Fathers Day is right around the corner. My father left this world for the Good Place a year and a half ago. Although certain parts are foggy, other parts seem so fresh, still.
He lived in a little house across town, quite spacious to be considered a duplex. It was an older ranch style, brick, well-built and had a nice yard. The road he lived on was called “Circles End Circle” and it was just that… a large circle. How Dad loved walking his dog around that large circle, which was made more attractive by way of the entire center being a well-kept grassy field. As I remember, the inside of that circle measured larger than a football field. The continuous view of the grassy field made for well more than a leisurely stroll, and you certainly could say you got your steps in with just one trip around it.
Dad and I really weren’t close until after the ending of my 20+ year marriage. After my separation, he stepped into his father role as well as any man ever has. Heck, I guess you could even call us best buds. After a lifetime of not having him around, I relished the attention from him. That should not suggest that I didn’t understand the deeper meaning of that attention… which is, Dad loved me. For the first time in my adult life, I truly understood that. I wasn’t just a black sheep any longer, at least not to him. He couldn’t wait to talk to me on the phone at night, to describe new events that happened throughout his day. He would go out of his way to let me know he loved me – and each occasion meant the world to me. One day he showed up at my work with a fresh-baked banana bread loaf (my God, he made the best banana bread). We’d go to the farmers market together, church, and events happening uptown. It was everything I’d ever wanted but never really knew I needed from my father. He knew it, I knew it… and we were both thankful.
Yep, I grew to know that house of his pretty well.
Years later, when routine hospital visits for his failing health became the norm, he would always want me there. Each time I’d walk in the room, his smile would grow as big as Disney. One of his favorite stories to tell was of how hot he was in the ER, and I’d fanned him. Something so very simple. On more than one occasion he told me I kept him calm. I still feel this is probably the biggest compliment I’ve ever been given.
Enter dementia. That big, awful, damned demon unleashed it’s wrath. Like cancer, I hate dementia with every fiber of my being. Those who have never had to witness a loved one battle dementia will never understand the toll it takes on a family. Dad withstood it for a while at home, until it started biting its ugly teeth deep into his brain. Soon came the walks outside during the wee hours. Then his phone calls telling me the painters were invading his home, he was afraid of them. Finally phone calls from the police asking me to please come over to try and coax him out of his bedroom.
That last call from the police ushered in the last time he would ever physically reside in his house. As I walked though the living room to his closed bedroom door, I knocked softly and said “Dad, it’s Bonnie”. He opened the door immediately, blue eyes welling up with tears and hugged me tight. Now, Dad couldn’t hug tight because of the lung removal a decade earlier, and he was always mindful of that. But the dementia had made him forget about all that. That hug was probably the tightest one I’d ever had from him. To say I’ll always cherish it is an understatement… the tears flow as I write about it.
Many things happened after he left that house, which I won’t go into since it’s really a moot point. The memory remains of him and how his soul was just larger than life. Even though we joined forces later in life rather than earlier, I wouldn’t trade a single thing. Not a one.
Happy Heavenly Fathers Day, Dad. I sure miss you.
Even with the passage of many years… I guess there are some things that really don’t change.
Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out.
It is to me, at least.
My circle of friends is small, and that’s by choice. Once you’ve been burnt by a select few throughout the course of a lifetime, it becomes pretty easy to build up that old retaining wall – to keep the nicely filtered water safe inside and disastrous tidal waves out. The quality level of my true friends is nothing short of stellar now – that’s what is important to me. I love having a friend I know so well that half the time we actually finish each other’s sentences. With most every subject, Lou and I end up having the same opinion. On the rare occasions we don’t agree on something, we still respect each others opinions. Neither of us have ever tried to change each other, nor persuade the other into doing something we’re uncomfortable with. Because a ‘real’ friend would never do that.
Lou and I have joked for years now about how we would be perfectly content to drive home from work on Friday and not leave out again until Monday rolls around. Once home from work on a weekday, we won’t start our car and go out again until the next workday. Doesn’t matter if we’re in need of something, it has to wait. You’d literally have to light a fire under both our asses to get us back out. Like many others, we both have a dog waiting for us to get home. Fact is, any type of errand after work requires careful prioritizing because of our pets – but I don’t know a pet-lover out there that begrudges this. I wouldn’t trade a thing.
I’m not complaining about any of this – quite the contrary. It makes me happy going straight home and and staying home. I’m not a socially active person by nature, never have been. Once in a while Keith and I will have a family event to attend over the weekend which we enjoy. I just find joy in weekends which have no plans whatsoever – aside from the rare impromptu day trip with him.
Speaking of my husband. He’s a hard-working man who works out of state all week and only comes home on the weekends. After so long it became routine like anything else – I just got used to it. I am not afraid. I’ve got my fearless boy Mojo, a fully loaded S&W and a quite sophisticated home security system. All that said, when the weekend finally does get here I relish my time with him. Since the weekend is all we have, we definitely make the most of every moment together. Hey, I realize it could always be worse – he could be deployed overseas for months or even years. I’m thankful for the time I do have with him and everything else we’ve been blessed with.
I’ve never been a bar person by choice. Ever. There’s something very sad to me about bars. Again, just my personal preference and opinion. We do enjoy having dinner with our parents on occasion. I don’t socialize with friends on a ‘regular’ basis aside from maybe a couple times a year, then it’s usually just for dinner or when someone is moving away or some life-changing event like that. I do not enjoy shopping – while I know this is weird for a woman, trust me when I say I’m totally okay with it. I guess the most social I’ve been in my entire life was last summer while I was busy planning our wedding, which I’ll admit about killed me. Literally had to be somewhere or meet up with someone 3-4 times a week. My stress and anxiety levels were off the charts. It was during this time that my friend Lou even sacrificed her own after-work time (something we both hold sacred, remember?) to plod the hot summer streets with me to help search for a wedding dress. I remember that after the wedding was over, I couldn’t wait to get back to my old ‘rut’. And so I did. I didn’t walk… I literally RAN back to it.
