tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68100577732483484472024-03-13T01:28:51.760-07:00Multifaceted GemsLucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-44242962164607608862014-06-13T07:15:00.000-07:002014-06-13T07:15:09.882-07:00HiatusThis blog will be on temporary hiatus until I can figure things out both mentally and physically....which may take some time but don't give up on me entirely.<br />
Thank you :-)Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-75572177260959462752014-05-23T16:39:00.000-07:002014-05-23T16:39:04.203-07:00Celebrate & Remember<div style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
(Thank you in advance for reading this very long plea for “help")</div>
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Earlier this week, I had the privilege and honor to attend a red carpet premier of the documentary film, <b>THE HORNET'S NEST,</b> with some members of the 101st Airborne and the director, David Salzberg. I was not prepared for what I witnessed. It is real battle footage that shows a father/son photojournalism team as they embed with US troops in Afghanistan. Our news suppresses a lot of what we see and hear from other parts of the world. </div>
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This movie brings it straight forward and politely dumps it squarely in your lap. Our military endures more than most of us would. Ever. They afford every luxury we sometimes take for granted and they sacrifice for us.</div>
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By the end of the screening, I couldn't stop crying. Grown men in the audience were crying. These were their brothers on screen. Some did not make it home. The film doesn't show grisly effects. It very eloquently and respectfully honors the fallen soldiers without any of the gore that we all know exists. </div>
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They say that every person on earth has been touched in some form by cancer either themselves or a close friend/family member. I think the same can be said about the military, too. We all have someone in our family who has or who is currently serving our country. Serving. What a word. Our military is solely all volunteer now. We have no draft. Every person in our military is there to do a job. They don't fight solely for democrats or republicans. They do their job to ensure the guy next to them gets to go home to his family. SEVERAL OF THE THOSE WHO DIED, APOLOGIZED FOR DYING BECAUSE THEY WERE NOT ABLE TO FULFILL THEIR JOB. </div>
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I feel so ashamed of my government for every penny they waste when our troops need equipment and resources available to them when they return . I don't hate my government. I hate the agendas they force that do not support our troops. Most of the Afghanistan war is being fought with explosives (IED's) and our guys are getting blown to bits, pieced back together (if they are lucky) and sent home to make do. "Carry on. Thanks for what you did but we cannot afford to help you anymore. I have a $1,000-a-plate dinner to host to raise funds so I can get someone else elected so we can send more people out to get the next wave going." THIS IS TOTALLY UNACCEPTABLE. The Department of Defense is cutting military funding again. Why????</div>
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We turn a blind eye and keep on going. There has to be an end.</div>
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<b><i>Mike Boettcher, one of the journalists of the film, said it best: "It is dangerous for a democracy to become disconnected with our people we send out there, in our name, to protect us.</i></b></div>
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We have to see what is happening. We have to see what OUR soldiers are going through. </div>
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<i><b>WE NEED TO SEE WHAT WE ARE TRULY THANKING OUR SOLDIERS FOR</b></i><b>.</b> </div>
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This film does not have big-name actors or a big studio to promote it or push it into every theater in the country. It needs our help. </div>
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Please.....share this: IT IS WORTH EVERY PENNY. <br />
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To every veteran: I THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART.</div>
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Please listen to the interview at the link below with Mike Boettcher about the film and his experiences: </div>
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http://www.spreaker.com/user/arroe/mike-boettcher-the-hornets-nest<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span>Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-17770658564755698452014-05-08T10:05:00.001-07:002014-05-08T10:07:28.864-07:00Toast or No Toast<span style="font-size: large;">As I was dancing around in the kitchen this morning, it dawned on me that I had not danced in a very long time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I am not certain if it is because of my newly found lack of coordination or the awkwardness of my body still moving around after I think I have stopped moving that has prompted this decision.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I should incorporate more movement into my life. I took 9 years of tap, ballet and jazz dancing so I think I have some rhythm somewhere. I save the baton twirling skills for impressing unsuspecting acquaintances at dinner parties. I am glad my Momma taught me to dance and forced me to take these lessons. Having this knowledge is a good secret weapon to have in your back pocket. I hope.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In talking about dating and such with an old friend, it occurred to me that we have a really hard time opening up and selling ourselves. Dating websites have you fill out questionnaires and we (I say this collectively) have the ability to just write down anything with no actual validity to it. We should work on selling our true selves better.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Up until today, I have never liked my sandwiches toasted. I have no idea where this came from but if given the opportunity, I would order them on bread....plain bread. I have eaten my last soggy sandwich. I am one of those weird people who only eat cheddar cheese on sandwiches too. American cheese is not real. It is orange snot. I am sorry. I hate to break it to you like this but it is true. The Americans did not section off "American only" cows and make cheese with their milk: it was cooked up in a time of military rations. I'll wait here while you google that bit of info.