own kitchen is heartbreaking.  Each year, my sister & I threaten to go to Cracker Barrel for dinner.  Years ago, I went to the beach for Thanksgiving.  It was the worst holiday ever.  We had to eat steak because none of the restaurants there served traditional Thanksgiving fare…actually there were only 2 restaurants open on the island that day because it was off-season.  We thought it would be great to just "get away" but the kids had a better idea of not messing with tradition.  So many minutes and memories we take for granted.

I have scores of old photographs. I love the memories that come back to me when I look at those faces and remember.  There will be a time when that is all that is left for my children & grand children to cherish.  My son asked that instead of exchanging big gifts this year, we could do stuff the entire month of December to make new memories and share some time together.
At times, I wonder who this child belongs to.

I continued my "Month of Thanks" through today because it was the opportune time to tell someone that in a "6-degrees of you" way, I was thankful for their being instrumental in enabling me to  meet a true friend.
I labeled my true friend as 'my salvation'.  I never faltered with the description.  It was just "there". Inside my little head.  After I finally looked up the meaning, I realize now it is more true than I could have ever hoped for:
salvation |salˈvāSHən|noun:deliverance from sin and its consequences, believed by Christians to be brought about by faith in Christ.• preservation or deliverance from harm, ruin, or loss:
That last part was the sting to this whole thing.  He truly has delivered me from harm, ruin, or loss.  When someone you trust pushes you to the edge of your sanity-where else is there to go?  For no matter how much good there is in your life-the dark will always be there.  It is never far away.  It hides in a bottle of pills or a bottle of booze. It creeps around in the negativity you freely spout and share with others.  It kills your soul.  My friend points me in the right direction and shows me what gifts & talents I have to give to others and to myself when I feel less than worthy of even drawing a breath.
He has restored my happiness and my faith.
Happiness is a powerful and freeing thing.
Faith makes your spirit soar.
And for that, my heart is most thankful.

Picture Perfect…..Almost

When I (finally) decide to write, the last thing that gets filled in is the title.  I never know where this effort is going to take me.  It is a long rambling thing.

Less than two weeks ago I went to the Pearl Jam concert. I solicited wardrobe help from someone younger & male in the knowledge of how to dress for this occasion. He was very correct in his advice. It was not really my cup of tea but I had to go. My companions were giddy. It was so much fun listening to them talk about things like they were experiencing their birthday's for the first time. All guards were down and we were bonding. It was a special night and I was very glad to be a part of it.

I met some newish people in the last few weeks and it is really funny "meeting" people you grew up with. You can base some of your familiarity of their old being off of when you knew them before but then you realize you have no idea who this person really is unless you spent time with them.  I was shocked one day to see a guy I went to school with (for 7 years) on the local news for murder. He had killed his ex-girlfriend. He was an all-star athlete and a close friend had dated him in high school. He was the last person I expected to see in that spot.  You just never know about people.

I watched old friends talking and laughing the other night. We were there to celebrate an old classmate's 50th birthday.  When my old friend Vickie laughed and said something, for a split second she sounded just like junior high-Vickie. She knew it too because she shot me a glance from across the room and we raised our glasses to each other.  We survived so much between growing up/guys/life.  She introduced me to my first real boyfriend. My first best guy friend.  It seems silly.  Over the years, I thought I had lost him at one point but thanks to Facebook, I hunted him down and owed him a much overdue apology.  If there was ever a person who spooled me rotten, it was him. And he knows this.  Week before last I was digging in an old steamer trunk we have old stuff stored in and ran across old pictures of he & I.  These pictures have not seen the light of day in over 25 years.  It was comical when I was telling VIckie that one had a letter written to her on the back of it. She told me "I have all your postcards and letters you sent me.  I let Sonny read them the other night."  I wanted to crawl under the table.  I have no idea what I wrote. I have no idea where they were mailed from.  I just know I wrote from the heart.  I loved to write. I still do.  I was jokingly called the "Hallmark Poster Child" because I used to use one of the first card-writing programs because I wanted to design my own cards and stationery. I could never find what I wanted and I think that handwriting things is a connection to the past.  I still have most of the cards & notes that people have given me over the years.  I am a memory hoarder.

When I was in school and I took an interest in a fella, one of the biggest pet peeves of mine was if he could not write or spell correctly-we had nothing in common.  Grammar wasn't a big deal to me but if I could not decipher their notes, it was a deal-breaker.  Luckily VW could write. He could actually spell and he was smart.  I was a major note-passer.  I think that is when I fell in love with writing & drawing.
It is an art form that will be locked away in a museum one day.

Putting pen to paper and letting thoughts flow gives you a glimpse into someone's soul.  I have ran my fingers over the ink-stained pages of journals. It is a comfort to me. It is a calming.  Texting and chatting are fine. They are a link of communication. I love photographs and all that ties them together. It is like a moment in time frozen and tangible.  A slice of a memory that makes it mine.  Something we shared that my soul needs.  I think we are cheating ourselves with electronic memories. I want a paper picture to hold to my heart when I need to feel closer and when I need to reflect.  The fragility of the paper is just as fragile as the electronic picture but the latter has a greater chance to be lost. At least if I misplace a picture, I have a hope of re-finding it. If my computer crashes, I am just out of luck.
And then my memory will have to re-live it.  And if I cannot recall a 4-digit combination, what hope is there of that actually happening?