Ah… the aroma of sweet familiarity. Mmmm – smells SO so good. Just. Breathe. It. In. And Relax.
So what’s the point of all this, Bon? This is getting a little monotonous.
Apparently there are some out there bearing a false impression that I have a moral obligation to restructure my time to deligate more of my after-work hours to socialize. This has even included pressured attempts during the weekend when Keith comes home from working out of town all week. Needless to say, my patience level has bottomed out on this.
It’s not like I’ve been silent about my stand on the subject. It’s not a hidden secret on a game show being held for a big reveal later to floor everyone. I’ve expressly stated on several occasions that I’m a homebody and choose to spend my time after work at home, and my weekend time with my husband – but it’s all been blatently ignored.
My question is this… having made this a wide-open fact, why on earth would someone push the envelope, again and again? And if you do find yourself attempting to change or reroute how a person thinks – what kind of friend does that make you? And why would a person want to spend more time with you if you’re trying so hard to inflict your preferred method of thinking on them? Why would any real friend do that?
My reasoning is, a real friend wouldn’t.
I will not change the way I choose to spend my time, and I refuse to be bullied into it. Of course I realize there are exceptions to every rule. But if dire circumstances ever did warrant a change, my family and close friends would be those who took precedence. This 46 year-old broad has worked 40+ hours a week my entire adult life (attending several years of college during that), and traveled from one side of hell to the other in an attempt to start a new life. I have earned my right to spend my time after work however I damn well please. So I’m gonna clear something up real quick-like, once and for all. If you have a problem with how I spend MY time – weeknights or weekends – I strongly suggest that you start keeping it to yourself.
I will not apologize to anyone for being a homebody. It’s who I am, and I won’t apologize for being me. So quit right now trying to change me.
That is all.
Now if you’ll excuse me – I’m home for the evening. So I’m gonna fix myself something to eat and watch Dr. Phil.
The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned. ~Maya Angelou
This past weekend was jam-packed with moving to my new home. I’m completely in now, and so are my babies. It’s a big adjustment for both dog and cat – of course, more so with Mojo the Border Collie. I’ve been told by a few people that it can be done, and I’m praying they’re right.
I hired movers for the first time in my life, and what a huge blessing they were. It was a hard move nonetheless, as I got in there and helped too. I simply don’t have it in me watch someone work to move my stuff and not get in there and help my self. The movers told me I ‘worked like a boy’… which I personally took as a huge compliment.
Right now, I feel like a fish out of water.
But the hard part’s over. At least, I like to think so. Next… some much-needed maintenance and repair on the old heart is on my itinerary.
I love wind chimes.
Maybe it’s because they’re one of the few things left in life that are non technology-related. Maybe it’s because it’s the first thing I bought myself a couple of months prior to moving and starting a new life in 2008. Or maybe it’s because they provided such good company during the times I felt alone.
I paid only ten dollars for this set of windchimes, which is a steal for chimes (I know mine isn’t such a vintage set, but I’ve grown accustomed to their harmonial sounds). I’m sure at times my neighbors could’ve shot me for the relentless chime songs coming from my third floor condo, but I never got any complaints.
My chimes are still with me, though now weathered and worn. Much like an old flag proudly waving, both require that common denominator of wind in order to perform their duties. I’ve always thought weathered and worn adds character to pretty much anything. Weathered and worn tells stories.
This morning I ran across the Mother of all Windchimes -they’re called Corinthian Bells. I can’t afford them, but if I ever can you can bet I’ll have a set. Aside from the beautiful music of a harp – I’ve never heard anything quite as lovely. Thought I’d share one more video (not mine) showcasing this beautiful set – it’s so sweet. The end of this video made it an instant favorite of mine… and who couldn’t use a little more sweetness in their day?
How do I start this, I sit here and wonder to myself. Do I even want to write about it at all? Not really. Do I need to? Probably. Problem is, my fingers don’t want to do the talking either. What the hell am I afraid of writing? Hello out there… brain to fingers – get to moving, babies. I need to get this out.
More ‘stuff’ over at the old house to go sort through. When my ex contacted me about it last week, I thought there was maybe just a bag or two to pick up. It was this time about four years ago when we were busy ‘splitting’ stuff. We stayed busy ‘splitting’ for months on end – after all, you do tend to accumulate a shitload throughout twenty-one years. So we split, split and split some more. When the emotions would get too high, we’d quit and start up again the next day, splitting again. I remember the pictures were the hardest – boxes and boxes of them.
I thought everything had been done. Nope… there’s more. Let’s go take care of it – it’s Goodwill or bust, ya know.
I’ve only had to go back over to the house a handful of times during the last several years. I don’t like driving through the neighborhood. I don’t like going down the street. I do NOT WANT to go in the house, as my daughter insisted on today “Mom, Dad knows you’re gonna be here to go through this stuff – I told him and he’s okay with it.” And so I commenced inside, where neatly stacked in her old room was a good-sized pile that came from the attic. Old baby clothes, stuffed animals, my old knitting materials, some outdated clothes, a few things that belonged to my grandmother, some of my old toys as a kid, all the missing Halloween decorations, and cards. If I failed to mention it before, I do not like going through cards.
Just when I think I’m a step ahead of the game, a day like today comes and knocks me back down a notch. Reminds me that I might not be as strong as I think I am. Was. Whatever. I must swallow the fact that I will forever have these demons, I’ve just realized they aren’t going to go away. What is it? No matter, for what’s done is done. My biggest demon? Failure. Still haven’t moved past that effing failure thing.