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I watched a most amazing, quirky movie yesterday. I like quirky. It suits me well. I embrace it like an old friend. We laugh at inside jokes and innuendos that I think no one else understands. The Grand Budapest Hotel is not for everyone. I just fell in love with it. I do that often: fall in love with movies I view at certain times of my life. I do the same with photographs. They imprint a feeling or message somewhere in my brain. I recall standing at a museum in DC and being bored to death with paintings they were telling us were great works of art but falling totally in love with a postcard at the National Theatre there. I purchased it and kept it on my bulletin board for years. It had a small unicorn on it and, for some reason, it just spoke to me. I purchased two copies and mailed the other off. No one else even noticed him. Funny how things happen that way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When my Momma passed away we began cleaning things out. I found her pictures of Pinky and Blue Boy. They hung in our house my whole life. Sometime during the last 5 years or so, she had taken them down. I figured she sold them at a yard sale but no. They were tucked quietly away in the closet. Just waiting. I look back at old photographs and can embrace a moment with love, laughter or anguish. It takes a strong person to not remember their rebellious youth without some hint of pain. I was always one of those people that if you told me I couldn't do something-I would prove you wrong. ...no matter the cost. Foolish me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was afforded many luxuries I never knew other children didn't have. We grew up going to the beach each summer. Our last few summers at home were spent staying in ocean front vacation houses. We swam in a pool all summer. We played golf and tennis. We rarely went without. One summer, my Dad announced we could not afford to go to the beach for vacation. It was 1976. Instead we went to Nashville, Tennessee and we stayed with my aunt. We toured Cherokee, The Grand Old Opry and other various tourist attractions. I have no idea why we went there because adding up the money for fuel and such, it seems ridiculous thinking it was cheaper. I remember riding in the way, way back of the station wagon facing backwards. And drinking a Dr. Pepper. And laughing at people stuck behind us. Good times, good times!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I think that is an essential key to good parenting: Never letting your kids see the ugliness of life. They will face it soon enough on their own. Teach them to dance. Teach them to swim, golf and throw a football. Teach them to paint, sew and cook. Even if you don't know how. Either take lessons with them or fake it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It is time spent with family creating memories that will help them get through the worst of life.......even when they don't know it is the worst. </span><br />
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<br />Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-86605232779748829012014-04-23T12:29:00.000-07:002014-04-23T12:29:24.816-07:00Moving Things<span style="font-size: large;">Last weekend was spent moving things around. I have a study in the basement that I use for a bead studio. I accidentally opened an old journal. It should have stayed buried. In it, someone else lives. She used to draw and paint. She used to make plans for things that were never going to happen. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Have you ever been in the heat of making plans only to realize they were coming to fruition as you spoke? It is a little weird. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I had small children back then. I had lots of hopes & plans for them. Just getting the oldest graduated was really all I saw sight of. Now he prospers. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I think gardens grow the same way. We work the soil and prepare the ground. Place the seeds carefully just so deep and then wait. We look and water. Water and wait. Then one day, when we just glance around: flowers. Everywhere. An occasional weed sprouts here and there but you cannot have good without bad. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">People tend to be the same way. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Compliments given usually fall on deaf ears. People have a hard time believing that someone could see anything except what they believe in themselves. We tend to believe the negative over the positive. Human nature, modesty & ego. It's like a powerful trifecta of trouble. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It is hard to let go of old feelings and to decipher what you are actually feeling, hearing and are capable of.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Lately I have found myself being less of a friend to some. I am not sure if it is a survival/defense mechanism or what. I am tainting the well and I do not like it. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Re-prioritizing and overthinking is what I do best. Apparently.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I cannot get a handle on just being quiet. I have to keep poking it with a stick until it is a mangled mess. Just walk away. Quiet the voices and keep your head down.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">That is what I will strive to do. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Wish me luck.</span><br />
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<br />Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-35295104628237390132014-04-09T11:07:00.002-07:002014-04-09T11:07:40.054-07:00Long Time GoneSince the first of the year, my schedule has not really been my own.<br />
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I think/move in earnest and random thoughts. I never look at things the same way most people grasp daily life. When I was younger, I didn't make mud pies. I really never saw the point but I did make houses out of things that were unorthodox. Grass clippings. Boxes. Junk. I wanted to build a tree house but we didn't have enough big trees to support anything. I recently drove back through my old neighborhood trying to find some semblance of my former life. The house I primarily grew up in is still standing and I am always tempted to ask if I can take a tour but I know better. I also secretly wonder if my sister's bracelet is tucked inside the air intake where I stuck it after she and I had a fight. I had a screw driver. I could have retrieved it but I'm still a little ticked off at her about it. So no. It will stay there. If it is still there. Just waiting.<br />