And yes, I deleted the picture *someone* requested that I delete this past week.  With great reluctance.  It is but a memory now.  I think *someone* promised me a new picture in lieu of me deleting that one.  So…..I am waiting for a new memory.

Using My Outside Voice Inside The Building

Once upon a time, I was shy. I was reserved. I was a wall flower.
In the light of being ME, I realized that at the age of 49, I own a voice.
In reality, I sound like a 14 year old girl.
Who giggles a lot.

I had the great fortune to work with 200 plus senior citizens this past week. Two of them asked me out for drinks afterwards. One threatened to spank me with his cane.  It was fun joking with them but when it came time to do my job, I had to be stern.

You can be nice to a point but with my timid voice, I can only herd so many willing cats & people.  So I had to use my "outside voice" and it quickly got their attention.
It is the equivalent to calling a child by their full legal name.
It is a tone that is reserved for only a few occasions.  This prompted me to get 2 text messages from people within the group that know me on a personal basis. The first one said "I didn't know you had it in you." The second text message was "Why have you not done that before?".
Really?
There is no need to use The Voice on a daily basis but I am glad to know it exists. And it does so without getting hysterical or shaky. It is not a voice of ego or boastfulness. I never had to use it much when raising my children. I suppose that is why it laid dormant for so long.

As a child, I was a bit of a boy.  I fought like one. I played sports like one. I worked like one.  I did manual labor. I was not a glamor girl. Very far from it.  My Dad told me that he raised Daddy's Boys. That when it came to getting ahead in this world, he did not want us to take any crap off of anyone.  Sadly, we also became very rebellious.  And devious. And I have never backed down from a fight.....mentally or physically.  Adulthood takes the shape of so many things but you never forget who you grew up with and the stings from the past.

Recently a "friend" took to cyber bullying a co-worker.  I knew that eventually someone would call her out on it. It was not going to be my crusade to go toe-to-toe with her.  I realized I could not become the very thing she was.  Some people are never going to change. Even the ones who are victims themselves. They have to live their life. I cannot live it for them. I cannot be their moral compass. I have to change the things I can and live this life that has been laid out for me.

With that being said, I would still punch her in the mouth if she said anything about me.

Old habits die hard.

Well, well, well.

Soooooo.........
This past Friday found me wallowing in a pool of old Kleenex's and a half empty cereal bowl. Glamorous.  I have no idea why it had come to this. I was emotionally & physically exhausted.  The day's events had taken their toll.  My Dad was having a normal day and then started passing blood so my sister rushed him to his doctor where they did a procedure in the office to remedy the situation. Turns out it was his prostate.  He goes back in Monday for the same procedure. Luckily on Monday he gets to have pain meds.  My Dad has an amazing sense of humor and the last time he had to have this done in office with no meds, he equated it to having a pool cue stuck up inside him while the doctor looked for the white cue ball.  I imagine this to be very painful.  The last time I had to take him for this procedure, he downed 2 Valium en route and then decided he needed to throw his used coffee cup down in the parking lot.  The umbrella he carried was for poking elevator numbers and since I had no idea where the doctors office was, I decided to let him have his fun.  After getting off on the 4th floor twice, I realized we were in trouble.
Anyway.....they have sent him home with a catheter which he has labeled "his purse".

Hospice has been on call for my Mother for months and my parents are starting to slowly realize that she is not coming back to the "quality of life" that they had hoped she would achieve. She is getting tired more easily and the veins are starting to harden in her legs. It is just a matter of time before she will not be able to go to dialysis.  In our meeting last week Living Wills were discussed and signed.   My Dad will not know what to do no matter how much we have instructed him.  There is always that moment of panic.  Of helplessness.  We have always been people of means. Of knowledge. Of the mentality that "If I do not know what to do, I can find out or find someone to help you." I get that from my Dad.  I get the "I can do anything with enough time, money and confetti" from my Mom.

There were several text messages that made me weepy on Friday night.  Then the realization that my true BFFF made in reference to Hitler & Eva Braun that gave me a nice kick in the pants.  Thanks for that.  Truly.

A passing remark was made last week: that there was very little I couldn't do.  They said it to be taken as a compliment but it really wasn't.  Not considering the source.  That is fine. I have always been able to try to achieve the impossible.  Some people have benefitted from that "skill" and others have taken advantage of it.  I just keep on moving.  Nothing else I can do.  I had to verbally promise and physically pinky swear with my doctor that I would not leave my house or clean or fix anything for 48 hours.  Isn't that pathetic? His lecture to me was that I was the type of person who felt compelled to fix everything and anything without any regard for myself. If I rebelled this time though, my body would pay the price. Well that is just great.  He put me on steroids (which make me want to clean and organize everything) and then he tied my hands together.  So the voices that won't shut up now need a place to vent and play.  There is always that thing called Facebook.....yes, I will get on there and clog up the new feeds.  I can debate and post funnies.