Through the years, I’ve learned a neat little trick. I can usually disguise the funk with a smile – on a good day, maybe even season it up with my boisterous laughter. It’s a trick my Mammaw taught me, albeit unconsciously. Ordinarily, it works. Until I’m alone. But that’s what matters, right? It’s just enough to get ya through a tight spot, when someone might be looking. Alone… well, you’re just that. On your own.
I guess the passage of time really isn’t all that when it comes to healing, or growing, or progressing, or whatever it is they say you do. I realize there are good days and bad, for all of us. As for me, I’m just thankful for that huge smile I was born with.
I honestly cannot think of anything this morning but how cold I am. It was 12º when I got up and it’s not expected to even reach freezing today. I’m starting to wonder if I really live in the Carolinas. I came (not so happily) bouncing into work sporting a newfound cold, twenty-plus layers and knockoff uggs. Today I came complete with Tussin CF®, Chloraseptic® and Afrin®. And hey, it’s warm in here! I am set.
Couldn’t miss today, anyway – the company Christmas luncheon is at noon. Oh, how wonderful it feels to say that word – Christmas! Christmas Christmas Christmas Christmas. Seems as though I’ve heard the word more this year than ever before, and I love it! So we’ll get catered in today (12 degrees this morning, good day for catering in, wouldn’t ya say?) by an awesome caterer, and enjoy some good team-building time. And errr, food. Did I mention the caterer was awesome?
So I gotta go there – my pet-peeve for the day/week. Yeah, we’ll make it for the week. How about those smartass know-it-alls in life? You know, those people who have the need to knock anything you say either down, top it with their own (new and improved) version, or generally insinuate a less than intelligent status on your part. Sometimes I grow weary of ‘petting’ them – of being nicey-nice in order to smooth things over when something is said that falls into the category of know-it-all. Of being ever-agreeable so as not to appear argumentative. I’d love to do a case-in-point, however that would pretty much lay everything out on the table and somehow I can’t bring myself to do that. Sometimes though, I wonder why I don’t just come right on out and say what I feel, and not worry so much about how it’s perceived. Once in a rare while I’ll turn those tables… and it actually feels good.
It’s becoming increasingly tougher to teach this old dog new tricks anyway.
Tricksters, tricksters!! They’re all tricksters… all of them!! 😆
After a hearty Cracker Barrel breakfast on Sunday morning, K suggested driving down to the newest indoor fleamarket to walk some of the food off, to which I happily obliged.
There was no agenda, nor any certain thing we were looking for. The few times we’ve been to the place (ah, air-conditioning is a must) we’ve come away empty-handed – but it’s all good. K loves antiques, and is quite educated about them. Honestly, for me, it’s the walking around together and ‘discovering things’ with each other that matters so – it seems to go unsaid that he feels the same way. So we walk, hold hands and talk, and look… and happen upon it…
The print is entitled, Making Friends. The artist is Burton Dye, and the debut date was 1986. Same graduation year, and same high school… yes, yet more nostalgia.
K just finished remodeling his own bedroom, and in doing so moved into a larger room in his house. The color of paint he chose was a light to medium sort of periwinkle blue – it hints of blue, gray and lavender, and translates to airy and soothing. In combination with his dark furniture and just the right amount of beautiful sunlight the room gets, it was an exquisite choice.
Flashback to the picture. There it sat, amongst it’s competition, all of which were neatly lined along the floor of the vendor. Just like magnets, both of us were instantly drawn to this one. Print no. 1241 of 1900, it said – and it was very much in mint condition. Still in it’s original frame and matte, the wood frame has two tiny periwinkle blue pinstripes down all four sides that matches the matte – these were only visible up close.
The print is an image of a small boy with blonde hair, sitting along the shore of a riverbank to feed a flock of geese and goslings. The boy’s portrayal in the print is nothing less than that of pure innocence. I have yet to share my own perception of the art with K.
Shown is a young, innocent boy – soon to be in search of the finer things in life, which Capricorns are so noted for – but also appreciating the simple things. His love for animals is well-noted… as well as his love for the water – and fishing. The boy’s youth still leaves much to the imagination, such a large future lies ahead of him. With the comparable difference being light brown instead of blonde hair, I think the profile of this young lad so very closely coincides with that of K’s own childhood pictures. I think it’s fair to say this print has captured a piece of my heart for many years to come now…
Well, it’s now August. I can’t believe how fast this summer has gone by. This summer, and well, the whole year for that matter.
August 1st is a special day for me. It’s the one-year anniversary of mine and K’s first date. I can’t believe it’s been a year already…We love reminiscing about how nervous we both were on that Saturday night a year ago. Being that we hadn’t seen each other in so many years, I opted to walk down and meet him in my parking lot instead of the added stress for both of us with him coming up to the condo. The walk down all the steps from the third floor seemed to take forever, and I was hoping to God I wouldn’t trip and fall down them in my heels. There, leaning back against the hood of his car in true 60’s Greaser fashion, was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen – grinning like the Cheshire Cat on Alice in Wonderland. As I went up to hug him, my heart was about to beat out of my chest and I hoped he couldn’t see it. On that first date we ended up going to a place right across the river to eat, then catching the latest Harry Potter movie. Guess you could say we’ve been kinda stuck like glue together ever since, and well, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I’ve got more up the ole’ dayplanner sleeve that I’ve nostalgically saved, but posting some of those monumental moments on here just wouldn’t be fitting. But hey, don’t I get a pat on the back for not kissing him on the first date? Or is that more deserving of a slap? **dumbass**
It should go without saying that having a high level of mutual respect for each other is a must-have in every successful relationship. Just a couple of weeks ago, K’s ex made a grave attempt to worm her way back into his life – even being so desperate as to use their daughter as bait. The transparency of the lies she told were obvious to everyone. Of course, there was also a hidden agenda behind the facade. You see, she’s faced with much certainty of losing her case in court, and trust me when I say it’s gonna be sweet retribution for a man who was put through absolute hell for so many years. But not to worry – I didn’t just take his word for it. A woman with even half a brain will do her research on a prospective partner. I’m friends with a couple of people who actually know this woman… and she is indeed lower than a snake.