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I have not had a real dream (until recently) about my momma since she passed away. The dream I had was real enough but it gave me a sense of calming. It was a message from her. I think this way because I know she would not cause me grief or anguish otherwise. I have my days where in the moment I will grab my phone and think "I need to call Momma and tell her Hotsy did such & such"....only to remember seconds later that she isn't there. That the phone call isn't necessary because she already knows what has brought this thought on. And it causes me pain because I miss her so. I am trying to learn this new life but it isn't without it's pitfalls. Especially late at night. <br />
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I learned early on that my life was not going to be plain and ordinary. I came from extraordinary circumstances so it is up to me to rise to that "idea". My biological father was from Burma and the village he was from held me in high honor. We never know our place in this life and when someone says they feel like they have met me before, it is a little unnerving. Was I nice to them before? I hope the encounter was pleasant. We walk along different paths and bump into each other here & there. The least we can do is make each others travels a pleasant trip. <br />
As I try to heal from this I hope you don't give up on me. I don't love lightly or often. It is another emotion, like jealousy, I cannot afford. I give it 110% no matter what the consequence are to my soul. That is my curse and my cross to bear. People who love me know this. In the less-than-handful of people who know my true soul, I show my true self.<br />
That is just me.<br />
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<br />Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-10810377290631851352014-01-16T10:51:00.001-08:002014-01-16T10:51:29.383-08:00Banana Pudding Growing up in the South, making banana pudding from scratch is a rite of passage. So is learning to make biscuits from scratch but we won't dwell on that.<br />
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On New Year's Day, 2014, my Momma made dinner. She insisted. My sister was angry because Mom didn't feel like eating after she prepared the meal but we were all together for the most part. That was all that mattered to my Mom. <br />
She sent leftovers home to everyone. In the days that followed, we would open the fridge and there would be the food she made. Her banana pudding. It is ridiculous to think that the sight of banana pudding could bring me to tears, but it did. It is my Dad's favorite dessert. <br />
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My parents grew up poor. Learning country cooking was the only way to cook. I must confess: I have NEVER cooked pinto beans from scratch. I never will. I will eat them but this is not something I set out to do on purpose. As a child I would ask "Are we not having any meat?" on pinto bean/cole slaw/macaroni & cheese/french fry/cornbread night. This meal occurred once a week. Mom would either cook some fatback or fry up some weenies. I put so many onions, ketchup & chow chow in my pinto beans, there would barely be any room for beans. This was perfect. Once every week we would have this conversation while I was growing up. With Mom's passing, I told my sister that this meal was her duty. I will never cook this combination. Never.<br />
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While cleaning out our Mom's kitchen, we revisited so many childhood memories. So many parties that she had for us or for the community. There was always something being made or planned. If you were at our house at dinner time, you got fed. The kind ladies of the church brought food after the funeral. It was nice. Good friends came to partake in the meal with us. One of the ladies of the church had sent deviled eggs. The eggs had been made with spicy mustard and other "things". Definitely not like my Mom's. My friend said it was almost sacrilege having those eggs in my Momma's house. Something I thought but never said. Luckily our Momma shared her recipes with us before she passed. Even though we have the recipes, things will never taste quite the same. <br />
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The utensils she used. The methods and manners. There are so many nuances that go into making things "yours". I will never be able to eat banana pudding again. Someone said that I will and it will make me smile to remember her. I reserve doubt. My sister had a hard time throwing the last food out of the fridge. It is ridiculous. As if we validate her existence on earth with the things she touched, did, or loved. I find old friends who we grew up with offering compassion because they have either lost their loved ones or they remember the parents we had in our youth. These are the ties that make us who we are. We live through memories.<br />
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On the day of my mother's funeral, it was bitter cold. After all was said and done, the low temps broke a 130 year old record. I had read an article earlier about blowing bubbles and watching them freeze. So….on the day of my mother's funeral, at 7am in my jommers, I went out and blew bubbles. No one was up in the house yet. It was just me. Crying on the porch, talking to God and blowing bubbles. In a few minutes, the world would wake up. I would have to face the reality that I would be leaving my Mother in a cold crypt in a cemetery. I would have to get a whole house of people together to go to the funeral. I stole those few minutes for myself.<br />
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If you are blessed to have children, you will understand my next line of thought. As a small child, nap time was mandatory. Before my sister was born, I would lay next to my Momma and bury myself up in the small of her back. She sandwiched me between her and the edge of the bed. I spent many afternoons in this position. After my Momma passed away, we had to wait for Hospice to come get her. I have been around dead people before. I really don't have a fear. It is just something natural to me. In the stillness of the room, I laid down beside my Momma one last time. Her tiny, frail body. It felt peaceful. And it gave me a sense of closure I needed. Like things had come full circle. <br />
And I was very much alone. <br />
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There were so many beautiful gifts and things given and shown to me and my family during this very hard time. Most of them given to me by my Momma. She knew how things would progress and how she wanted us to be able to handle ourselves. She made certain we had no unfinished business or regrets. She was larger than life itself.<br />
Missing her is truly the hardest part.<br />
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The last picture of my Momma and me. </div>