Then there was this............

Sometimes someone speaks to me when they don't even know they have.  I got a simple picture and a note.  This person knows my thoughts. Knows my heart.  He knows when I am suffering and he manages to say things directly to me without me ever having heard a real word.  "Been awhile?"
So here I am.  It isn't 3am and I am not getting myself into all kinds of trouble like I have been known to do.  What do I say that is profound or important or useful?  Nothing. I just let the words come out on their own and they are just words.  They clean the slate to make room for more beauty. More laughs. More points of useless views that are my own.

My life has been very different since July 17th, 2013.  I sat in my car and talked on the phone to a complete stranger. For hours.  I think I laughed more in that time span than I ever have in my entire life.  I heard a voice and it was like "home".  When you have to reflect on things and realize how much other people make you laugh or bring you joy, it really is eye-opening.  What a person perceives as perfect really rarely is. My friend and I have common ground and recently when I shared the location where I was taught to drive a stick-shift, he said I was probably too busy giggling about things to properly learn how to drive a straight drive.  It wasn't a picnic.  It was serious work!  And that relationship was completely different from any I have ever had.  There was no effort made to preserve memories.  We were too busy making them and not looking back.  Looking back is dangerous.  It causes you to have doubt and believe in things that do not exist.  No matter how much you believe in them or want them or feel the need to have them in your life.  I think of all the times I needed hand-holding/head-holding and it makes me sick.  Physically ill.  There are days when I still need to be reminded of who I am and where I am going. That will never change.  But I have foundations built that ensure that I never falter far.  Faith and friends.

In the 1,000's of conversations I have in a weeks span (generally with only about 3 people), the one that hit me hardest was when I was reminded of people who come into our lives and we invest in them.....then for some reason, they disappear or some outside force intervenes and "POOF"...no more.  I shall mentally call this "The Abyss".   In The Abyss, people go and jump in with their hands held high in the air.  (I wish I could draw better. Pictures would be awesome right about now to break up the wordy words. ) Anywho.....they never look back to see me waving them "Bye. Farewell. Good Luck." And when they come back to say hello, I am reminded that we had a bond. I never forget that bond.  That would be selling these people short and I never do that to a friend. Not a true friend.  And besides, some people have never had a friend like me.  (I know, right about now, some people are cussing under their breath.  Sorry.)

I invest in people.  They make my life worth living.  And isn't that what this is all about?

This is my reply about past friends who have left & carried on: 

"But they weren't Me." 

 Some people would do well to remember that.  

Thank you for reading and thank you for the help.  I owe you all a drink;-)

Dancing

I turned another year older since I last blogged.
It seems a little silly to realize how old you are in comparison to music, clothes and history of the rest of the world.
I don't feel this old. I still have lego toys. I still refuse to go to bed at a sensible hour.
There must be a mistake somewhere.

In chatting with my several of my coworkers recently, who are all much younger than me and males, the general comments were that I do not act nor look as old as I am.
Such sweet boys.  Yeah. I feel this old when I look in the mirror and see how long in the tooth I really am.

I have longevity on my side because I am part Asian.  (Don't tell me any different) I never think about how long I will be on this Earth. I concentrate on making it a fun time with people who matter.
I don't hang on to clothes like most people do. I have 3 things from a former life. They will never see the light of day again. It is childhood sealed in a zip lock bag. There should be a light that goes off when you become nostalgic that says "Danger". It is good to visit the past but just not to get stuck there.
You aren't there anymore. Just the spirit of what was.

My son has been diagnosed with a condition: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyperthymesia
This has been a little comical. We try to humor him when it kicks into overdrive. He refused to accompany us on a recent ghost tour.
I think he was afraid he would experience something he could not explain or be able to forget.
I love ghost stories and spooky places. As long as they are happening in the daylight. I recalled a story a few weeks back that was so vivid in my memory.....it was like living it all over again. Being someone who is afraid of the dark, it goes against my entire being to embrace spooky. But I do.
I think it is partly because some of my most favorite people have passed on and I have faith in their existence in Heaven. It only stands to reason that time layers and blends. There is only so much time/space area so it has to overlap somewhere. I think that is when the spirits slip out.

I always envision my passed over relatives spending some sort of presence with me when I am at my loneliest and darkest. That is a comfort. How can there just be a selective ghost there and not others? Religion parades the Holy Ghost around like he is the only one. I wonder if he is?
I think if I were to befriend a ghost, it would have to be Casper. Then again, a Patrick Swayze "Ghost" type wouldn't be bad to chat with either......as long as there were some "Dirty Dancing" involved.

And I mean real dancing.
Most definitely.