Last night he and I went out and did a little pre-celebrating. The restaurant we ate at last year has since closed down, and word has it that the local pub and grill across the street has the same owners, just took on a different name. He suggested going there for nostalgia’s sake, so we did. The food and drinks were excellent but the service really sucked! Upon learning that we were ‘only’ ordering appetizers and drinks (which still resulted in over a $30 bill) the waitress apparently decided we were deserving of neither good service nor a good attitude. As with most things though, we joked and took this in stride, and moved on across the street to the much more upscale restaurant that my own daughter works at. Of course, we got excellent service there – along with the additional bonus of us all getting to spend some quality time together and cut up for a while. 🙂 She was right… we shoulda just went there in the first place.
I have a good friend that’s decided to bite the bullet and start blogging. Not only is she an extremely smart and beautiful lady, but well-versed. I’m willing to bet she will enjoy it – and I look forward to reading. I’ll be sure to cue you in on the page when she gets it up and running.
Many of us have been subjected to broken trust and loyalty throughout our lives – some more than others. The last thing you need is to keep it all to yourself… what you need is to be heard. An outlet, a source which you may unload on every once in a while. A while back I suggested that a blog might be the very venue my friend needed. It provides an opportunity to be heard, a chance to voice anything and/or everything you’ve wanted to say for a long time now. She asked me ‘do you think the word bitch in my title would be offensive and draw negative feedback?’ To which I replied chuckling, ‘ya know, there’s always going to be something that offends someone out there.’ And that’s true, no matter what.
It got me to thinking about life in general, and how it is we’ve arrived at the point of being a functioning adult human being… exactly what it is that has made up the mindset, emotions and character of who we are now. Do I believe that we continually change throughout life? Yes. Do I believe that what we’ve been through in the past actually shapes the person we are today, as well as the person we are to become? Absolutely. We will not be the exact same person a year from now as we are today. These changes will be determined by the events and occurrences within our lives, and how we choose to react or deal with them. Like my grandmother always told me… ‘bunny-rabbit…it ain’t always easy’.
So remind me please of why I’m up at 4:30am perched behind the keyboard. Maybe it’s because after lying in bed for over two hours prior with my brain scrambling at 200+mph, I opted for the only escape hatch in sight – my computer. Yes, today should be a nice little productive day at work. Seriously, I’m thinking maybe I can just submerge myself in the huge workload I’m supposed to have coming and forget about everything in my personal life for a few to eight hours.
I’m living the whole once upon a time theatrical bit. I don’t know what it’s gonna take in life for me to realize that there are no fairy tales, nor fairy tale endings. The reality is, no matter how happy you are, or how happy you think your partner may be – there’s always going to be that third person infiltrator. Hell, maybe fourth fifth and sixth, for that matter. They may come sooner, they may come later, but make no mistake – they always show up. And sometimes, they just walk right on into the house without even knocking. Without being asked or invited. Because that’s what a little harlot infiltrator will do. Oh, sorry… just thought I’d throw an example in there for ya.
Oh, girl… you should always ‘fight for your man’! Love will prevail… stand tall and don’t let anyone infiltrate what you have, break out the big guns!
Ummm – nuh.
I am not in my twenties or even thirties anymore. Trust me when I say the old ‘fire in me’ can still be ignited – but it won’t be happening for the soul purpose of an attempt to save a relationship. I learned a long time ago that doesn’t work… it simply cannot be that one-sided. So what am I saying? That I am well past the point of exhausting myself in a heated battle or debate over a) how a partner should handle said infiltration, b) addressing the harlot personally, because it’s not me who should be taking care of the situation, c) launching an all-out war, thereby leaving not a shred of doubt as to how I really feel… or d) any or all of the above. No, instead, I’ll just opt to gracefully take a step back. If the situation continues… well, I don’t know how graceful it’ll be, but I will be bowing out completely.
It’s the century-old question. Can men and women have a happy healthy relationship along with having a close friend(s) of the opposite sex? And remain friends, notwithstanding an affair? How about if that ‘friend’ existed before you came along, and you’ve always noticed or ‘felt’ this closeness between the two of them?
There are boatloads of opinions out there on this. Instead of a theological approach on the subject, I’m instead opting to provide you with my very own raw opinion. A Bon-view, as I like to call it. This ain’t gonna be pretty… could even get messy – might be a good idea to go ahead and don those rubber gloves from underneath your kitchen sink.
All joking aside, most man-moves can, are, and will forever be excused in the fact that they are men. I’ve grown not only to expect this, but to accept it as a fact of life.
Now, onto what I’ve learned.
Virtually any area of infidelity is contingent upon the type of woman that is playing along.
That’s right, I just said it. I believe the woman to be the deciding factor in whether an infidelity is to occur in a relationship, whether she’s the relationshipee or the outsider. Folks I’ve seen it, I’ve lived it… it’s a fact. And I seriously beg a debate.
Ladies… have you any wonder about the woman your man speaks so eloquently of, whether or not they were ‘friends’ before you came along? You’d damn well better have. Men… how about that guy friend of your girlfriend’s that she’ll meet for lunch from time to time, talk with on the phone, etc.? Is it really platonic? True enough, it could be platonic in both cases. The end result, though, will be determined by **none other than** the woman’s own moral convictions and willpower.