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Momma's garden angel </div>
<br />Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-26237628695788487552014-01-07T08:36:00.002-08:002014-01-07T08:36:03.810-08:003 a.m.<div class="MsoNormal">
At 3am, 49 year old me was ironing my shirt for my Momma’s
funeral. In my head, 12 year old me was listening to her tell me how to do it
properly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Momma had a lady named Myrtle do her ironing when we were
younger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I once asked why Myrtle
couldn’t just do my ironing too and she told me that I needed to learn how to
do things for myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Typical. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Momma also had a house lady named Marva.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were not rich.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Momma hired these nice ladies because she
enjoyed their company and the places they filled in gave her more time with
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even with Marva and Myrtle in place,
we never got out of chores or duties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Never.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was the ultimate
teacher.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So as I am standing there crying and ironing, I realized how
much I was going to find myself reliving so many things she taught me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time I cook, she will be there looking
over my shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She could throw some
stuff in a pot and it would be the best casserole ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She could never duplicate it again but that
is the way it is with things and people like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are all made of the same ingredients but
different.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She permeated every aspect of everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I described her as Martha Stewart on
steroids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She cleaned with straight
bleach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She could make anything. She
could make anything grow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not doing
something” was not in her vocabulary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Momma
grew up the life of a gypsy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
grandfather moved from place to place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At one point, they lived in the old Sample House which now has fame as
Latta Plantation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They ran a boarding
house and with 8 kids in one house at one time-boarding house rules ran the
table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was raised to be a survivor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And today, the bitterest and coldest of days, we have to
tell her goodbye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Momma fought hard to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even in her elephant-drugged induced state, she tried to talk, to do….to
tell US how to do things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was
stubborn.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we were younger, we had an uncle who argued and fought
with one of our aunts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In true redneck
fashion (so the story goes) Momma and our aunt jumped him physically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had had enough….one on his back-one on
his front and they beat the crap out of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When the police arrived, he begged them to haul him off so Momma and my
aunt couldn’t get a’hold of him again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Momma could go from being the most compassionate saint in
the world to being the most spiteful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She was human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wielded the
latter like a warrior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone who
crossed her was not immune from her wrath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When times get hard to deal with, I feel like I have an ace card up my
sleeve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is the cloth from which my
sister and I are woven from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As my
friend Kimball so eloquently said “Never forget: you are a thread from that
same cloth and your children and grand children are too.”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
We have so many stories of her life and so many memories to
provide some comfort in the days to come. <br />
Thank you for letting me share just a small part of her.<o:p></o:p></div>
Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-23655108587605421022013-12-17T21:36:00.002-08:002013-12-17T21:36:31.717-08:00Who, Me?When I was a small child, I found out there was no Santa Claus. <br />
I found this out right about the same time I found out I was adopted. It was a crushing blow to my small heart. <br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
This was nothing new and completely within her selfish character. <br />
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. <br />
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.<br />
I wish his mother appreciated him the way he deserves.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
Suddenly I don't feel so alone. I feel very blessed and content. <br />
And isn't that what makes life beautiful?<br />
<br />Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-38869964561164574122013-12-01T09:48:00.000-08:002013-12-01T18:36:40.665-08:00Copy, Paste & Delete A LifeWith 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.<br />
Here we go:<br />
<br />
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. <br />
Ironic, isn't it?<br />
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. <br />
Moving on…..<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
At times, I wonder who this child belongs to. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
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:<br />