I Hope This Is The Last Funeral For A While....I'm All Out of Black

Sometimes I despise Facebook.
Upon hearing the news of an old friend's death, via Facebook, I shut my computer down.  I did not want to give evil another avenue to reach me.
I gave the news the proper respect and mournfulness it deserved.  There are people I would not cry over even if you paid me to.  I am not cruel but it just takes a certain type of person to prompt me to cry.  That person would be William.

In high school, we were classmates.  We had 2 classes together and he was the shy kid.  He and his buddies were inseparable.  There are people who you just wish big and wonderful things for.  That would be William.

It's funny how you can pull a fragment out of your memory and it is just "there". I can still hear his infectious laugh.  His laugh and his crystal eyes were timeless.  Gray hair and wrinkles all faded from view when he was around.  We were kids again.

We were friends & neighbors.

The circumstances of his death bother me more than anything: Suicide.

How could this boy, who could make you laugh with ease and be so kind, commit this selfish tragedy?

Recently remarried, recently returned from a trip visiting with family, were there not signs or signals that someone missed?  Cues overlooked that could have saved him?
There have been 3 suicides in my extended circle of friends and family.
Trying to make sense of it all is not going to bring them back.

My friend, after hearing my news of this, said "Well, people say if you commit suicide, you go to Hell.  I think if you are prepared to do something like this, you are already in Hell."

In talking with a member of the clergy, the very liberal clergy, I would care to add......we discussed this after my Dad's friend committed suicide "in front" of his family.  Parenthesis are there because his wife had walked into the garage just out of view when he shot himself.  I asked Preacher Man about this because I said "I think it is a selfish and desperate act." Preacher Man was quick to tell me that desperate people do tragic things and their mind may not be in the right place.
We are quick to not understand the difference between a blessing and being fortunate.
And prayers are involved.

Preacher Man told me about sitting bedside with terminally ill patients in Hospice.  Their family prays & prays for a cure.  When so much hangs in the balance, you become desperate.  You can ride the precipice of having great Faith or no Faith at all.  This is why some people just lose their way completely after a tragic happening.  They feel like they have been abandoned by God or a higher power because things did not go their way.  Sometimes death is a blessing.  We cannot possibly know the scope of what is to be.  So many raw emotions happen and it clouds judgement.  It clouds reasoning.  It exposes your soul.  I know there is scripture that outlines this but because I am not versed in the bible....this is my way to reason things out.

The best thing you can wish for and bestow upon everyone in this situation is peace.  There is a comfort that comes with knowing that through all the pain and suffering, something straight from the heart has been done.  No more pain. No more suffering. No more tears.

So tomorrow I will grieve as we bury the person I once knew as William.  The boy with the infectious laugh and crystal eyes. I wish you peace.  Always.

Uncharted Waters

Recently I stepped out of my comfort zone and initiated a friendship.  I went beyond the realm of my little world and it has paid off big time.  I am truly the happiest I have ever been and it shows in all facets of my life.  My house is cleaner, my hair is shiner and I can almost understand fractions.  Seriously though, when I think back to drowning in my own tears.....this place right here feels best.

In that tone, I worry what if things go south quickly? What if I am no longer the shiny, new toy?  How do you adapt to be comfortable enough to relax and just "be"?  Living in the moment has always escaped my grasp as I squeezed the life out of things.  Children are a prime example.  You try so hard to create memories instead of just letting them happen.  Letting them play and enjoy the tiniest happiness of something as simple as dirt and a stick.  I think this is one place where grandparents are the Keepers of the Map.  We get to play and teach without trying to rush through a bath/feeding/school.    We take the time to savor the juiciest peach.  Feel the softness of a blanket.

One summer, we spent the most amazing week at the beach. The weather was iffy. There were no grand meals purchased. No big fish were involved.  It wasn't a Disney-infused frazzle. We didn't spend a ton of money. We were just happy together. We picked up several new sayings and they are mainly inside jokes to our family but if someone says it, we are transported back to that one summer as if by magic.   I looked back on those photos the other day and a feeling of happiness swept over me.

Certain songs can spark a memory or create one.  I horde music the way most people covet chocolate.  It is an investment I never tire of.  I like a broad range of things and it never stops to entertain me.  When my mother named me, she never told me where the name came from.  I must remember to ask.  The only thing I knew was that I could never find it on a keychain. Plenty of Michelle's and Mary's. But no "Me".  It was just as well.  I was not someone who could be repetitiously plastered on cheap things.

I learned some very valuable things in dealing with my horrible yesterday: Friends will help you get through almost anything.  They offer wisdom, guidance, laughter and a shoulder.  I am certain that things will be as they are intended even without my worry.  I am happiest writing.  I learned an equally great thing yesterday: Write for yourself.  Have no one else in mind when doing so.  The words flow and join hands.  They simmer and jump about.  The harmony of a well written piece is the responsibility of the writer but the reader is also needed to do this waltz.  I have things I need to get out of my head and out of my mouth. The purpose of a Blog is to put words out in public view. To open up your soul on a page is very hard.  Someone interprets things one way or senses something totally opposite because of their voice inflection.  If you have only spoken to people via social media or email, you have not really given them the full spectrum of a true friend.  You need to hear their tone, the warmth of their voice. These are things that, as a human, we crave.  There are some people I could sit and listen to for hours.  The gentleness of their tone. The sunshine in their voice.  The comfort and care of their laugh.  It is what makes my world go around.