So by now am I sounding like a paranoid schizophrenic? Okay, I’ll give you that. The paranoid schiz in me was instilled by another, and it’s a daily struggle to keep that part of me buried. Maybe I arrived that way after realizing there will always be certain women out there that need the attention so badly they’ll resort to anything – including infiltration of a known relationship, be it marriage or other. The attention whore, for lack of a better word. Believe me ladies, when I tell you they are out there. Worse yet? They could be the very one that you perceive to be a good friend. Having been on the receiving end of the infidelity stick, I can tell you it’s humiliating and mentally draining – to say the very least.
So to wrap up my little rant for the day, in short – this is what I believe… and this is what I’ve lived. I want so very badly to protect myself in the future from this very damaging act. But just what is the answer? I realize that trust should be the key. Keyword, should.
Ladies, back to you…
Another Independence Day is upon us. I could really turn this blog into a political rant, but I’ll save that for another day. I will say that if you had warned our forefathers of the resulted socialistic thumb this country is being held under, they’d have probably packed bags and jumped ship back to England.
The weather has been absolutely amazing, the low was a record 56 Friday night with the highs in the upper 80’s on Saturday. SO uncharacteristic of the 4th of July! And I’ll definitely take it. It’s actually enjoyable to be outside in these temps, we’re all getting a break from hiding behind the a/c indoors.
I’ve really enjoyed the weekend so far, what with all the extra free time and all. Yesterday, a good friend of mine was in my neck of the woods, so she stopped by and I fixed us all a bite of lunch. I’d been wanting her to meet my guy anyway, so it worked out great – it was a good visit.
Yesterday afternoon I packed my bags, grabbed my feline and headed over to my guy’s house for the rest of the weekend. Camille really loves it here and we always get a bunch of laughs out of her antics. Ah who am I kidding, I love it here too. ♥
Just when I think he’s done it all, that there’s nothing left that can capture my heart and make me love him even more, K proves me wrong. Last night, he grabbed me in his arms, looked down at me and said, ‘You know what? After tomorrow, we will have officially spent every holiday of the year together.’ I’ll tell you right now that stole my heart all over again. I should be used to that by now…
I’m loving this life I’m in, and ever-appreciative of the treasure that I’ve found in him. I know I’ve harped on about second chances many times before, but in truth I can never do it enough. We’re older now, and hopefully wiser. When a blessing of this magnitude is bestowed upon you, it can never turn into something that’s taken for granted – and it never will. ♥♥
Although there have been multiple studies done that actually suggest the opposite – it’s my own experience that we get more emotional as we get older. I’m not talking about the more generalized emotions – being happy, angry, fearful, etc., but the more ‘philosophical’ ones. The types of emotions that tend to make a person ‘linger’ a bit more on the past, or ‘delve back’.
Is it true though? Do we get more emotional as we age? I can only comment on what I’ve seen personally, which is that I’ve seen more than a couple of mature men cry when reflecting back on certain times in their lives – in particular, times they wish they could go back and change. In each instance, the individuals appear different now than how I was told they used to be. Different how? It’s kind of hard to put into words. Softer-spoken, and rarely if ever angered – just to name a few.
What changes in us chemically as we get older that tends to make us more ’emotional’? And is it ever possible for a person to ‘change’? I don’t know the answer to the first question. As for the second one, I believe wholeheartedly the answer is yes. Maybe I’m wrong, but I consider being more emotional and ‘in-tune’ with yourself and others to be change. One thing I do know – the pill of regret is seldom swallowed. One of the saddest things you’ll ever see is a person reflecting back on losing the best thing they ever had in life.
I was ushered in through the foyer, past the living room and down the hallway. The doorknob to the right was turned, and the door opened for me to enter the room.
The room itself was bigger than I remember, and had a radiant, almost heavenly look about it. I immediately noticed that it was cleaner, whiter, and less congested. It was almost pristine – with much extra room to move around. Just as quickly as the door closed behind me, they appeared.
My dogs. The dogs I had to leave behind through a marriage separation, now well over two years ago. And they were smiling. C’mon now, no bashing… any dog-lover out there knows what I’m talking about. They DO smile.
I don’t remember actually getting down on the floor, but in the next moment that’s exactly where I was, and where I remained. Chance and Rebel were all over me, and I was all over them. They were both clean as a whistle and smelled so good. There also was no gray in them whatsoever. The dogs weren’t pups, but they certainly weren’t old men, either! Along the empty sides and corners of the room, there were lots of clean blankets and sheets, all neatly folded – there must have been 8-10 of them scattered throughout the room. As time went on I kept grabbing them, unfolding each one and spreading them out for us, all while continuing to love on them. I remember thinking, ‘boy is someone gonna be mad at me for unfolding and messing up all these linens…’, but the dogs were loving it, and loving me. All three of us were so happy and comfortable, in that room.
The tears continue to fall as I write this. This particular visit occurred in a dream I had last night, on Tuesday night.
I believe it all started when I asked my daughter to take a picture so I could see them. I was at work Monday when I received them, and it immediately made me cry. My girlfriends at work saw this and were very sweet and caring – they are good friends and fellow animal-lovers to boot, so they understood without even saying anything. Just to see how gray the little and big guy’s faces had both gotten in two years was shocking – in particular Rebel’s, the boxer.
I’ve tried to force them out of my mind for a long time now because it’s just been too painful to think about. That still remains the case. I guess somehow, unfortunately, love really is associated with pain. Whatever the case is, I do still miss them greatly.
It was a good visit. No, it was better than good. The visit was awesome, even perfect. I hope they visit me again soon. Or should I say… allow me to visit them.