<span class="hg" style="font-family: Baskerville; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; widows: 2;"><span class="hw" d:dhw="1" role="text" style="font-size: 24px;" syllabified="sal·va·tion">sal<span class="hsb"></span>va<span class="hsb"></span>tion<span class="gp tg_hw"></span></span><span class="pr" style="color: #777777; font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> |<span class="ph t_respell" d:pr="US" style="margin-left: 0.3em; margin-right: 0.3em;">salˈvāSHən</span>|</span><span class="gp tg_hg"></span></span><span class="sg" style="display: block; font-family: Baskerville; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: -1em; widows: 2;"><span class="se1" style="display: block; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 0.2em;"><span class="posg" role="text"><span class="pos" d:ps="1" style="margin-right: 0.3em;"><span class="gp tg_pos" style="margin-right: 0.3em;">noun:</span></span></span><span apple_mouseover_highlight="1" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">deliverance</span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">from sin and its consequences, believed by Christians to be brought </span><span apple_mouseover_highlight="1" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">about</span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">by faith in Christ</span><span class="gp tg_df" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">.</span><span class="gp tg_msDict" role="text" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">• </span><span class="df" role="text" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span apple_mouseover_highlight="1">preservation</span> or deliverance <span apple_mouseover_highlight="1">from</span> <span apple_mouseover_highlight="1">harm</span>, <span apple_mouseover_highlight="1">ruin</span>, <span apple_mouseover_highlight="1">or</span> <span apple_mouseover_highlight="1">loss</span><span class="gp tg_df">:</span></span></span></span><br />
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. <br />
He has restored my happiness and my faith.<br />
Happiness is a powerful and freeing thing. <br />
Faith makes your spirit soar.<br />
And for that, my heart is most thankful. <br />
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Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-70634145951491064642013-11-10T18:21:00.001-08:002013-11-10T18:21:35.586-08:00Picture Perfect…..AlmostWhen 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
It is an art form that will be locked away in a museum one day.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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<br />Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-22052286802680464962013-10-25T07:25:00.002-07:002013-10-25T07:25:59.917-07:00Using My Outside Voice Inside The BuildingOnce upon a time, I was shy. I was reserved. I was a wall flower. <br />
In the light of being ME, I realized that at the age of 49, I own a voice.<br />
In reality, I sound like a 14 year old girl.<br />
Who giggles a lot.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
It is the equivalent to calling a child by their full legal name.<br />
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?".<br />
Really?<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
With that being said, I would still punch her in the mouth if she said anything about me. <br />
<br />
Old habits die hard.<br />
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<br />Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-50382246388871997372013-10-12T14:40:00.000-07:002013-10-12T14:40:39.643-07:00Well, well, well.Soooooo.........<br />
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.<br />
Anyway.....they have sent him home with a catheter which he has labeled "his purse".<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
Then there was this............<br />
<br />
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?"<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.)<br />
<br />
I invest in people. They make my life worth living. And isn't that what this is all about?<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This is my reply about past friends who have left & carried on: </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><i>"But they weren't Me." </i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<span style="line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Some people would do well to remember that. </span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
Thank you for reading and thank you for the help. I owe you all a drink;-)<br />
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<br />Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-65422684829720744452013-09-20T19:38:00.000-07:002013-09-20T19:38:11.796-07:00Dancing I turned another year older since I last blogged.<br />
It seems a little silly to realize how old you are in comparison to music, clothes and history of the rest of the world.<br />
I don't feel this old. I still have lego toys. I still refuse to go to bed at a sensible hour.<br />
There must be a mistake somewhere.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
Such sweet boys. Yeah. I feel this old when I look in the mirror and see how long in the tooth I really am.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
You aren't there anymore. Just the spirit of what was.<br />
<br />
My son has been diagnosed with a condition: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyperthymesia<br />
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.<br />
I think he was afraid he would experience something he could not explain or be able to forget. <br />
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.<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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?<br />
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. <br />
<br />
And I mean real dancing.<br />
Most definitely. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-52904287947766736912013-08-30T06:25:00.000-07:002013-08-30T06:25:34.341-07:00I Hope This Is The Last Funeral For A While....I'm All Out of BlackSometimes I despise Facebook. <br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
We were friends & neighbors.<br />
<br />
The circumstances of his death bother me more than anything: Suicide. <br />
<br />
How could this boy, who could make you laugh with ease and be so kind, commit this selfish tragedy?<br />
<br />
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?<br />
There have been 3 suicides in my extended circle of friends and family. <br />
Trying to make sense of it all is not going to bring them back.<br />
<br />
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."<br />
<br />
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. <br />
We are quick to not understand the difference between a blessing and being fortunate. <br />
And prayers are involved. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-28887606665754415132013-08-28T07:46:00.003-07:002013-08-28T07:52:10.210-07:00Uncharted WatersRecently 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