Sometimes late at night, I can still hear my children laughing.  I can hear loved one's who have passed.  It is probably just the rustling of leaves in the wind.
I know these are just memories swirling around but they are a comfort to me in the still darkness.

Always

I sat at lunch today and realized how much a soul needs to bleed.  It is part of the companionship and rite of sitting at the "Cool Kid's Table".

So many things being discussed over the breaking of bread.  Or in our case, mini spring rolls.  We laugh and time passes so quickly.  Sometimes we shed tears either out of joy or out of misery.  Children grow up and you better have a mighty fine support network to help hold your laughs and dreams together beyond that-that's what friends are for. Our lunch dates are sacred.  The world's problems don't come knocking without an invitation to lunch.  Not allowed.

Listening to people at the next table compare class schedules for their children made me reflect back on the first year my oldest child went to school.
It wasn't a very dramatic thing. It was like the gentle closing of a door.  I encouraged him to be brave. To be aware. Somewhere along the way, I think we pushed our children to be too much.  Now, I just want them to be happy. To be safe. To be content.  That last word is the key to so many things.  Someone told me last week that they never get bored.  All cylinders firing all the time.  I do not recall my children ever saying they were bored.  Never. The things that make us happy & content are not really things. They are a state of being.  Those are the skills we should be teaching our children.  In the process, you will find yourself doing the same.

Recently, I have been on a mission to not over-manage anything. To just let it be.  I have almost reached that point. I would work myself to death trying to get one task finished only to realize I had missed the total goal.  My expectations and interpretations were always one step away.  There will never be enough money for me to be free.  There isn't suppose to be.  If monetary gain is the only purpose in life, it will always be a sad one.  I sat in not one, not two...but three hospital rooms on three separate occasions and witnessed what the power of money could not do.  It could not buy more time. It could not bridge a gap of true loneliness and it could not mend a family.  Only love can do two out of three.  I really like those odds.

I have had several people who recently had loved one's pass away from cancer. It is a cruel and heartless way to go.  I would rather get smacked by a truck than have my family sitting at my bedside dealing with that.
The one thing I know is the fleeting moment of panic that comes.  You are totally helpless.  An old friend told me "I don't know what my place or purpose is to be there at my Momma's bedside while she dies." My advice to him was that she had taken care of him for so long so it was his turn to return the love.

It is our duty, as the living, to accompany the dying to their final resting place.  I explained to him that she could still hear him whispering how much he loved her and that she wasn't alone. Still feeling the coolness of a damp rag on her forehead.  Still feeling the caress of his lips on the back of her hand.  Treat her like a baby. Keep the lights low, the temperature comfortable. Read to her.  Tell her about what the world outside of that room looked like and how the sun was beaming down that day-possibly her last day on Earth.  These are memories we need to cherish to find peace afterwards.  There is something that exists but we cannot quite grasp it....when a soul leaves a body.  It is almost like a wisp of solid air moves out of the corner of our sightline and then it's gone.  Softly. Quietly.
The person becomes a memory that is kept alive through photographs, stories and feelings.
And love.
Always through love.

Laughingly

When I start out to write a blog, it generally finds it's way here to develop and become something. I am not sure what it is to be......just thoughts on a screen. A moment in passing.
I used to do my "great" musings while washing dishes or cleaning the house. The activity drowns out any hope for interruption and I can let my mind wander where it wants to.
I keep a real journal and track things like sleep habits and what I was actively dealing with. I find that through the years, the things I thought were important are becoming less so and seeking peace/happiness is like a quest.  I bank on the memories of others.

I always thought traveling would be incredible but then realized I left people at home that I wanted to experience it with.  Then you run into that whole "I missed you until you were actually here." syndrome.  Absence does make the heart grow fonder.  The lack of me having to stop for the 5th time to let someone out to go pee just has a profound effect on your perception of travel.  Lately some of my trips have been marred by influences from out of my circle.  I have a circle of people I let in. I readily take their calls and make time specifically for them.  It amazes me how the dynamics of a relationship can change.  I grew up in a very unstable household.  It was unorthodox from the beginning and just escalated to what it is now, which is strained at times but familiar.