Whoever first told me life gets harder as you get older sure knew what they were talking about. I believe it was my mother. We live in an age of a failing world (okay I know that sounds drastically morbid – but it is, let’s face it). We’ve done so much damage to the environment that it’s irreparable, with the continuance of damage ongoing still – today, tomorrow, next week, next year. The economy sucks, and people are struggling financially. The entire world is crime-ridden and it seems even more so in the US. Too many people have lost their religion, that is if they ever had it to begin with.
For these reasons it makes me that much more appreciative of the soul that has come into my life. My brightness. The person who actually makes me better. Brighter.
It all started last July 29th when we started messaging each other (I still have every email correspondence we’ve ever sent). Our first date was August 1st. Man, were we ever both nervous. I’ll never forget coming down those stairs and seeing him leaning back against the hood of his car… lookin’ so cool. 🙂 It’s one of those memories that I hope never fades with age.
No one is perfect – but I’m so beyond perfect that it’s hilarious. I have so many little quirks and eccentricities that need tweaking. I get agitated and worked up easily. He keeps me grounded. I frequently find myself trying to accomplish too much and freaking out when my goals aren’t met. He is teaching me to take life slower. We both have trust issues when it comes to relationships, and have since learned that it’s okay to let our guards down with each other. That in itself was a feat that took some time – time that we look back on and smile at now.
Yep, we’re getting older all right. But that’s not always a bad thing. After all, if we’re lucky enough, we might can capture a little wisdom from it. The kind of wisdom that allows us to be appreciative of the best things in life – that which is right in front of us.
Hats off to second chances….
Although being a parent can be one of the most rewarding responsibilities in life, it’s also well-known to be the toughest.
Parenting. Everyone has their own idea of what it means, a mental list of what all it entails. There are no two sets of individual views that are exactly alike, because even if they possess similarities – the end result is always the same. Bottom line, God really does break the mold when he finishes making each and every one of us.
No matter how old they get, we as parents will never stop worrying about our children. As a young lady, I used to shrug that sentence off when my very own Mother would say it, usually throwing in the old eye-roll. I remember how I used to feel when I was young. As a young adult, I believed my parents either thought I wasn’t smart enough in my own decision-making, or I perceived them as trying to ‘rain on my parade’. Boy have I ever made some wrong choices in life that I’d been forewarned about. When I would fall down, there would be no “I told you so’s”. What happened then, when I fell? My Mother knelt down to me and cried along with me.
It’s hard when you see the wants in life overpowering the needs. I’m talking about the real needs. The Necessities. I was always told, ‘just worry about getting what you need… your wants will come later’. I still have a lot of wants, but that’s okay, I have most everything I need. The week-to-week struggle to maintain daily life definitely takes it’s toll sometimes – but I never forget to be thankful for a good job. Because of that, there is gas in my car and food in my belly. And by the Grace of God, a roof over my head.
Control is no longer an option. There comes a time when our babies wings are finally developed enough to soar the skies – we can’t and shouldn’t hold them back. But sincere advice, cordially delivered, is an option. And as a lifelong loving parent, a God-given right. I only pray for the realization of basic needs to overpower the wants. Any parent who genuinely loves their children only wants the best for them – for them to have sincere happiness, health and prosperity. As for what the future holds – if there ever is an instance of falling down… I will do the only thing that I’m able to do as a parent.
I will kneel down and cry along with them.
I often wish I’d started blogging a while back. Then again, if I had, it would’ve been the most boring drawn-out process of arriving at the point I’m at now – which is happy. Yes, money is more than tight, referencing yesterday’s rant… but I am happy.
About a year and a half ago, I wrote a few blogs on another site. This site isn’t public and I’m thinking of closing it down soon, so I wanted a ‘storage bin’ to house a couple of them. I’m thinking my current blog would be a good storage choice. Rereading them just now, I once again stumbled upon what I was so desperately searching for from the very beginning…
The Quest for Happiness.
Guess I need a refresher course every now and again… So, go ahead – make the jump. But above all………. be happy.
Friday, April 10, 2009
A Good Life
Life is good.
Simple words, aren’t they? Actually these three words can branch out in so many directions and mean so many things. Right now I’m partial to what they symbolize to me.
Which is, the ultimate realization that I am happily independent. It’s taken me a while to say that with some enthusiasm, but man oh man – what a great feeling it is to finally get to know, and actually like, your own self.
And finally being able to say…. ‘I did it’. While smiling.
The forever analyst that I am, I’d find myself constantly searching for the flaws in my own character that might have led up to or even caused the ending of my old life. It took me a while to realize that until I embraced my own self, gave myself some actual worth, that I would in fact be alone in my new life. You absolutely are how others see you. Might be sad – but this is fact.
Being off work on a holiday, getting up and having the day with which to do exactly as you please, no one to answer to…. though a rarity, how glorious is that? There are so many people confined in a tempestuous or otherwise unhappy relationship that dictates their every move, even on a day off from work. Actually, days off are usually even more trying if you’re in a relationship that’s gone south. I sincerely remember.
This morning I do my usual cleanup of self and house – then cook 2 eggs, 3 pieces of bacon, 1 piece of toast lightly buttered, add grape jam – and oh, can’t forget the OJ with lots’ o pulp. Savoring every bite sitting on my porch while looking out at all the new greenery, I thought to myself…. ‘only breakfast at the beach could top this right now’. Mr. Huge Hovering Devil Bee who’s positioned himself directly above the railing to watch me eat doesn’t even bother me.