I know these are just memories swirling around but they are a comfort to me in the still darkness.Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-37291971890679781842013-08-22T22:03:00.000-07:002013-08-22T22:03:54.784-07:00AlwaysI 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". <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
The person becomes a memory that is kept alive through photographs, stories and feelings. <br />
And love. <br />
Always through love.<br />
<br />Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-37979528560698544362013-08-19T20:36:00.000-07:002013-08-19T20:36:32.284-07:00LaughinglyWhen 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.<br />
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. <br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
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. <br />
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<br />
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. <br />
Just keep yourself in check because you just never realize the beauty of a friendship until they both decide to go out at once. Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-36010916942779777152013-08-03T09:50:00.000-07:002014-12-19T16:20:19.447-08:00SELF 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.<br />
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.<br />
I have several guy-pals to thank for bringing this article to fruition. Hat's off to ya, fellas!<br />
<br />
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">"CAN SELF-SERVICE SEX BE A SPIRITUAL JOURNEY?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">By Lucinda Blithe<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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<sup>th</sup> 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!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">I am here to tell you loudly: IT IS NOT AND YOU ARE NOT!!!!!!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">Perhaps you could consider masturbation to be your ‘out
with the old, in with the new’ self-service policy? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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</span><span style="color: #fb0007; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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*.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">What do men have? Dark rooms, pole dancers and porn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">Up until now, you have been given the authorization to unlock
your hidden self but (there is ALWAYS a ‘but’) take note:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">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.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-60526191569705483912013-07-28T09:26:00.002-07:002013-07-28T09:26:54.705-07:00Hiding MeI find myself trying to define "me" daily. <br />
In my best effort, I gently have to say "That just isn't me." Labels. Tags. Methods. They all work in formula and theory.<br />
I really don't think I have horns but others would disagree. Loudly.<br />
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.<br />
I want a person I can just be "me" with. <br />
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.<br />
<br />
I see life and people in very different colors.<br />
I will never comply to everyone's vision of me.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
I listen to people comment on things daily and I know they rarely tell the truth. <br />
If I care enough to ask a question, someone should care enough to give me an honest answer. <br />
I ask for a reason. I am curious and want/need to know. <br />
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.<br />
How sad is that?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-78789008015552844372013-07-22T08:51:00.000-07:002013-07-22T08:51:33.705-07:00Losing Things & Finding Wisdom<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Recently, I thought I had lost my camera which led me into believing I had also lost my mother's charm bracelet. </span><div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In looking for the camera, I stumbled across the box that, at one time, held my Mother's charm bracelet: EMPTY.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I found $13 in an old handbag. Win. But still no camera or charm bracelet.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I discovered, in my panic, that I own too much junk.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It is a recipe for disaster when we become less of a consumer and more consumed. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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? </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I save things because I may need them for an emergency.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Where is this stuff when a true emergency comes along? No where near me.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Actually it would be great.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I should write a story about that.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(**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.)</span></div>
<div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">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." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I love my wise friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I am glad we found each other.</span></div>
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Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-88898349581341718472013-07-01T12:02:00.002-07:002013-07-01T12:02:41.454-07:00My, How Time Certainly Does FlyWhen I was younger, I could not wait to get older.<br />
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. <br />
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Being a kid meant trying to find a place or a job to run away to. I ran away to music.<br />
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I had the great fortune last week to meet my teenage rock and roll hero. <br />
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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. <br />
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I listened to it religiously. I fell in love with the lyrics, the guitar.......<br />
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Then along came Dr. Noah Drake on General Hospital and I was truly smitten. <br />
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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.<br />
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.<br />
I thought I would throw up.<br />
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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.<br />