I was a recreational dater.  I would date just so I did not have to sit at home.  I worked every chance I got so I did not have to be at home.  It certainly wasn't for the money.
I saw an old friend a few weeks back and he said "I always admired your ability to just jump in and get the job done." I had no idea I even possessed that quality.  Years ago, I took on impossible tasks to just get the challenge conquered.  I rarely enjoyed the journey.  I never had plans or lists.  I suddenly have a GPS to take me on an unexpected trip to the grocery store.  If you had to read the snail trail my GPS leaves, you would be so dizzy and confused.  I sometimes go the direct route but if given time, I take the scenic byway.  I always have.  I find the funny in everything.  Even the most dire and serious of consequences.
Being able to laugh with someone is just the greatest gift ever.  Things shift and blend.  I remember laughing with my friends and if their quick wit couldn't grasp it, we worked on it until they could. People truly make the world go around. The one's who do not know how to or are too lazy to network
are missing out on the greatest secret of life.  Science has already proven that in order to find a compatible friend, your sub-concios actually seeks out key features that you can identify quickly and any amount of gold isn't going to be distracting enough to take away from psychic bond,,,,that is so very true.
Just keep yourself in check because you just never realize the beauty of a friendship until they both decide to go out at once.

SELF SERVICE SEX......got your' attention now, don't I?

Yes, this is the article that started it all. I wrote it for a men's magazine so that is the audience it addresses but don't let that stop you from perusing it.
I was notified by the magazine that they were yanking (sorry for the pun) all online access to it and I have since changed operating systems so I needed to preserve it.  This is where it shall live.
I have several guy-pals to thank for bringing this article to fruition.  Hat's off to ya, fellas!

"CAN SELF-SERVICE SEX BE A SPIRITUAL JOURNEY?”

By Lucinda Blithe

Masturbation is universally practiced….90% of the male species has done it, or are currently doing it.  The other 10% are just telling a lie about not doing it at all. Shame on them!

Growing up, male buddies have their late night campfire-talks. It is a rite of passage to be in the secret ‘head nod’ club that consists of a class of non-verbal, self-discovering 5^th graders.  Sadly, masturbation rarely makes good conversation at the family dinner table when it should be discussed openly and accepted.  Stigmas and unfavorable opinions could be silenced and dealt with before dessert hit the table. Think of how many years of therapy could be avoided!

Self pleasure is often perceived to be a weakness.  In private conversations with some of my closest male pals on this subject, some think it is a nasty and horrible habit. Strong Christian family values instill a negative taboo influence on something that is so basic, beautiful and natural.  If you admit to masturbating, you are perceived to be perverted or immoral. 

I am here to tell you loudly: IT IS NOT AND YOU ARE NOT!!!!!!!!!

My BFF would never let me tell you this but how dare I try to keep it away from you?  Masturbation is a self-medicating and virtuously satisfying experience.   It can even provide spiritual awareness.  You cannot love anyone until you learn to love yourself. To delight yourself is a form of release/replenish for your mind and your body.  You have an inner, invisible agenda just waiting to be set off.  All that explosive energy in one place, just before an orgasm, is a very powerful thing.

Spiritually, your entire existence is being focused like a laser beam on getting the job done.  Take yourself in hand, so to speak, do the deed and then you can move on to your other business of the day.

Perhaps you could consider masturbation to be your ‘out with the old, in with the new’ self-service policy?  

Medically, masturbation could possibly save your life. Several conflicting urological clinical study discussions suggest that masturbating later in your life can help drain the prostate gland by getting rid of accumulated toxins within your body by ejaculation, thereby reducing the risk of developing prostate cancer.  Masturbation helps work your prostate gland during a time when you don’t feel the need, or are unable to do so via intercourse.  While that news is not exactly the opposite of bad, it falls in the gray abyss.  This theory has not been firmly established, and further research is necessary. You and I both know you have purchased a lottery ticket with fewer odds.  We are discussing prostate cancer, so to be on the safe side, perhaps you should masturbate.

Even though tinkering with tradition is a no-no; battery operated or hand driven toys and ‘machine oil’ help enhance the experience.  Don’t be selfish with the fun if you don’t have to be.  Mutual masturbation with your partner can be a mind-blowing, sexual experience.  Women learn how to play with ease creating a very gratifying experience for the male.  Many women are even willing to show you HOW to pleasure them and how to do it WITH them.  Before you fully disclose to your mate your deepest thoughts on your ‘secret handshake’ though, consider the situation you are in. Will revealing this cause problems of insecurity? Will admitting you masturbate create distrust because you were not upfront sooner?  Can you approach it from a broader angle and see what the response is initially?  If you feel it is better left unsaid, then you have my full permission to do so.  It will be our little secret. Okay? *Wink, wink*.

Masturbation is a very private thing and playing with a partner for the first time may make you think twice about attempting it.  Be brave. To open up, try using a blindfold.  This works great in helping you to concentrate on the task at hand and gets you into your comfort zone. 

In taking turns, it is usually best for ladies to go first.  Women have the home field advantage in this department because most are able to climax multiple times compared to your one main Grand Stand.  The spiritual sexual energy that is built up between the two of you can be shared even if you aren’t physically touching each other.  You can both even go at the same time or progress to the ‘hands on each other’ approach-touching or enabling each other to climax greater.  Take advantage of the extra helping hands.  You can even come in at the end and help out with the big finish.  As you advance and become more comfortable, sexual fantasies and sex toys can spice things up even more. 