The most simplistic things in life really are the most important. The sunrises, sunsets…. the birds building and mating in the Spring (in my hanging basket, no less). A good breakfast. Looking forward to the imminent thunderstorm. Crossing the bridge and gazing at the ‘diamonds on the water’; locking them into memory. I told a friend recently that I’ve gotten pretty good at driving a straight line on the bridge while my head is turned completely towards the lake. LOL In any case, the love and appreciation for these things will only come once you are truly satisfied and content with your own self worth. I am forever thankful for being at that point in my life.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Setting the REAL record straight
Category: Romance and Relationships
Every so often I get the urge to write a blog. Although the urge isn’t really there today, I more just feel the need to. Jot down some things that have been weighing on my mind, all related to the colorful year I’ve had so far. A year that’s made me feel failure-esque for the most part.
To try and understand how there can be so many fake people in the world is a daily struggle. What does it take anymore to be REAL? Out of two relationships I’ve had this year, both have failed. I’m not saying that I’m totally blameless. What I am saying is that both of these individuals happened to not be ‘real’.
Though a world different in all other areas, both individuals had this one little trait in common. Neither were genuine – neither were real. They both were masters of disguising theirselves as someone they were not. Whether it’s covering up something of grave importance (case #1) or leading someone to believe you lead a life that doesn’t really exist, along with hidden anger issues (case #2) – the simple fact remains… YOU AREN’T BEING REAL.
I realize it’s better to know sooner rather than later. At the time, it did make me wonder why I even bothered to put myself out there. Was there something about me that attracted this type of masqueraded personality? Was I really that gullible? Or did I want to be loved so badly that I was turning my head to the obvious? After much thought, I’ve decided to suspend the search for the answer – instead moving forward with slightly more ware on life this time.
Recently I’ve reconnected with someone who has showed me that there are still real people in the world. This person has also dealt with a not-real someone in their own life for many years. It’s been helpful and healing to share our experiences, and realize that we aren’t so alone in our quest to find someone out there that is genuine. Although we’re still in the early stages of a relationship, I can say that through him, I am slowly learning to trust again. That guard is still somewhat in place – as I’m sure his is too. We’d both be fools not to, right?
I came home the other day to a flyer stuck halfway through my front door. It was a friendly reminder of how my lease is up for renewal – again. It’s really hard for me to believe that I’ve been living here for two years now.
Before I moved here, I was a frequent visitor of this little town surrounded by a lake. Somehow, I always ended up here when I found myself in the midst of turmoil. It was the first and only place I would mindlessly drive to. It quickly became as natural as a mother’s love, pure instinct – to drive several miles down the road to the lake. I’ve always been drawn to water, and that’s the only explanation I have for it.
I’ve sat in front of this lake in each of the four seasons. Sometimes only wearing a tank and shorts, barefoot – other times heavily clad in my winter garb, scarf wrapped tightly around my numb face. Just about all of the weather events have seen me there as well, with the exception of snow.
I’ve dreamt in front of it, cried in front of it, and slept in front of it. I’ve been approached by cops who likely thought I was a parked drunk, who when faced with my puffy mascara-stained eyes, chose to leave me alone for bigger and better subjects. I used to wish so hard that someone would come after me; pull up beside me, park and knock on the window… get in and speak softly, talk things out reasonably. Even though that someone was well aware of the place I went, eventually it became clear that wish would never even once come true.
It’s no wonder that I ended up here. For one last final time, this little lake town was the first and only place I came to when faced with starting a new life – the place where I was destined to start over. My very own little treehouse in the sky. No, it doesn’t overlook the lake, but I can walk to it down a trail through the woods. At night on my balcony, I can hear the soft hum of boats cruising it. And maybe one day, God willing, I’ll be lucky enough to captain a boat of my very own across it.
Yes, I’ll be resigning another lease. My little third floor condo that backs up to the forest suits me perfectly, and I’m nowhere near ready to give it up just yet. If and when the time ever comes to move again, I already know my emotions will flow like the ocean. Because this is, and was, my first and only pick. And, it was the right one – imagine that. 🙂
About a week ago a local channel aired an 80’s movie I hadn’t seen in a long time called The Sure Thing. The plot: an unlikely pair of college students that end up falling for each other during a roadtrip to California.
So the name got me thinking – The Sure Thing. How many sure things are there in life? Not many. How can we ever be completely certain of a sure thing? The dictionary describes a sure thing as “An outcome that is assured; a certainty; something that is guaranteed to be successful”.
The only one sure thing I’ve ever had in life personally is that beautiful and shining Promise of eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. That is it – though that is certainly more than we could ever hope for.
So back to what I was leading up to… is it ever possible to have a sure thing in a human being? To actually put your complete trust, love and confidence into a person, and see and feel that trust, love and confidence returned back to you? Moreso, is it smart to do this? Maybe not. What I do know is the more times you’ve been burned in your life, the more difficult it becomes to trust again. Maybe it’s just me, but I think that in order to acquire a sure thing – if there is a human version of a sure thing out there – you have to be willing to take some risks. To not only remain open, but actually be okay with the possibility of failure.
I’ve always wanted that complete trust factor in my life. Always always. Undivided, unequivocal, undiminished trust. Trust that’s so concrete there’s never any room for questions. A two-way trust that is so openly confident that it illuminates the darkness.
I believe I’ve found it – of this I feel more sure than I’ve felt about anything in my entire life.
Seems like we hear more and more about cheating and abusive husbands. Now, more often than ever, we see these type of relationships coming to violent and tragic endings. Believe me, I’m very much aware of the fact that women cheat too, and some are abusive. When it comes to physical abuse though, the majority of the victims are women. Sadly, of the two issues, one often precipitates the other. While cheating and abuse both make me shudder, the two in combination are enough to take a person’s sanity.