I was beyond giddy. I couldn't even eat the catered dinner they offered. I couldn't taste the food. <br />
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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.<br />
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Somehow fate smiled on me this one time and I generated my own magic. And it was magical.<br />
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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.<br />
He said that he works to get money so that he can afford to help his friends and family to live comfortably.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">Ticket prices were cheap enough to pack the small impromptu venue we were at. I am imagining he m</span><span style="text-align: center;">akes 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. </span><br />
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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.<br />
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It was beyond nice to be a kid again even if it was just for one very special night.<br />
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Thank you for that, Clarence.<br />
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<br />Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-29937887569971062722012-11-28T21:30:00.004-08:002012-11-28T21:30:50.230-08:00Saying "I love you"If you knew you were saying "I love you" for the last time, would it taste different? Would you add more to it or just keep it simple? <br />
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My last week has been one of tremendous highs and lows. I spent Thanksgiving with the people who make my heart sing. I will forever reflect on my photographs and smile. It brings such an overwhelming feeling of bliss that I wish I could bottle it and open it up on Christmas Day because I know this feeling is a rarity. For my one split second, stars aligned and everyone was agreeable. It was beyond any version of perfect that Martha Stewart could hope to ever glitter or glue gun together. It was my first major holiday with my first & only grand child. I cannot tell you what the turkey tasted like or what dishes I prepared. It is all just a warm, fuzzy blur. My memories are filled with laughter. I was giggling and giddy. My home and heart were full.<br />
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I went last Tuesday to visit friends. I got beautiful hugs. There are people who make you feel truly welcome and seem genuinely happy to pass time with you. We usually share Thursday night dinners with such people. We had so many laughs. When you meet people who are larger than life and in true love, it makes you happy to be in their company. I have such friends in this Thursday night group. I am certain those words that passed between lovers became a simple daily habit. One particular couple was on a permanent honeymoon. We lost one of them last night to a stroke. My heart breaks as I remember his grace and laugh. He was a wonderful man. We will miss him and toast his memory.<br />
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I save every card, text message, letter and email where someone tells me they love me. They help validate my existence on Earth. They make my soul feel complete. When I am at my loneliest and darkest points, those little words carry me back to the light. They nourish my inner beauty and make me whole. I invest a lot in those 3 little words. I am a hopeless romantic. I am a simple creature.<br />
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I am never quick to tell people that I love them. I have only fallen in love twice in this lifetime. Those are words that are given a higher regard in my "Book of Life". I have a great fondness for people. I have always been very selfish with telling someone I love them. It isn't a callous line or feeling. It means so much more to me. I rarely write it. I sign my cards in a sentimental way because I feel telling someone that I love them sounds silly and almost common. When I say it, write it or convey it.....it is for always. It will be the last words that pass from my lips to someone's heart. They are words that every heart should hear. I hope mine are heard by someone who loves me in return and can remember me as sunshine in their heart.Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-24442479083689966132012-09-23T20:44:00.000-07:002012-09-23T20:44:03.515-07:00Monday, Material Things and MessagesI know for most of the world, Monday is a chore. It is a 5 mile wait in a blocked traffic lane when you have to pee. <br />
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For me, Monday is a blessing. My last 2 weeks were a happy, delirious (sometimes painful) blur. I am not counting postop. <br />
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Last Monday, I had to be hospitalized and after some minor drama....finally got help to get things remedied immediately. It didn't matter who I knew or how much I hurt. Some doctors are immune to people in pain. Luckily I knew a man who could help. I was desperate and hurting. I was out of faith. I got a phone call that changed my frame of mind. I got a text message that instilled courage. I made a phone call that changed my fate. Sometimes the smallest messages come from inside, from a book or a text message. Don't second guess your gut feeling. Ever.<br />
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How often do we hang on to material things only to find that they do not really exist?<br />
My father jokes that after my mother passes away, everything in it becomes my sister's & my inheritance. We tell him no, we don't want it. I deplore rummaging through old things. I love the treasure hunt but not the smell. I don't want the flood of memories that come from tangible objects. Memories have a way of tricking the heart. They also trick the mind into thinking you need things or have room to store things you will never need again. Sometimes it is bests to just let go. You have to give yourself permission to grieve lost loved ones and let go.<br />
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I recently attended my high school reunion. It was bliss. I noticed that the mean girls from high school had become nice and vice versa. How funny. I am fortunate that everyone knows me from school because I have not changed much. My old boyfriend even knew me without a name tag. I wish I had dodged that bullet but it was nice to reconnect with old friends. Out of everyone in my class, I only had 2 old friends I had not been able to find. They showed up and we had a blast talking about old times. I learned lessons that were never taught in school. People change. Time, money, and life change you. It cannot be helped. Some change for the better but some don't. There is no meter to gauge which way some people tilt but if you trust your intuition and tread lightly, you can figure it out. You have to give yourself permission to grieve old friendships and let go.<br />