Allow yourself to express your desires.  Don’t plan what your next move will be.  Spontaneity can be one of your best allies so do not rush through it. Connect with your partner on every level and you will have the most fun.  Lightly touching and teasing can help build up to a steady stimulation.  Experiment and pay attention to your partner’s reactions.  Deeper breathing, moaning and increased body tension can be your guide that you are doing something very right. 

Lefty loose-y/Righty tight-y? Adjust your grip and use your hand in a different way than your “usual”.  Use the heel of your hand to feel the shaft of your penis, or try making a cup with your palm over the head to offer some resistance as you maneuver your hand down the axis.  Work your middle finger and thumb into a ring around your girth.  Feel those ridges? Those are the backbone of pure satisfaction.  Be sure to use lots of lubrication to avoid chafing. Wetter is usually better.  Oil-based lubricants are great to use in hand-job-only play because they don’t dry out as quickly.  Use water or silicone-based lubricants if using a condom or toys to play with later. 

While standard strokes are great, try different kinds.  Try a gentle twisting, tug motion while moving your hand or your playmate’s hand up and down.   You can alternate between short strokes at the base of the penis along with short strokes at the tip of the head. 

Try a gentle squeeze.  Adjust the pressure of your grip.  Thrust your hips or try using your other hand. It may seem a little odd at first and you can always go back to your old standby routine.  Another idea is to try the 2-handed method: Put one hand at the base of your penis and press towards your pelvic bone all while exploring with different hand strokes along the shaft.  There is no one correct way to do it.  Try taking advantage of the perineum.  It is a band of nerves that flow between the testicles and the anus.  Have your companion massage, pump or stroke this area with just their fingertip to see if you give a positive reaction.  If the signals say “keep it coming”….amp it up and have them press their knuckle in to stimulate the prostate. 

Even if you have your’ old faithful routine, you may be missing something more.  Teach your old dog a new trick he isn’t likely to forget.

Girls have always been at the forefront of the sexual revolution.  Sisters have been squelched from talking about masturbation but they openly have parties that promote exploring and experimenting with various techniques.  They purchase sex hardware under the guise of a home party or shop at tastefully decorated, well-lit stores. 

What do men have? Dark rooms, pole dancers and porn. 

Guys are voracious, visual animals.  Getting arousal-worthy material means sometimes crossing the proverbial line.  Freely expand your horizons but please, satisfy your sexual appetite legally and privately.  The colloquial euphemism ‘en flagrante delicito’ which is Latin for ‘Blazing offense or caught red handed’ is not something you want to hear mentioned aloud in a court of law.  Anything legally labeled as lewd, lascivious or salacious has the serious potential to end unfavorable for you and all involved.  (Please insert your mental image of PeeWee Herman’s Paul Reubens here.) “Ha,ha. Made you look”.

Up until now, you have been given the authorization to unlock your hidden self but (there is ALWAYS a ‘but’) take note:

Too much of a good thing is when masturbation becomes your entire sex life.  Self-pleasure is not a substitute for real, human interaction.   If you would rather perform solo than have sex with a partner, strive to keep a healthy balance.  Remember to see your favorite urologist immediately if you are or begin to have problems.  There is a sexual dysfunction condition called ‘retarded/delayed ejaculation”   Go ahead & Google it.  You know you want to.  

It is time to give yourself permission to touch your body in places & ways that nobody but you can understand. This is your right and your privilege. After all, each and every guy does beat to his own drum, even those 10 percent who are clearly liars.

Hiding Me

I find myself trying to define "me" daily.
In my best effort, I gently have to say "That just isn't me." Labels.  Tags. Methods. They all work in formula and theory.
I really don't think I have horns but others would disagree.  Loudly.
I am rarely allowed to be just me.  I am usually someone's friend/parent/support/keeper of secrets. I rarely get the chance to just be.
I want a person I can just be "me" with.
No excuses. No apologies if I use my shirt sleeve to dab the corners of my mouth.  I don't want to have to explain myself. I don't want to have to carry this weight myself.

I see life and people in very different colors.
I will never comply to everyone's vision of me.

I laugh loudly at the most inappropriate jokes & movies. I take comfort in the dark as it camouflages my face.  There is safety in numbers when people sit in judgement.
I listen to people comment on things daily and I know they rarely tell the truth.
If I care enough to ask a question, someone should care enough to give me an honest answer.
I ask for a reason.  I am curious and want/need to know.
Casual conversation escapes most people. It is an art. Anyone can talk.  Taking the time to listen takes effort and very few people expend the energy that is needed.
How sad is that?

Losing Things & Finding Wisdom

Recently, I thought I had lost my camera which led me into believing I had also lost my mother's charm bracelet.  

I went tearing through all my known hiding places, all the spots I normally lay things that are akin to my right hand and produced nothing.  Zero. Zilch. 

In looking for the camera, I stumbled across the box that, at one time, held my Mother's charm bracelet: EMPTY.

I found $13 in an old handbag. Win. But still no camera or charm bracelet.

I discovered, in my panic, that I own too much junk.