I’ve written enough about infidelity enough to last me a lifetime. I am not nor am I trying to be an expert on the subject of abuse, mental or physical – the fact is that I am just very empathetic when it comes to these issues. The cold and heartless ‘I don’t feel a bit sorry for her – she could leave and get the hell out, but she chooses to stay’ never ceases to amaze me. Yeah, right. Unfortunately, more often than not, it isn’t that simple.
Fear prevails. Not only fear of her mate, but perhaps fear of sheer survival on her own. A woman may stay for her kids. Some women think and are made to believe ‘I must’ve done something to push his buttons’, and continually strive to avoid it happening in the future. They learn what not to bring up. They’re made well aware that their feelings are not meant to be shared, and that doing so will anger him. When she’s repeatedly told things like ‘no one else will put up with your sorry ass’ it eventually makes her believe that she’s worthless and unlovable to others. After so much time has passed living this life, she’s left with this shell of what used to be a whole person – just waiting to be led through yet another day. Week. Month. Year.
The next thing you know, half a lifetime has passed.
Anyone who reads this that is identifying with it in any way, shape or form – I beg you to seek help. There are places out there to help you. If you don’t have family to turn to, there are agencies and non-profit organizations out there who do care. Please don’t ‘stay’ and become a statistic. Read the news – the statistics are growing.
Here are a few signs of possibly being in an abusive relationship. If you find yourself identifying with even just a few of them, please take a step back and think about it…
You may be in an abusive relationship if he or she:
- is jealous or possessive toward you (jealousy is the primary symptom of abusive relationships) this can include constant accusations of you cheating or running around on him/her
- tries to control you by being very bossy or demanding
- tries to isolate you by demanding you cut off social contacts, friendships, or even family ties
- is violent and/or loses temper quickly
- abuses drugs or alcohol
- claims you are responsible for his/her emotional state (‘you sure know how to push my buttons’)
- blames YOU when he/she mistreats you.
- has a history of bad relationships
- you frequently worry about how he/she will react to things you say or do
- makes ‘jokes’ that shame, humiliate, demean or embarrass you, whether privately or around family/friends
- your partner grew up witnessing an abusive parental relationship, or was abused themselves as a child
- your partner frequently ‘rages’ when they feel hurt, shame, fear or loss of control
- you leave your partner frequently, only to return – against the advice of your friends, family and loved ones
- you have trouble ending the relationship even though inside you know it’s the right thing to do
Does the person you love:
- constantly keep track of your time?
- act jealous and possessive?
- accuse you of being unfaithful or flirting?
- discourage your relationships with friends and family?
- prevent or discourage you from working, interacting with friends or attending school?
- constantly criticize or belittle you?
- insist on control of all the finances and force you to account for every bit you spend? (except for reasonable cooperative budgeting)
- humiliate you in front of others? (including ‘jokes’ at your expense)
- take your personal property or sentimental items?
- keep daily mail from you, including taking it back to his work to store?
- have affairs?
- threaten to hurt you, your children or your pets? threaten to use a weapon?
- push, hit, slap, punch, kick or bite you or your children?
- force you to have sex against your will, or demand sexual acts you are uncomfortable with?
The National Domestic Violence Hotline can be accessed from 50 states. Go ahead, launch the link below. It’ll truly break your heart to see what’s on top of the front webpage. They call it a ‘quick escape’ button that you can push to quickly exit the page if your abusive partner were to walk in and see what you’re looking at. If this is not a true jolt of reality, nothing is – it’s real, it’s thriving, and it’s growing. Continuing to keep quiet about it is continuing to feed it. Help get the word out that we no longer have to tolerate this type of behavior from a partner. God bless.
National Domestic Violence Hotline website: http://www.ndvh.org/
National Domestic Violence Hotline phone: 1-800-799-SAFE(7233) or TTY 1-800-787-3224
Oh I’ve got it badddd, I admit it. Probably bad enough to sicken the average person, really. So I don’t write about my love life much at all – I’ve kept it to myself for some time now. At long last, I believe I’ve earned the right to spill my guts.
There is no formula or logic to love. Being in love is like an anchor of reason and romance living in balance. Real love is a complete acceptance of the other person, and of oneself. It resides in the knowledge of one another – what our strengths are, what our weaknesses are, and what our potential is.
So just how DO you know when you’re really in love, that head-over-heels all-consuming kind of love? Now before you judge my own personal reasons below, let me first say that this is not a new relationship. The admittedly amateurish things I’m about to write might lead one to the conclusion this is a brand new infatuation of sorts.
When I receive an email or text I jump right to it, thinking it’s him. Same thing with a phone call. When I notice it’s not from him, I get the same sinking disappointing feeling every time (sorry, friends and family). When it is from him, my stomach suddenly takes on the role of Flipper. He’s on my mind every waking minute of the day. At night, he’s the one I dream of.
I miss him so much when we’re apart, that it almost can be described as an aching type of longing. When we’re together, it just feels right. Everything. All the integers of a successful relationship are present. The level of respect we have for one another is astounding, as well as the appreciation we both have for what we’ve finally found.
I have visions. Not the prediction type – more like daydreams of the life that I imagine for the future. I go off into my own little world with these visions of bliss and happiness. On the other hand – sometimes these visions take a dark u-turn when I have one about losing him. That’s the thing about visions, they build themselves – so oftentimes your worst fears manifest within one.
The way he looks at me makes me melt. His beautiful eyes often tell me a story – it’s difficult to explain. When he looks at me, I can all but see into his soul… I can feel how he is feeling, what he is feeling. His deep voice is both seductive and consuming – it makes me feel safe in a way that I never have before. I can hear his voice even when he’s not around.
I know it’s that kind of love because I can no longer imagine my life without him in it. The mere thought of losing him makes my eyes well up every time… Simply knowing the kind of man he is makes me strive to be a better woman.
And that, my friends, is mi Amore.♥