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I wish I could assemble all of my old friends and we could just laugh like we did when we were kids. I am glad for Facebook. It helps me achieve just that without the hassle of a TSA pat-down.<br />
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Get out there and find old friends. If you have old enemies, leave them a howdy. You don't have to be their daily victim but clearing your air makes the skies of your life brighter.<br />
Letting go is a healing and beautiful thing.Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-45744581449227461302012-08-31T16:30:00.001-07:002012-08-31T16:34:22.873-07:00Clarification and ValidationLabeling friends and friendships becomes a little tricky in my life. I have friends who I really don't care to describe, much less have to validate to a total stranger. <br />
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In recent months I have had to do just this and it seems a little degrading. Almost trivial. I have to explain myself and the existence of a relationship. Why?<br />
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I have heard several people talk about the Democratic National Convention coming to town next week. It is costing people their jobs. They are being asked to stay at home because their credentials do not pass the test of the Secret Service so they have been told to not report for work during this week. This can only be described as humiliating. For whatever reason, you do not meet the criteria to serve drinks to sloppy drunks during this one week when tips are guaranteed to be at their highest. Stick it to the little guy.<br />
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When everyone gets credit for the same job you do, it stings. When people don't do their job and you get passed over for an award or promotion, it really stings. It downright hurts. It changes you in ways you never heal from. <br />
You shy away from doing what you do. You put yourself in your protective shell and try to deflect anything painful. It is a healing process. <br />
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My dear friend had to experience this very thing in the past week and it is a painful experience I wish he could have been spared. <br />
He says he is an ass. Some days he is an ass but he is my ass so it is accepted. Being the professional he is, he works harder than anyone in his line of work. The people he works with see this but they are busy watching their bottom line. He cleans up other people's mistakes and still outperforms the rest of them. <br />
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When I have to deal with someone who does not have this drive or passion, it creates problems. I want to strangle them. I have realized that,in a way, I am his creation. We are in 100% professional mode 24/7. <br />
If I could find the person responsible for taking his chance away at this coveted award, I would run them over with my car....and then get out and spit on them. (This is just me venting so don't check the newspapers) It is just unfair.<br />
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You protect those you care about in different forms. I am passionate about my family and friends. I shouldn't have to explain myself. I think I have reached the point that unless an affidavit is needed, I won't. Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6810057773248348447.post-40403673272408385602012-07-25T14:34:00.000-07:002012-07-25T14:34:38.002-07:00I Hear An Ocean Calling My NameAfter careful observation, it has been noted (ahem) that my presence on here has been lacking. It were as if I had decided to run away from my problems and leave everything far behind. If only life were that easy to deceive.....<br />
I went to the edge of the world and it still wasn't far enough away. I left everything behind except one small suitcase. What is all this "stuff" here? <br />
When I visit older relatives and see all the things they care for and cherish......are they holding on to possessions? No. They are holding on to memories. <br />
I keep old cards and photographs. I relive life on my cell phone and on my camera. I re-read old text messages and emails. These are a source of uplift and heartache. They are my anchors. Some days, they are my chains. <br />
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I found some profound wisdom sitting in a theatre...uttered by a character in the midst of blahblahblahing..... that the mind lives in the past. It is selective in what it cares to remember and play in but the heart is forced to live in the present....here and now. <br />
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Earlier in the week, I was invited to watch a video about how to gain 10 extra years in your life. 5 things that people end up regretting on their death-bed is killing us all. It was profound. Then the 5 things that people who have had a post-tramautic GROWTH did 5 things that counteracted the 5 death-bed regrets. Sadly, I live in the post-tramatic growth phase of life. I say sadly because everyone around me is afraid to live. They are too busy being regretful and losing out on their 10 years of gained life that you are suppose to garner when you follow the steps. If some of these people are given 10 years extra, they will just make themselves miserable or make others around them so....someone will kill them. They needn't worry about how to spend those 10 extra years. <br />
I often fantasize about how and with whom I would spend these years. It never goes like..."Hey, I could go to Walmart." No. Mine is more along the lines of "I want to see the sun set and the sun rise on someone and know that I have made a difference in their life." Or "I hope my kids find every ounce of happiness that is available in life and beyond." <br />
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The only material thing I have ever wished for personally was a new computer and only because in my line of "work", it would make my life so much easier since I spend hours in a week cussing at this laptop. I keep hoping for an Apple Fairy. <br />
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I hear an ocean calling my name and therefore, am heeding the call. If anything should ever happen to me, I have asked to be cremated and my ashes scattered at sea. Then I can be a real mermaid. I won't need the Mac then.<br />
<br />Lucinda Blithehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00951985709760502817noreply@blogger.com5