It is a recipe for disaster when we become less of a consumer and more consumed.  

People acquire things, people acquire people.  It is a vicious cycle.  I hope to one day be able to not feel the need to hold on to so much stuff. I need boxes & bins to hold stuff of stuff. What do I plan to do with this treasure trove of lip gloss, ink pens & twist ties? Save humanity? 

I save things because I may need them for an emergency.

Where is this stuff when a true emergency comes along? No where near me.

My mother has boxes of things she hopes to do one day.  Her days are running out fast.  I think this is when most people start giving things away-when they don't want to burden their heirs with the task of finding a home for their treasured belongings.  I have nothing that grand to give away.  The importance I place upon things is only sentimental to me.  I keep every token of a happy memory as if I could stop time and go back to visit it again just by glancing on that one piece of paper or card.  It would be nice to do that.  

Actually it would be great.

I should write a story about that.

(**A future note to be placed here....for when you get really bored and need an idea of something to do when you are not doing the other things you promised to get done by now.)

I value insightful conversation.  I was on the phone trying desperately to calm down and search for said lost items when my very busy friend Kimball said "Just breathe. Stop looking.  Now go take a drink of water and walk to the very place you wish you had placed the camera." I thought "You fool....I am having a crises and you want me to drink water?" I did it anyway.  And found my camera. In plain sight. Where I had looked twice before.

And then he said "I have your' Mom's charm bracelet. You dropped it off here to be cleaned and when you came to pick it up, I told you to just leave it here until you had time to deliver it straight to her because you would forget where you left it." 

I love my wise friends.  

I am glad we found each other.

My, How Time Certainly Does Fly

When I was younger, I could not wait to get older.
I worked several jobs. I worked before I knew you had to get a worker's permit.  I remember spending my 13th birthday babysitting because that was the age you had to be to babysit in our neighborhood.

Being a kid meant trying to find a place or a job to run away to. I ran away to music.

I had the great fortune last week to meet my teenage rock and roll hero.

In February of 1981, Rick Springfield released the album, Working Class Dog, and it was "Game Over" for me. My younger sister owned it and would let me borrow it.  She didn't know I borrowed it but, nonetheless, I did. I stuck some fake album in the sleeve and she didn't discover it for weeks.  I got grounded for a week. The local record store could not keep a copy of it in stock so I couldn't buy my own.

I listened to it religiously. I fell in love with the lyrics, the guitar.......

Then along came Dr. Noah Drake on General Hospital and I was truly smitten.

When Clarence tells you "I've got you passes to the Rick Springfield concert." you believe him. When someone else tells you "I have your name on a Meet & Greet list."you become skeptical. I went from one end of the spectrum to the other. I didn't sleep for days.
I knew in my mind that here I was, fast forward 30+ years and about to meet someone who I drove around with in my car, danced to late at night, sang into a hairbrush with daily.....and we would be face to face possibly in a few hours.
I thought I would throw up.

I never get anxious about setting up interviews with "famous" people.  I work on the outskirts of the entertainment field so I should not get nervous about a brief encounter.
I was beyond giddy. I couldn't even eat the catered dinner they offered. I couldn't taste the food.

The things that you want to say and then blurt out like Ralphie on A Christmas Story are truly real-life genius.  It is all just a big swoosh and you want to preserve the moment in a time capsule. You want to see them happen in the crystal clear frozen for that one second and you are almost afraid to breathe. I rarely get excited. I rarely get my hopes up. Retract that last portion. I rarely get my hopes up where other people are in control of the circumstances.  We make our own happiness is really just a blur when the only happiness you want depends upon others and we all know humans are just plain fickle.

Somehow fate smiled on me this one time and I generated my own magic. And it was magical.

I met Rick Springfield! (That should be in ALL CAPS but I won't do that.) He is a real, honest-to-goodness person. He has a goofy laugh. He is embarrassed about the fuss that is made over him. He is older and none the wiser. His very public private life is displayed for the whole world to see and the vulnerability of it is staggering. His tales and adventures in dealing with depression mirror so many others I know. It is both sad and understandable. I empathize with his pain.
He said that he works to get money so that he can afford to help his friends and family to live comfortably.
You cannot fault the guy for that. 








Ticket prices were cheap enough to pack the small impromptu venue we were at. I am imagining he makes the bigger money at the bigger arenas and he is in high demand.  They are adding shows weekly to the tour so word is getting out.  It was almost Cinderella-like seeing all the older ladies buying "Jessie's Girl" t-shirts and watching the reaction of their younger daughters clearly not understanding the hoopla.  

Mr. Springfield works very hard for every penny he gets. At 63 years of age, he rips the stage apart like a kid. At one point he actually surfs the crowd. We talked to some behind-the-scenes folks post concert and were told he issued a "No barricades" order for the entire stage area.  You could walk right up to the stage and beside the stage. Something that is rarely heard of these days: Personable personalities.


It was beyond nice to be a kid again even if it was just for one very special night.

Thank you for that, Clarence.